#and then i can work on the serpentine -u-

[ninjagocrohw]

hm.

#ninjago #i guess im working on this again oops #skulkin #its ridiculous at this point ot NOT finish this considering all their rough sketches-AND EVEN THE SECOND ROUGHS THAT OUTLINE OUTFITS #is done #so like #screw it #im finishing this. #and then i can work on the serpentine -u- #and maybe actually be one of those cool people who starts a lineup and finished it #thatd be nice #at least up to nadakhan

[nyaskitten]

So considering what we know about Chima and the Wyldness and all that blah blah blah, I wonder if after the Merge, a group of Serpentine, maybe a few hundred, would've ventured to the Wyldness to try reconnect with their ancient roots (given the hypothesized idea of the FSM bringing the Serpentine from Chima/the Wyldness.)

I can imagine maybe they find the ancient remains of Serpentine lands, maybe there exists modern day Serpentine in the Wyldness who evolved differently from the ones we know due to conditions, and thus work in different ways from OUR Serpentine.

Maybe the reason Ninjago Serpentine are divided as Tribes has something to do with the Ancient Ways once spoken of centuries ago by their ancient ancestors, back when the Tribes were different animal species, not Serpentine species.

#I have many ideas on this idea now #which can lead to a TON of new Serpent guys #i also think u could do a rlly neat allegory #smth smth being taken from your land centuries ago and getting to reunite with it and live a life your ancient ancestors once did. #idkkkk i think theres some meaningful stories to be told here #maybe modern ninjago serpentine have a hard time with chi because they developed their own powers based on the magic essence of ninjago #and thus chi which is moreso the accidental essence of the wyldness #works weirdly for them #whether its weaker #or just doesnt work #idk #i feel like chi would likely only work on those exposed to its essence for a long enough time #like a species evolved to withstand it #so like the ninja? they cant use chi bc ninjago doesnt carry the essence of chi #i have great ideas btw #ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #raine's rambles #legends of chima #lego legends of chima

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain. 

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside. 

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him. 

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already. 

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to. 

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you. 

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness. 

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

[zeltqz]

HEY JUST CASUALLY JUMPING INTO YOUR ASK BOX.

I'm just girlie who's looking something new and i was wondering if you have some recommendations for a few sanzu and haitani brothers fan fics, been trying to find interesting one but the recent ones that came out aren't fun since their one shots only or completely don't make sense or match their personalities, hope you could help me out. :"D

i am THE best person to ask this to holdon (if u couldnt tell already how obsessed i am with ran, now u can)

ran x reader

quid quo pro https://archiveofourown.org/works/52975282

pretenses https://archiveofourown.org/works/39131496

conflict of interest https://archiveofourown.org/works/43369254

gg! https://archiveofourown.org/works/39483783

night nurse https://archiveofourown.org/works/47114623

the hills https://archiveofourown.org/works/38736561

passenger https://archiveofourown.org/works/35891941

fracture https://archiveofourown.org/works/38833755

the king is mine https://archiveofourown.org/works/34617061

catching up (ft sanzu) https://archiveofourown.org/works/37043218

eye candy https://archiveofourown.org/works/37780513

heaven (ft rindou) https://archiveofourown.org/works/32930635

piece of work https://archiveofourown.org/works/36329455

out of spite https://archiveofourown.org/works/35575168

proving perfection (ft rindou) https://archiveofourown.org/works/35016796

house of memories https://archiveofourown.org/works/34090777

teach me https://archiveofourown.org/works/33737239

the cipher (ft mikey) https://archiveofourown.org/works/35896948/chapters/89506027

rindou x reader

and then there was you https://archiveofourown.org/works/32531839

identity crisis https://archiveofourown.org/works/34640479

sanzu x reader

silver spoon love https://archiveofourown.org/works/33778747

handcuffs https://archiveofourown.org/works/33329908

bonten x reader

serpentine https://archiveofourown.org/works/44668420

queen of the night https://archiveofourown.org/works/43930219

all mine https://archiveofourown.org/works/35092870

[lesbianwriter]

May i request for a very lonely lamia (snake girl) who doesn't wanna eat her prey (it could be a hero or regular human who stumbled on her lair). just fluff and a little bit of smut. Thank u.

i love your works btw good thing your writers block is starting to go away.

I am desperately clawing for my life to get out of the slump I’ve been in. Just imagine somebody flailing their arms above quicksand…yeah that’s me these days.

It had been a long time since Villain had seen any human in her lair.

Ages had passed in complete solitude, and though she had never once minded being alone before, the strain of her loneliness was beginning to weigh down her bones. It was hard to move around in the mornings, when the sun filtered down through the hole atop her cave. And even late into the night, Villain couldn’t bring herself to unfurl herself from her bed, so instead she would look up at her only opening to the sky and wish that someone would fall in.

Finally—finally, after so long of being without any prey or anything to play with—a human woman fell in.

Villain slithered forward, eager to wrap her tail around the human “I haven’t seen a human here in so long. What’s your name?” The human trembled, whimpering as she felt scales curl around her waist, winding around her until she was wrapped firmly in the lamia’s tail.

Oddly enough, Villain didn’t want to kill the mortal.

Not yet.

Not when she had been alone for so, so long.

She didn’t know anything about what was happening in the outside world, and the human must know something that she could tell—she had to have a story to share, and gossip would be especially entertaining.

“What’s your name?” Villain repeated.

