#chuck (derogatory)

[ciambeeeline]

wonky BCS silly sketches on the freaking telegram story on my phone while rewatching because I CAN.

#better call saul #bcs #kim wexler #chuck mcgill #lalo salamanca #(derogatory) #nacho varga #(affectionate) #hi idk #SHITPOST #i think Nacho's snake earring is very important

[lasersquid]

literally the most insightful political observation you can make right now

he's right. if someone's arguments aren't even internally consistent with each other you can be absolutely certain that they aren't consistent in reality, where it matters even more.

#chuck tingle #political science [derogatory] #ideological affinity

[thursdaysidjit]

spn//textposts

i made myself make more and i laughed a few times so. hopefully y’all do too

#step three of becoming a prophet: evade the tall man using physics #i’m seeing now dean is featured ONCE. i might be ill #the last one applies to All shown in that image #spn text post #spn screencaps #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #demon ruby #kevin tran #chuck (derogatory) #spn crack

[dreamsclock]

I understand cDream there's something about cTommy that awakens every violent thought in me

This is srsly for real Now more than ever i understand this

#ctomby is still my chuck e cheese bestie. derogatory

[fandom-hoarder]

Ok so the destiel/DEAstiel conversation in Fan Fiction always makes me think of this:

When I still shipped it, I said, "It's NOT DEAstiel for dean and castiel, it's destiel for destiny!" 😅💀

So since my latest final seasons rewatch, I've been thinking about Chuck pushing "destiel besties" to split up Sam and Dean. Chuck is the one that keeps bringing Cas back, after all. Chuck can't stand that every time he throws something at Sam and Dean, instead of killing each other they CHOOSE each other. Something he and Amara don't/won't/can't do. Even the cage was Sam's choice more than the Mark was Amara's.

Castiel IS the "spanner in the works," but he's CHUCK'S device. 👀👀👀👀

Even as Chuck was writing Castiel's 'I love you' to the WRONG Winchester, he was killing the rest of their friends and magical support system one by one also. All the parts of Castiel's speech that don't fit are Chuck. A lot of their supposed best-friend ship is probably Chuck. Maybe Castiel actually does have "a crack in his chassis" from being with the Winchesters; and Chuck doesn't always write it out, it's more like he has an end goal and some plot points he wants to hit and tropes he likes to use, but he lets them fill it in (like Sam finishing the spell for Eileen himself, because this is an ability he has -- a characteristic, you might say).

It's like how when you're writing and a character seems to have a mind of its own and takes the story on side quests, and you might be like 'ooh didn't expect this' but it's still you writing and you get back on track. Effectively that is "free will" under Chuck, except when Sam and Dean exert their ACTUAL free will in choosing each other and NOT being told what to do. Defying the writer's end goal and changing it entirely.

#always winning #spn thoughts #wincest #spn spoilers #spn chuck #chuck writes destiel (it's not a compliment) #spn hcs #spn free will #anti destiel #< jic #not anti ship but anti 'it's canon' #spn meta #chuck writes destiel (derogatory)

[transfemsamwinchester]

non garfield mutuals please tell me. does the crime (sending unironic mishalecki as revenge for laughing at my pain) fit the punishment (being blocked)?

#the word of chuck #mishalecki (derogatory)

[pizzatimeplayer]

Headcanon that since Dr Dux was used to test character voices he’s a great impersonator like Crusty and they get along.

They probably go to the same improv class like the drama kids they are 🙄

#I am a drama kid (derogatory) #dr dux #crusty the cat #cec #Chuck e cheese #headcanon #ruespew

[moinsbienquekaworu]

(re: your tags) I feel the same way about graduating hs. I graduated back in 2016, and have had to drop out of college on two separate occasions because of my disabilities. Now my siblings are all either graduating from prestigious colleges or halfway through their programs with top marks, and its very much a. Idk. An "I feel like I didn't do enough" kinda deal. Just about everyone graduates hs from the school I went to. Nobody sees it as an achievement even though that's the furthest some of us ever could go.

Anyway, hi. You're not alone. I'm proud of you for graduating hs, that's a feat in and of itself 💛 it's really impressive that you're trying for a uni degree too, even though you're not sure you want it anymore. I'm proud of you for all the trying stuff, you're doing great, you deserve to have a good time. And, no matter what you decide to do, whether that be continuing despite maybe not being sure about it or dropping it later or whatever you decide to do, im still going to be proud of you for getting this far.

You're doing great, keep up the good work 💛💛

(And if you ever need someone to just listen, my askbox and dms are open at all times, even if it takes me a bit to respond)

(about this post and my tags on it)

That's !! Feeling like you're not even getting started when it should be enough to get you a nice job and allow you to live a simple life is terrible. Because romanticising the past isn't ideal and all, but I can't help but wish I lived in a time where a high school diploma was actually a good education and could land you a nice job, instead of feeling like the beginning.

One of our teachers used to say that, we were a small group and she'd always go "oh graduating hs is just the beginning, all the serious stuff is afterwards if you want a good life, but you're all smart and capable here, I know you'll go far" and this made me feel atrocious, I think you'll see why. I love that woman but that was not the thing to say haha. Tying how far you go into your studies to your intelligence and your worth as a person did not help me at all.

I'm trying to remember I do it because I want to, because literature and english are interesting topics, and that this doesn't determine what I'm worth or even my future. I'm there to have a good time and learn some stuff, Cs get degrees and I'll get somewhere eventually, it's all fine. It's just a bit hard to remember sometimes :')

And obviously, uno reverse card, at least on what's applicable to you haha. I imagine it must suck wanting to go but not being able to, and seeing everyone else succeed where you couldn't. I still kind of wish they gave a medal or just, something tangible at graduation, because the paper doesn't even feel that nice, nobody even signed it it's just a pre-filled template.

#anyway love you so much thank you for that ask #if that brings you comfort one of my friend groups is like half people in uni half people working #and the ones working are having as much of a Time as us #(this is derogatory but hey we're ALL suffering in different ways) #i don't know if this is private and you want me to answer it like privately? #i prefer chucking everything on my blog but i'll private it if you'd rather #wow i have an asks tag now

[sea-salted-wolverine]

NGL, I actually am looking forward to the Harry Potter Renaissance.. The thing is the thing is for us to get there is there the fandom has to die first period so fucking die already.

No I say this, not because I actually want to see more Harry Potter shit, but because thus far every fandom Renaissance I have come across consists mostly of people taking the piss out of the original material and going "what the fuck how did we think this was good?", Then proceeding to make incredibly stupid memes about the various layers of bigotry.

Think the Twilight Renaissance where we all realized that the people of Forks think the Cullens are a cult, and they're right. Then we all made fun of smeyer for the racism and plot holes. And that freak baby.

Think about the Supernatural revival when we all sat back to appreciate that mankind has reached the theoretical threshold of how badly one can crash a plot line. And then someone actually checked and we realized that the show didn't pass the beschdel test until season 4.

All this is to say, that I am looking forward to the day when we all en mass turn around and look back on our nostalgic series, with a little bit more self awareness and in general critical thought. I want the popular joke to be dunkin on JKR for writing absolutely unhinged nightmare nonsense racist antisemitic garbage, with a side of self depreciation for swallowing it down as a kid.

Plus the memes will be absolutely glorious.

#maybe when the queen terf is dead #chuck tingle can lead the charge #Harry Potter #derogatory

[kwistowee]

insp. by this meme by @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction

EDIT: Most Americans associate the word muppet with Jim Henson's puppets. In much of the rest of the English speaking world (UK, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Eastern US, South Africa, etc.), a muppet is a derogatory term used to describe a fool, an idiot, an imbecile, someone not to be taken seriously. I couldn't resist using the Henson Muppets font because it's just right there! But obviously the actual Muppets would never align themselves with a cause like Jason's. This isn't meant as an insult to The Muppets or the metal cover band 'Pastor of Muppets'; I just think spoonerisms are funny. I definitely should have made this a part of the initial post rather than just chucking it in my tags.

#josephquinnedit #joseph quinn #jqedit #stcastedit #eddiemunsonedit #eddie munson #jason carver #mason dye #stranger things #strangerthingsedit #strangerthingsgifs #dailynetflix #userrobin #user-lina #usersugar #userfrodosam #userbbelcher #tvedit #cinemapix #my*gifs #josephquinncentral #stranger things crack #muppet means fool #i find this particularly funny because i've lived in both england and new zealand and i heard this term used in this way on a regular basis #obviously the actual muppets would never align themselves with a cause like jason's #this isn't an insult to muppets or the metal cover band 'pastor of muppets'; i just think spoonerisms are funny

[thatsveryood]

HAPPY (derogatory) NOV 5TH!

Happy 3 years of suffering together friends!! I've put together some of my fave post-finale(ish) fics in honor of the day, so we may all suffer some more together.

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by @sobsicles 74.1k - grief/mourning, (temporary) character death a bit of retconning of the last few seasons of spn - what if dean realized sooner during the widower arc how he felt about cas? how would it all play out? sobsicles always throws me for a loop but this one in particular always gets me sobbing (heh)

All I Want for Christmas by Shadows_Keeper 12.6k - grief/mourning, (temporary) character death, paramedic!dean ft. dean getting to live his damn life after cas goes to the empty and sam/eileen have a family 🥺

now the weight of the world ain't so bad by the_oncoming_stormageddon 9.8k - fluff, getting together but dean is dumb about it in which cas and dean are together except dean doesn't realize it yet

Proverbs 13:12 by starlingcas (@angelcasendgame) 16.3k - literally stuck in a tree, s14 coda, (temporary) character death, they're best friends ur honor that's it, they're literally stuck in a tree and are huge adorably in-love dorks about it 🥺 takes place during s14 but then picks up after the finale which thank goodness

Kingdom Come by ahurston 17.3k - road trip reunion cas comes back 🥺 he and dean drive home and talk (and other things)

and you can use my skin by unicornpoe 5.3k - touch-starved dean, it's so unbearably soft i love it cas comes home and dean can't stop touching him (and i can't stop screaming/crying)

on the sixth day by fleeceframe 5.2k - grief/mourning, heavy drinking “You prayed my name to every angel in Heaven for six days straight.”

take the bones, begin anew by JustStandingHere (@sightofsea) 103k - idiots in love, building a home with your buddy~, stoner!cas in which dean is a huge dummy in love and is working through so so much repression, but he and cas build a home together 🥺

things happen (they do, they do, and they do) by @sobsicles 27.9k - repressed!dean, human!cas, cas stands for casanova another sobsicles bc i'm always wrecked! by! their! fics!!!!! cas comes back and dean is totally normal about it - because it's normal to mourn how straight you are so bc if only you weren't straight so you could make your best friend happy 🙃

ascend by quiettewandering (@wanderingcas) 53.3k - grief/mourning, angst with a happy ending, seriously be prepared for the angst chuck's story can't be changed - or can it? the fantastical ending to a beautiful love story that we deserved!! i cannot tell you enough how much i love this fic, so many chills throughout and that ending haunts me in a good way

hope you enjoy these fics (or enjoy re-reading them!). also if you want to get a destiel is canon pin to celebrate the day and take them off my hands, pls do

#destiel #dean x castiel #spn for ts #happy nov 5th #time for our annual celebration/mourning of this goddamn stupid show and these goddamn beautiful characters #they deserved better!!! i will literally never stop thinking about that for the rest of my life i will never not be angry about it!!!!! #anyways uh #destiel fic #fic recs #steph recs #throwing in my pin sale bc i have too many still in stock and i dropped the price by nearly $4 so pls take them off my hands

[megamindsecretlair]

Sunshine

Pairing: Tyrone x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI., multiple uses of n-word and derogatory names. You are in charge of your own reading experience! Intentional use of AAVE. Porn without plot. Cursing, PIV, oral (both male and fem receiving), derogatory language, possession kink, size kink, all consensual.

Summary: At a house party, you meet Tyrone. Common sense flies out the window as you two sneak off for some fun.

Word Count: 2,462k

A/N: I...I have no excuses for myself. And I debated on posting this or not. But I've been feral since the movie came out and I've been gobbling up all the fics I can find. Just wanted to contribute. Of course Fontaine is fine, but I'm a West Coast girlie. Likes are awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers. If you're not Black, please don't reblog.

You bent over to get a tequila soda from the cooler when you felt a presence next to you. You looked up and it took everything in you not to drop your jaw. The man was gorgeous. Beautiful dark skin, thick with two C’s, and a wide smile. He licked them big, juicy lips and smirked at you.

He tugged on one of your braids. “You too good to be hanging around here,” he said. Oh god, his voice was fine too. No, he was dangerous. But you couldn’t make your legs move away.

“What you talkin’ about?” You managed to ask.

“You one of them good girls that always got her nose in a book,” he said. He sipped whatever was in his cup. From the faint smell of it, it was probably Henny. It always was. 

You laughed and shook your head. “I know you’re not talking about stereotypes.” You pointed to his outfit and then pointed to a group of guys on the other side of the cooler. They all wore Khaki dickie shorts, high black socks, Chucks, and a sweatshirt or flannel. He noticed and chuckled. 

“It’s comfortable,” he said. He took in your outfit: a short, blue summer dress and sandals. But the way he took the time to peruse you, study you, had you drinking out of your cup to avoid smiling like an idiot.

“Whatever. And what’s so wrong with having my nose in a book?” 

“You too pure to hang around some hood niggas. Probably like them crew cut muthafuckas, right?” 

You laughed and shook your head. If only he knew…the hundreds, if not thousands at this point, pages of smut you inhaled on a weekly basis. “Definitely not. What other stereotypes you got for me?” 

“You got a curfew, don’t you? Some nice nigga in your DMs askin’ to take you out,” he continued. 

A few other people at the house party moved over to grab drinks. You moved out of their way, moving closer to him. Damn, he smelled so damn good. The right mix of clean soap and cologne. He wasn’t the type to take a bath in it.

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong,” you said. He tugged on your braid again. You scrunched up your face, pretending to be upset. He grinned. 

“I’m Tyrone,” he said. He held out his hand.

You introduced yourself and took his hand. He shook it but refused to let go. Instead he pulled you closer and kissed your cheek. 

“I got to worry about someone comin’ to fight me over your pretty ass?” He asked. 

“No!” You said with a laugh. 

“Good, because I ain’t trynna catch a body over you,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Murder was not a sexy subject. And yet…

“Now sir, who said I even want to entertain you?” You asked. You sipped your drink. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of his. 

He smirked and leaned in again. “Bet. Let me see them panties, then,” he said. He studied your body: your thick thighs, tummy, and chubby cheeks.

Shit. You laughed and ran your tongue over your teeth. There was a damp spot in your panties growing by the second. You desired this man. You were actively lusting after him. Everything in your head told you to walk away. He was trouble with a capital T. A verified hood nigga. 

You grinned and took his hand, weaving in and out of people grinding on the dance floor. Tupac and Dre blasted through the speakers. Red solo cups were high in the air as people showed out. 

You caught the eye of your best friend and waved. She noticed that you were holding Tyrone’s hand and she grinned, tapping her fist against the wall she leaned on. A man stood beside her with his hand on her waist. Both of ya’ll wasn’t making it home early tonight. 

You tugged Tyrone towards the stairs. Everyone had converged into the basement with the strict promise not to disturb upstairs. That was already out of the window as multiple people were on the first level making out. But you wanted to do more than make out.

You pulled him deeper into the house, heading towards an empty bedroom. You checked the room and there was no one in it. Tyrone pushed you in and locked the door behind him. He turned on the light and grinned at you.

“Not so good, are you?” He asked. He pulled you closer. His warm hands circled your waist and pulled you flush against him, you could feel his thick cock against your thigh.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. 

He chuckled. “You tappin’ out?” He asked. 

Fresh arousal gushed out of you and you bit back a moan. “I want you,” you said. Your body was on fire from how much you wanted him. 

As if that’s what he was waiting on, he crashed his lips against yours. His sexy brown lips kissed and sucked your bottom lip. He pushed his tongue inside. You tasted the Henny on his breath and moaned. You grabbed onto the sleeves of his flannel, needing something to hold on to.

He pushed you backwards as he continued to kiss you. The back of your legs hit the bed. Instead of pushing you on to it, he turned you around.

“Knees, pretty girl,” he said. 

You dropped instantly. He chuckled as he looked down at you. He ran a hand over his jaw. “You always listen that well?” He asked.

“Only when I want to,” you said and grinned. 

He took off his flannel and black T-shirt and removed his black tank. He worked at his belt, loosening it and pulling the zipper down. His dick sprang free with a light little bounce. You licked your lips.

Dicks were not pretty. Full stop. However, his was gorgeous. It was long and girthy and curved a little bit. The more you stared, the harder he seemed to get. He pumped himself a few times and tapped your lips with it. Precum painted a coat on your lips and you licked it up. 

“Let’s see how good you are,” he said. 

He sat on the bed and you scooted closer, looking at him while you lowered your mouth. You took the tip in first, getting used to the salty taste of him. You flattened your tongue and swirled it around. 

“Stop playin’ and get to work,” he said. You giggled and really got to work. If he wanted to think you were a goody two-shoes, then so be it.

You sucked him in and got to work. You played with his dripping cock. You used both hands to twist as you sucked. Spit ran down his dick and you gathered it up with your fingers to properly lube him up.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. You saw his eyes widen and roll towards the ceiling. He grabbed the back of your head and pushed you down further. You gagged a few times but kept going, licking his fat tip.

“Damn bitch,” he groaned. “Help me bust this nut and I’ll take good care of you.” 

You kept sucking and added more pressure. He jerked a few times. With no warning, hot splashes of cum hit the back of your throat. You swallowed it all and licked the corner of your mouth to catch the rest.

He panted as he watched you do it and his eyes grew darker. “Bed.” 

You stood up, feeling your wetness between your thighs. You walked over to the bed. Before you sat down, he kissed you and bit your lip. “You’re mine.”

You sighed and your pussy clenched around nothing. Those two words were almost enough to undo you. He gripped your hips roughly and pulled at your dress until it was on the floor next to his clothes. Your panties came next. He rubbed it between his fingers once it was off of you.

“And I’m keeping these too.”

“No, you’re not. Those are mine.” The sharp smack to your ass was heard before it was felt. Stinging pain blossomed on your meaty ass. 

You cried out and he did it again. He smacked you a few more times before you were pushing your ass against him for more. He chuckled. When it was clear he wasn’t going to smack you again, you climbed into the bed but you were moving too slow for him. He grabbed your legs and flipped you over like a pancake. Then he yanked you until half your ass was hanging off of the bed.

He knelt down slowly and spread your legs the farthest he could get them. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy too. Yeah, all of this is mine,” he said. His breath fanned over your exposed pussy making you shake.

“You can’t own pussy, nigga,” you said.

This muthafucka bit your thigh. You yelled out. He bit your other thigh, harder. “I’m ‘bout to write my name on it.”

You wanted to argue. As much as you wanted this fool, there was no way in hell…

“Oh god.” You had no breath left in your lungs. Your entire body froze as his tongue began to play with your clit. He lapped up your juices and inhaled it. He ate it like a starving man. Like a nigga just released from jail. 

You began to move away. It was too much and too intense. You pushed at his hands. His tongue dived into your pussy and you moaned and screamed. He locked his arms around your thighs and held you open for him to devour.

As his tongue fucked you, one of his thumbs pressed into your clit. You slapped at his hand. “I’m not stoppin’ so quit that shit,” he growled. You locked eyes with him. His mouth and jaw was covered with your juices. A mix of drool and your arousal dripped from his lips. He licked those same lips as he stared you down. 

You nodded. He went back to eating you out like it was his full time job. He suckled and flicked at your clit. He rubbed his nose in it. Your belly tightened as your orgasm rose up inside of you quicker than it had ever come. You tossed your head back onto the bed as you screamed your release out. He kept eating you out through it.

As you came down, you twitched as he licked one last time. You stared at the ceiling questioning your life’s choices to bring you to this moment. Tyrone chuckled as he cleaned his face off with his tank. 

“You think I’m done with you, bitch?” He asked.

The only thing you could do was half grunt and half laugh. No man was allowed to call you a bitch. And he’s done it twice now and you ain’t even mad.

He helped you sit up further on the bed. Then he laid on top of you, pulling you by the chin to kiss. His tongue swiped against yours in a deep, nasty kiss. As if he wanted you to taste what he did. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it had you moaning and seeking more.

He leaned up on his knees and pumped his dick. “This gon’ hurt, but you’ll be alright.” 

He grabbed your knees and pushed them down against the bed. He ran his thick cock over your clit and gathered up as much lubrication as he could. He slid the tip in and you moaned. “Fuck, Tyrone!” 

He leaned down and kissed you. “My name sounds pretty on your lips. Say it again.”

You refused. There was still an ounce of defiance in you. He slid in some more, stretching you. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” It stung but it also felt too good to tell him to stop. He kissed you again. “Say it.”

“Tyrone, please…” you begged. He kissed you again. “That’s my bitch.”

He kept going. Inch by delicious inch until he bottomed out. He held himself off of you as you adjusted to the sheer size of him. He was easily the biggest you had ever taken and you worried that you would never want anything else. How could anyone compare after that?

He trailed kisses along your jaw and the corner of your mouth. He whispered how pretty you were and how you were his. “So fuckin’ pretty takin’ this dick.”

He kissed and nibbled on your neck until you began to relax. Then, he started moving. He pulled out and then went back in just as slowly. Nigga was a professional at this shit.

As you relaxed and got back to moaning and crying, he sped up his thrusts. “Shit, this pussy feel so good.” He looked down at himself sliding in and out of you. Your arousal gushed out of you, spilling down your ass cheeks. 

He twisted his hips and hit a spot deep inside you. “Oh fuck!” Your hips bucked off the bed. You grabbed at the sheets beneath you. 

“That’s it.” He chuckled as he kept hitting that spot, over and over. One hand gripped your leg to keep you open for him. His other hand pressed down on your belly. The added pressure had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you stuttered as your second orgasm steamrolled through you. He kept driving into you. 

“Tyrone…” you warned. Though you didn’t know what for. You didn’t want him to stop. Your body felt like it was both buried underground and six feet in the air. Your legs ached from him holding you open but even that managed to feel good.

“You can give me one more,” he said.

“What?” You asked pathetically. Ain’t no fuckin’ way. 

“I want one more,” he growled. He kept pushing his thick cock into you. You tried to speak. To communicate that there was no way you could. 

He only smirked at you. His cornrows were damp with sweat. He quickened his pace and moved his hand from your stomach. His thumb played with your clit.

“Oh, shit, wait,” you moaned. 

“Ain’t no wait. Give me that shit,” he said. In no time at all, you were coming again and squeezing the hell out of his dick. He moaned and panted before pounding into you. He came on a hoarse moan, pushing so deep into you he probably did leave his name there. 

Hot ropes of cum squirted inside of you, painting every inch of wall he could find. He dropped his weight on you as you panted together.

He kissed your cheek. “Goddamn, bitch. I’m never letting you go.” 

You chuckled. Because you weren’t letting his ass go neither.

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Tyrone Files #they cloned tyrone smut #they cloned tyrone fanfic #they cloned tyrone fan fic #Tyrone x Black!reader #Tyrone x Fem!reader #Tyrone x Black reader #Tyrone x Fem reader #Tyrone x reader #Tyrone x you #Black writer

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Three years on... where the fuck did the time go?? As a European, waking up to the chaos was a fucking trip lmao. We collectively broke tumblr. Literally. Everything that's happened in the aftermath since could be its own version of 'we didn't start the fire'. Spanish dub, my beloved <3. Rogue translator except not really because it was the script. CW snipers lmao. Mark Shepperd telling Misha that we all knew Cas was in love with Dean. J2 fallout/divorce. Et tu brute? Prequel Gate. The Prequel itself. Jensen being as - if not more - insane about Dean than us. Jensen joining us on the Dean's happy ending isn't dying, and he's not really dead train because that was bullshit. His sexy silence era. The clown show that was the final episode. Deancas Valentines Day wedding, which we all celebrated. The Cw going bust and dying on a Thursday. The fact Cas canonically died on a Thursday. The insane details in the confession itself; the handprint, the parallels to the end of season 4 aka where Cas broke free from the narrative and made the story up as he went even though he wasn't supposed to be in this story. Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester. All the script leaks. All the things that still don't make sense a la why was Jensen heard screaming Cas' names while filming 15x19. The deleted scenes of 15x19 ("Where's castiel? I'm sorry. He was a good soldier " and the absolute devastion in Dean's eyes stop -). The gapping plotholes that were never even attempted to be fixed. There's been all that and so much more. Chuck only knows what will come next (and oh yeah, Rob Benedict is on team chuck actually won, for the finale theorists) but there's no peace with this hell show (both affectionately and derogatory) so we all know it's not done yet.

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #november fifth #nov 5th #nov 5 2020 #destiel anniversary #castiel #dean winchester #sorry to my mutuals i am unfortunately too emotionally tied up to this godforsaken show to be normal about it #today is the day i allow the madness out to breathe as a treat

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Jenna And we got a lot of mail about it, Angela. We had a fan question from Saundra C in Georgia and many others who said, In this episode, we see a life size cutout of Chuck, played by Zachary Levi, displaying his love of the Pyramid phone. This is not addressed in the episode and is never explained. Was Zachary Levi in on this? Did he have to give permission? Well, first of all, just for anyone who doesn't know, Chuck was a very popular television show running during this time. It was created by Josh Schwartz. 

Angela It was also on NBC. 

Jenna It was. The plot was, Computer geek Chuck Bartowski opens an email that has been encoded subliminally with vital government secrets, triggering a massive download of critical information into his brain, prompting both the CIA and NSA to assign an agent to protect him so that no one can exploit this downloaded information in his brain. 

Angela Yeah, like his old college roommate emailed it to him and somehow he got all this information in his brain. 

Jenna Kind of a la The Matrix.  

Angela Kind of. 

Jenna Without the spigot thing, you know, without going without the poky thing that goes in the back of his- you have to plug in.

Angela Oh, yeah, yeah. Not plugged in. Yeah.

Jenna Right. To download it. This was a wireless download. 

Angela Yeah. 

Jenna Well, when this episode aired, the series finale of Chuck had just aired. It was a big event. 

Angela The whole series? 

Jenna The whole series had just ended. 

Angela Oh. 

Jenna But in order to get and use this cut out of Zachary Levi, Steve Burgess said we had to ask Warner Brothers because they own the character of Chuck. And they said yes, but we had to pay them in order to use their character. And then we contacted Zachary Levi to see if we could take some photos of him for our cut out, but he wasn't available. So Warner Brothers let us use like a publicity photo that they had for the TV show. And Warner Brothers said that their only stipulation was that we had to give them credit and we could not use Chuck in any derogatory way, which we did not. 

Angela We did not. There was an extended scene when everyone is arriving for the day to come work in the new Sabre store. 

Jenna Mm hmm. 

Angela Each Dunder-Mifflin Sabre employee walks past the Chuck poster, and they all do, like, you know, the two fingers where you kiss the two fingers, and then you pat it on something. 

Jenna Like a good luck thing? 

Angela Yeah. They all go (KISS NOISE) and they, like, kind of pat his forehead. Everyone does it except Erin, who hugs him, and Stanley just walks by him indifferently. 

Jenna Brent shared that Mindy was very fond of this cardboard cutout. 

Angela She was. I remember it. 

Jenna Yes. Because after the episode was over, do you remember she put it in her office? 

Angela Yeah. In the corner. 

Jenna Yes. And she would hang things on it, like she'd put her hat on it or a hoodie. 

Angela Her coat. Yeah. 

Jenna Yeah. So you could go in there and it would be sort of like a dress up cut out. 

Angela Yeah. And if her door was open, if you were walking down the hallway, you always saw it. It's really funny. 

Jenna Yes! And sometimes you'd forget and think a person was in there. Or that Zachary Levi was in there.

#me being a huge chuck fan this fascinates me #delete scenes #chuck #chuckedit #chuck bartowski #zachary levi #the office ladies #the office edits #the office edit #theoffice #theofficeedits #theofficeedit #john krasinski #gif #gifs #gifset #i always kind of thought john and zach looked like brothers or twins so

[fandom-hoarder]

Re this: MEGSTIEL is REAL

#spn thoughts #megstiel #chuck writes destiel (derogatory) #spn spoilers

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

A.N.: It's not as murdery as it sounds 😅 But, as per usual: minors DNI. It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

1. Specialty Ingredients

Steve watches, mouth literally hanging open, as it happens again: his date is stomping away, mad.

He just called Steve a scrawny, cock-teasing twink for making out a little on the sidewalk, but then declining to go back to his place to hook up. The guy pressed the issue and Steve got frustrated and told him tersely that he wasn't interested because they just met, okay? That went over like a lead balloon.

Steve scowls as the jerk disappears around the corner at the end of the block. “Well fuck you too,” he mutters, feeling put out—and okay, a little hurt, too. He’s not a cocktease. He’s not scrawny.

Well, maybe that second one is kind of true, but Steve hates how guys will act like they’re into his small stature when they think he’s a sure thing, but then get all derogatory and mean about it once he tries to tell them he’s looking for more than a hookup and wants to take it slow—and not even hetero people slow; gay guy slow, which is super fast in comparison! Steve just wants to get to know a guy for once before sleeping with him. Is that really so bad?

He huffs and turns around, walking dejectedly back to his car. Another handsome asshole, another hope dashed, another pathetic date. He really does have the worst luck, and he’s getting plain sick of it. He checks his phone before he drives away.

Clint: Well???

Steve sighs. He types back a reply to his friend

Steve: another dud

Clint: dude …

Steve rolls his eyes and chucks the phone onto the passenger seat. He turns the key in the ignition, the radio coming on to an old eighties love ballad that just worsens his sense of dejection. “Fucking figures,” he mutters, putting the car into drive.

He leaves the song playing though, because sometimes wallowing is called for.

The next morning, Steve wakes up in a glum mood. He tries to focus on his work for most of the day, rather than his horrible luck with dating, but as he paints the hours away he winds up pouting about it anyhow. He sinks further and further into a depressing pit of self-pity and despair.

Clint texts him, asking if he wants to go out and sing karaoke or something, and Steve knows he’s just trying to cheer him up and all, but he really can’t stand the thought of being cheerful right now.

Steve hates gay guys, he thinks, stomping over to the crappy small sink in his crappy small apartment’s kitchen. He runs the water and rinses off his brushes with a vengeance they don’t deserve. Gay guys suck. Steve hates how shallow they all are, how vapid and self-centered. All they want is to go clubbing and fuck around and that’s it. None of them want a real relationship, and they think Steve is boring for wanting to have a meaningful conversation instead of suck their dicks right away. He gets grumpier about it the more he thinks, and he even has the thought that at least if he were straight he could find someone with feelings, a desire for genuine connection. “Gay guys suck,” he mutters to his poor, abused paint brushes.

Nevermind that Steve himself is incontrovertibly homosexual and has no choice in the matter of what his dating pool consists of. After all: ‘Haters gonna hate, players gonna play’. “Gaays gonna gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.” Steve sings the tune under his breath. He just hates it, hates it all. He’s sick and tired of playing the game.

He sends Natalie a nastily self-deprecating text:

Steve: Know any of your girlfriends who might want to date a faggot?

It’s not nice, and he knows she won’t like him using that word in that context.

Natalie Potential Rich!! Buyer: another douche huh?

He sighs and texts back an apology with a huggy emoji.

Steve: Sorry 🤗 Just frustrated. All the good ones are taken and I’m not interested in the skanks who’re left over.

Natalie responds with the “Give that man a Snickers” Diva-meme, which makes Steve realize that he is, in fact, hungry. He needs to get something to eat. He needs to focus on himself for a change. Maybe it’s finally time to stop looking for Mr. Right and just enjoy Steve Rogers. Maybe he should join a gym, start a new hobby, anything to fill up his time with himself rather than another person. 

He goes into the kitchen, thinking that he’ll make something yummy and binge watch a new series off his Netflix list, but scowls at the barren interior that greets him when he opens the fridge door. Nothing good to eat. “Fuck,” he mutters. He’s got to go to the grocery store now before he can sit down with a meal and relax.

And it’s raining outside, too. Just his fucking luck.

His phone ‘pings’ and he looks over at where he’d set it on the counter. The screen is lit up with a new notification from Grindr:

Henry super liked you!

He picks up the phone and opens the app. Henry’s profile pic is only from the neck down, showing off his abs. Steve rolls his eyes. The next picture is his lower half, a pair of tighty-whities stretched over his erection making it lewd, but still within the app’s no dick pic rules. The third pic is of his bare ass in a jockstrap.

Steve spends a second more than he intends appreciating the guy’s backside, but then he growls and jabs his finger at the screen to reject the guy. He’s fucking fed up with this entire thing! On a sudden, right-feeling whim, he exits the app and holds his finger down on the screen until all the icons start wiggling with their little x’s. He quickly proceeds to delete Grindr, Scruff, and Hornet from his phone.

He’s fucking done with dating. He’s giving up. Steve is just not meant to find Mr. Right. Not this year, anyway. He feels lighter after deleting the apps, and he slides his unburdened phone into his pocket with a sense of accomplishment and a shiny new idea: He’s not going to date for a whole year. He’s going to make this The Year of Steve.

Fuck yeah.

He goes to the hall closet to grab his umbrella and rain boots.

The walk to FreshMart is only four blocks from his apartment, but he still arrives at the grocery store a little damp from the gusting rain. He shakes off his umbrella by the door, grabs a basket, and directs himself towards the produce aisle. He’s added fingerling potatoes and some asparagus spears to his basket, and has just started perusing the meat section when he hears a man’s voice say, 

“Hey, have you ever had this?”

Steve looks over. The guy is holding up a package of bloody red … something. Steve blinks. “Um …”

The stranger twists his lips and shakes his head, looking at the meat. “It’s venison. I thought I’d freak my sister out with something a little different.”

“Your sister?” Steve asks, feeling very odd at being asked his opinion in the middle of the meat department. He looks between the package of raw meat and the stranger—He’s unusually handsome, tall and strong-jawed, brown hair styled in an effortlessly flattering cut. Steve licks his lips nervously. “Um, isn’t that like, deer meat?” He takes a step closer to peer down at the label. “Huh.” He didn’t know regular grocery stores sold that kind of thing. “That’s … exotic,” he says, for lack of a better word.

The stranger chuckles. “Yeah, well. I actually don’t eat animals, so …” he shrugs. “But her and her husband and kids are total carnivores. Thought I’d bring something other than my usual bottle of wine.”

“Oh.” Steve peers up at the man, trying to figure him out. The man smiles sheepishly and Steve winds up smiling, charmed, if somewhat baffled. He looks the man in the eyes and is taken by how pretty they are, how intense. Damn he’s good looking. “Well I, ah, couldn’t tell you what it tastes like. I’ve never had it.” He makes a face. “Like I said, it’s exotic.”

“Oh I love to cook with exotic ingredients. I’m kind of an amateur cuisinier. Or at least I try to be.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve gestures to the blood package. “But you ah … you don’t cook only vegetarian stuff?”

The man grins (and shoot, he’s got an unfairly attractive smile, too). “I guess I just like to satisfy other people’s appetites,” he says, lips parted enticingly. And then his tongue darts out in this totally casual, should-be-illegal sort of way. “I take it you’re a meat eater,” he says knowingly.

Is that a double entendre? Steve thinks it might be a double entendre. Yes! he wants to scream. Yes! He is 1000% a meat eater. He gulps as the guy’s eyes flick down and back up his body in a heated onceover, and Steve may not always be the brightest bulb in the box, but he can tell when he’s being considered. Is this guy really flirting with him? Here? In the freaking grocery store? Is that even a real thing that happens, anymore? Steve flushes and pulls his shopping basket up higher in front of himself, like a shield. “I–I see,” he stammers. “Well … um … yeah.” God, he’s hopeless.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Venison’ll probably be … different.” He nods at the stranger, awkward and aware that the other man isn’t moving away. “Well. Good luck.” He turns and vacantly peruses the meats, pretending that he’s more invested in searching out the perfect porkchop than he really is. He hears the guy’s footsteps moving away.

“Fuck it,” the man says, and turns right back around. He takes a deep breath. “I like your boots.”

“What?”

The guy nods downwards. “Your rain boots. They’re really cute.”

Steve looks down at his feet. His rubber boots are pink and printed with the golden girls’ faces. He looks back up at the stranger, stunned. No straight guy on planet Earth would ever say such a thing. “Um. Thanks.”

The guy holds out his hand, friendly, like he’s not aware he’s acting weird as shit. “I’m James.”

Steve probably stares too long at the offered hand, before he hurries to shove the handles of his shopping basket up onto his one arm so that he can take the guy’s—James’—hand and shake it. It’s pleasantly large over his own hand. “Steve.”

James smiles. He’s arrestingly handsome when he doesn’t smile and Steve feels like an even weaker creature when he does. “Sorry,” James says, looking down shyly. “I uh, I don’t usually do this.”

“Do what?” Steve asks, keenly aware that he may just be about to be propositioned. He winces at the idea of having to turn down another good-looking jerk.

James tilts his head. “Would you …” He hesitates, eyes flicking up and over as a woman passes them. She turns and goes down the soda aisle. He looks back to Steve, distracted. “I was gonna be crazy and ask for your number,” he says, flushing. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to say anything before James is scrubbing his hand over his embarrassed face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You’re probably not even—” He looks back to the soda aisle where the woman had gone. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, and starts to walk away. “Human disaster in the meat aisle. Just ignore me, please.”

“Wait!” Steve blurts. James turns back around. “Why do you want my number? Were you gonna ask me out? Like on a date?” He uses the word purposefully.

“Well, yeah.” James looks apologetic. “Sorry. I know it’s weird.”

It is weird. But Steve is kind of charmed by the guy’s odd methods. He promptly pushes away his resolution of The Year of Steve. “James,” he says, taking a step closer. “Um, you can. Have my number.” He peeks up at him shyly. “If you want.”

James' happy-surprised-enthused smile is the best one yet. They exchange numbers.

Clint: Wait, wat do you mean, the grocery store??

Steve: he came over and just started talking to me.

Clint: … that’s weird, man. That’s shady.

Steve: actually it was kind of cute. Kind of idk old fashioned.

Clint: Kind of weird. Whats his Insta?

Steve doesn’t hear from James for almost three days. He alternates between finding it refreshing, and being disappointed. Maybe Clint’s right. Maybe the guy was just a weirdo.

Then, on the third day, Steve is leaving from his morning shift at Michaels when he hears his phone ‘ping’ with a notification. When he sees the name “Weird Meat Guy” on the screen, his face splits in a grin.

Weird Meat Guy: Been thinking about you since the other day.

Happy butterflies come to life in Steve’s stomach at the flirtatious tone of the text. His first instinct is to force himself to ignore it for at least thirty minutes, so that he doesn’t seem overeager. But then he thinks, fuck it, just like James had said in the grocery store before turning right back around to ask him out.

Steve types a reply.

Steve: hey stranger. Yeah I was wondering how that venison worked out for you. 😂What’s it taste like?

Weird Meat Guy: I don’t eat animals, not even for my sister’s Sunday dinners. But she said it was fine. Not as good as regular old cow, though🐄🥩

Steve: not surprising.

There’s a bit of a pause where he can see James is typing and deleting and typing again. Then,

Weird Meat Guy: Do you want to go out tonight? We could grab drinks or something?

Steve bites his lip, bad memories of “casual” meetups and “just grabbing drinks” dates and what they’ve always led to, in the past.

Steve: let’s go out to eat. At a restaurant or something. A real date.

James texts back almost immediately, and his answer makes Steve beam like a fool.

Weird Meat Guy: Hell yeah. What’s your favorite kind of food?

Steve can’t help it; he has a good-verging-on-great feeling about this guy. He tries to tuck away his expectations that this time it’ll be different. He can still do The Year of Steve if or when this goes wrong. He’ll just try this one last time though. Just once more before he swears off being a “meat eater” for the year.

He tells James that he really likes Italian food, and the next thing he knows, James is sending him the link to a really nice and expensive Italian place in Brooklyn. Steve thrills at James' enthusiasm, and grimaces at the three dollar signs that Google has lined up beside the restaurant’s name.

He tells James okay, figures he’ll just tighten up his budget a bit for a few weeks after.

James meets him inside the restaurant, at the bar. He’s already got a drink in his hand. “It’s an old fashioned,” he tells him sheepishly. “Sorry to start without you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I just get a little nervous when I ask a cute guy out to dinner.”

Steve freezes, but then his mouth twitches. “Oh,” he says. “You, ah … you think I’m cute, huh?”

James grins and winks at him in a way that is devastating and should-not-be-allowed. “Yeah. I sure do.”

Steve is charmed.

The hostess seats them in a dark and cozy booth in the back of the restaurant. Steve settles in and looks around, impressed. “This is a really nice place,” he says, genuinely meaning it but also kind of anxious to open his menu and get a look at whatever prices garnered a $$$ on Google.

“Yeah it’s one of my favorites.” James is grinning at him from across the table. “I was so glad you picked Italian, cause then I knew I had the perfect place to bring you.”

Bring you. Steve looks down and tries not to smile too obviously at the words. “I like it so far,” he says, peeking up coyly at James so that he knows Steve doesn’t just mean the restaurant.

James seems to get it, if his expression is anything to go by.

They open their menus and Steve’s stomach drops at the forty dollar appetizers. Shit. He wishes he’d found a way to mention to James that he’s kind of a starving artist.

“Do you like mushrooms?” James asks, oblivious to Steve’s internal panic. He’s looking across the table at him with eager eyes. “They’ve got the best stuffed mushrooms I’ve ever had. I think they put crack in ‘em.”

Steve laughs despite himself, then decides ‘fuck it’ once again, and closes his menu with a nod. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s do it.” He’ll live frugally for a month if he has to.

James orders them the appetizer and an entire bottle of wine that he knows by its specific name and year. All Steve makes out is the “‘94 ” part of it, and his heart rate picks up. He’s about to really worry about how the hell much a place like this is going to charge for an entire bottle of wine that’s older than he is, but then when the server delivers it and pours for them, James shoots him a wink and tells him, “S’my treat.”

Oh. Steve’s heart flutters as much at the gentlemanly gesture as it does at the possibility that maybe James will pay for the whole meal. A guy can dream.

The mushrooms arrive and Steve gushes to James about how he was right: they are amazing. They get to talking, covering the standard ‘first date’ questions, and it’s stupid and awkward like it always is; but also it isn’t, because James seems to laugh about the awkwardness of it, too. And that makes it kind of fun.

James is thirty-seven to Steve’s twenty-seven (Daddy kink: activated). He has a place in Manhattan but his sister lives in Brooklyn, which is why he was shopping at the FreshMart in Steve’s neck of the woods the other day. He’s got one parent still living, grew up with a loving family but “pretty poor” in Jersey. He hasn’t been in a relationship or even been on a date in “a really long time.” He wants to travel more but he lets his work consume him too much. He doesn’t eat animals.

He’s also really good at making the whole first-date interrogation-phase go smoothly. It’s fun with him, Steve realizes, not awful and strained like it usually would be. Their conversation just seems to flow naturally and easily, both of them smiling almost continually as they chat and joke.

Steve is utterly charmed.

“Okay,” James says, as he pops another mushroom into his mouth and then talks around it. “I’ll do another boring one: what do you do for work?”

Steve gulps and delays answering by taking a sip of the wine—a red that downright tastes expensive. “Um, well my passion is my art. It’s what I went to school for.” He tucks his lips in and shrugs. “But, ya know, ‘starving artists,’ and all that. So I work part time at Michaels, too.”

James doesn’t look like he’s thinking that Steve’s a stereotype or a loser or anything like that. “That’s awesome!” he says, sounding like he genuinely means it. “What kind of art? Or like, what medium do you work with?”

Steve blinks. Nobody ever asks him good questions like this, like they actually care and want to dig deeper into who he really is. “Um, mostly acrylics. Some watercolors and pencil-charcoal sketching,” he says, flustering at the way that James pays such close attention to his answers. “I like to mix it up sometimes, but mostly it’s those three.” He shrugs. “I sell online. I have one really loyal patron—she keeps me afloat. S’nothing that special.”

“Sounds like you know your stuff,” James counters, not letting him insist on his own mediocrity. “If you went to school for it and all, then you must be pretty good. Don’t you have to, like, audition for art school?”

Steve blushes and looks away. “Well. Yeah.”

“And I bet you get all your supplies cheap with the side gig, huh?”

Steve stares at him. “Yeah,” he says, impressed. “Employee discount.”

James nods sagely, as if he’s ever had to worry in his life about the utility of an employee discount. He might’ve grown up poor, but he’s clearly well-off now. Steve can tell that the suit he’s wearing is a custom tailored deal, and the wine he’s ordered for the table has a bouquet of oak and dollar bills. “I think it’s really brave of you,” he’s telling Steve, looking like he admires him or something ridiculous like that. “That you’re following a passion like that? That you can just …” he makes a shaping gesture over the table with his hands, “make something with your own two hands and then sell it? That’s incredible.”

The more James talks, the more Steve gets his hopes up that he might actually be A Really Great Guy™️. Steve can hardly stand to take all the compliments, so he turns the question back around on James: “What about you? What do you do for work?”

James hesitates. “... I’m a surgeon.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, making him look like A Gold Digger™️, probably. He closes his mouth. “Oh. Wow, that’s … that’s neat. Medical school, then, huh?”

James smiles through a wince, as if being a freaking doctor is no big deal. “Yeah. It was rough for a few years, but I got through it. I’m in a good place now. It’s pretty smooth sailing.”

“So do you work at like a hospital or something?”

“Not exactly.” He stares at him for a long moment, then suddenly says, “Gosh, I’m just really attracted to you, Steve.” Steve blinks, taken-aback. He reaches for a hurried sip of his wine and tries to think of a response to the weird shift in conversation. “Sorry,” James hurries. “I just felt like I had to say it.” He gives Steve a tender look rather than a lecherous one, which is a welcome change from the usual script. “I think I might really like you.”

Steve flusters and averts his eyes to the tabletop, peeking back up at James a few times. The guy is totally focused on him. It’s intimidating, but not in a bad way. “Yeah,” Steve eventually manages to murmur. “Yeah I think you might be nice.”

James teases him about the ‘nice’, and they fall into easy banter again as they finish the mushrooms and open up their menus to choose their entrees. Steve’s once again fixated on the prices, and he immediately starts trying to see if there’s anything under sixty dollars …

“By the way,” James says casually, not looking up from where he’s reading his menu. “I know this place is fucking ridiculous: I got it covered.”

He says it all easy and nonchalant, like it’s no big deal that he’s treating Steve to what’s probably a three hundred dollar dinner, and Steve once again feels like he’s on a date with a hero, a real gentleman. “Kay,” he says smally, feeling delighted and hopeful as heck on the inside. 

He orders a seafood linguini, and James gets a spinach and cheese tortellini dish. “This is so good,” Steve practically moans around a mouthful of his food. 

James makes a noise of agreement, stuffing another tortellini shell in his mouth. “Mmph.”

“So you really don’t eat any meat?” Steve winds up asking. “Like, not even fish or chicken or anything?” Where does he get his protein? James looks like he keeps in good shape …

James chuckles. “Nope. Haven’t touched the stuff for … gosh, almost fifteen years.”

“Wow.” Steve spears up another shrimp from his pasta and wonders if it offends James. “So like, is it an ethical thing or just …”

“No, no. I just kind of had this epiphany one day—while I was tenderizing a thigh, mind you—that all the things I was eating were living creatures, that we’re animals just like they are.” He makes a thoughtful face as he considers it. “It’s not a moral viewpoint so much as it is a …” he trails off and his eyes return to Steve with an apologetic shrug. “I dunno. My viewpoint shifted that day. Couldn’t shift it back. I’ve tried so many other things now, animal meat just doesn’t taste the same anymore.”

“I can respect that.” Steve wiggles his fork that’s speared with a juicy scallop. “As long as you don’t mind this.” 

“No, no way. Don’t you remember where we met?”

Steve snickers. “Oh yeah, how could I forget. What was it you said? You like to ‘satisfy other people’s appetites’?” He chances a flirty look across the table. “Wasn’t that how you put it?”

James chews, smirking, and he winks at Steve again. Goddamn. “Yeah,” he says lowly. “Yeah. I sure do.”

On the sidewalk outside the restaurant they stand close together, bundled in their jackets. Neither one of them seems to want to leave. “Thanks again,” Steve says. “For dinner. It was really nice.”

“My pleasure.” James takes a step closer, so that they’re almost toe to toe. “I was so excited to go out with you,” he says. He brings a hand up and traces the side of Steve’s face with the backs of his fingers, not looking at Steve’s eyes but rather where he’s touching his cheek. “You’re different,” he murmurs. "And I knew it the moment I met you."

Wow, what a fucking intense thing to say. Steve … doesn’t hate it. “I am?” he whispers, watching his breath swirl on the air between their faces.

“Mmhm. I can tell.” 

Steve shivers and fights the urge to press into James’ touch on his cheek. It feels unduly intimate, and they’re already so close. “I was excited for tonight, too,” he confides. “I’ve had a lot of bad luck with dating. Was getting sick of trying, to be honest.”

“But?” James asks softly, and Steve looks up at him, for once feeling open and honest enough to just admit,

“But I didn’t meet you on some app. And you liked my stupid Golden Girls boots.” James chuckles and Steve looks up, taking in his face up close: the dimple in his chin, the creases of age that’ve barely begun to collect at the corners of his eyes, that one tiny patch of grey in his beard. It makes him all the more insufferably handsome. “And you’re charming,” he whispers. “So there’s that.”

James smiles softly. “Aw, shucks.”

“I think you’re a really nice guy, James. I’d like to see you again.”

James' smile widens hopefully. “Yeah?” he says, leaning even closer.

“Yeah. I think, well … I just think …”

“What?” James touches his face again, this time palming his cheek. “Tell me.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’.” Steve finally lets his eyes slip closed, enjoying the feeling of James’ hand on his skin, the cologne he gets a whiff of when they’re standing this close. “You smell nice.”

“Thank you. Still haven’t told me what you were gonna say.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Oh, I’m just getting my hopes up about you, is all.” He’s still got his eyes closed when James kisses him. He inhales sharply through his nose, surprised. But he doesn’t pull away, and they just … keep kissing.

Eventually James cups his face with both hands and Steve moans, because the way James is kissing him feels so natural and good. He feels like he can taste James' good intentions as they make out softly, right there on the sidewalk.

When they part they’re both panting a little, heavy-lidded eyes flicking over one another, gauging, desire tinged with uncertainty. “That was …” James breathes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and they both stare at each other for another long moment, before Steve says, “Fuck it,” and surges in to grab James by his jacket and kiss him again, this time harder. James whimpers needily into his mouth, and heat shoots through Steve’s belly at hearing it, arousal flaring to life faster than he can handle. Suddenly his pants feel a little tight, and he wants James so badly he can hardly stand it. “Oh man,” he groans, pulling away from the kiss, grimacing at himself for what he’s about to say. “I really, really never do this,” he promises against James' lips. “But … Do you want to go back to my place?”

James' eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

They kiss eagerly one more time and then hurry off, giddy, hands clasped, and headed in the direction where James says he’s parked his car.

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