“…Civilian.” The human gasped as the tail around her squeezed, smiling warily. “Look, I’m so sorry about intruding on your…home…” Nervously, her eyes fluttered around the cave, most likely looking for an escape. “I didn’t mean to fall in here, I swear! So if you could just let me go then I’ll be on my way and won’t tell anybody about—“

“Tell me about yourself.” Villain interrupted.

She figured that was the easiest place to start.

Their eyes met, and hesitation stirred like storm clouds in the other’s eyes, but Civilian offered a weary smile, a thin beam of sunshine in the dark cave.

“O-oh. Well…I was collecting flowers when I tripped down here. I—I own a small shop where I sell flowers, and I have to replenish my stock somehow.”

Harmless.

Villain could���ve killed her and been halfway done with eating her by now, but as she contemplated the idea, she found that she didn’t want to eat her prey…it was odd, and certainly out of the ordinary, but the human was refreshing.

Her smile was like the rays of sunlight that lit up the cave, and her eyes were like the dark and shining as the starry night sky.

Civilian’s skin was warm…and oh how long it’d been since Villain touched something warm, her own blood cold and serpentine. As Villain wrapped her tail around the mortal more, it only got warmer, Civilian’s pretty face becoming flusher.

“Are you afraid of me?” Villain slithered even closer. “All the other humans I killed would be screaming and begging for mercy right now.”

Perhaps humans had become braver while she had been rotting in her cave.

They didn’t know what there was to fear when all the monsters were hidden away.

“I’m terrified.” Civilian admitted shakily. “But it’s rare that anybody’s wants to hear me talk.” The smile she’d put on for Villain twitched into a frown for a moment. “Can we talk more, if you can hold off dinner for a little while?”

“I’d love to!” Villain replied honestly, and a little too eagerly for what would be befitting of a human devouring monster like herself.

—

—

A great deal of time later, Villain was stroking Civilian’s hair as the human lay asleep on the bed. Her tail curled around the human’s ankle while she stared off at the stars.

The human had told stories; she had crafted images with her words, looming the treads together like a tapestry that only she could make, and Villain was captivated by every sound that left her lips. Civilian talked about her life, and what was happening in her village.

Then she did scream…

“I enjoyed this.” Civilian held onto Villain’s hand, her fingers curling into Villain’s. “Are you going to eat me now?”

“No.” Villain whispered.

“Then can I leave in the morning?” Civilian asked. “I liked this—I really did—but I have things to take care of outside of this cave.”

“What if I wanna keep you?” Villain pouted.

—

—

In the morning, Villain did relent to letting Civilian leave. It was unnatural for a monster like her to do so. Letting humans leave wasn’t a thing they did—Villain would’ve never done that before, but loneliness had done something to her.

The threat of returning back to that overwhelming, never ending loneliness suffocated Villain, a rope squeezing her throat tighter and tighter.

How many more hundred of years would she slowly waste away in solitariness until another human came along that she’d spare because of how pathetic she’d become?

Sighing, Villain began to curl back into her usual huddle on her bed, but then an echo ran through the stone walls.

“Can I come back later?” Civilian questioned. “I’ll bring gifts, too! You’re the only person that likes hearing me talk, so I figure we can help each other out…if you want.”

“Promise?” Villain called back.

“Pinky promise!” Civilian affirmed before she rushed off.

#villain x civilian #civilian x villain #monster x human #monster girlfriend #fluff #no misery yet #at least for now… #thank you anon <3

[lec743]

Rockstar AU (FNAF Fanfic)

You know. As a normie, I bet Reader would be questioning their relationship with the two amazing rockstars. Also Reader isn’t one to back down from a bet, no matter how stupid it is. Also, also, @kaleidoscopek9, I’m deciding to make it cannon that my Y/N has a minor criminal record, like for trespassing and loitering and jaywalking. All the stupid stuff a person can get into trouble for that’s arrest-able for. They’ve got it on their records

*******************************************************************************************

           Alright. It’s go time. You are in clothes that are as close to what the stagehands wear. You’re wearing a face mask to hide your face. You’re wearing a non-descript hat to hide your hair. You are stand outside the back area of the stadium, and waiting for an opening to casually saunter in.

          Blending in with your clothes wasn’t the only thing you prepped for either. Two weeks before you decided to sneak into the show, you took the time to do some research to know the lingo for what stagehands say and what equipment they normally use. You even found a floor plan of the stadium so that you could mark and memorize all the different escape routes you can get out from if you get caught.

           Is this a lot of work just to see two rockstars you’re not completely sure are your friends? Yah. Is it worth it? You think so. You rationalize that the smiles they give you isn’t just their personas that they use for a strange fan. Moon also visits you at your workplace at Grandma’s Bodega every other month, so that has to mean something.

           The back of the stadium is busy as people are rushing to get last minute jobs done. You see someone struggling to lift some cables and you walk in and help them out.

           “Ah, thanks man,” the stranger said.

           “Of course,” you said.

           Then you and the woman walked up a ramp, past security and into the backstage area. As soon as she was setting the cables down, you were already moving on to see if Moon and Sun were in their dressing room. They weren’t. So, you move on to the look around the backstage area, wondering if you could find them before they had to go on stage. As you squinted through the simi-darkness, you heard someone yell at you.

           “Hey! You!”

           You froze and turned to the voice.

           It was a big burly security guard that was walking up to you. You actually recognized him as the man who initially chased you around the stadium all those months ago. You hoped you weren’t as recognizable to him.

           “Where’s your I.D. badge?” he asked as he stood over you.

           You pat yourself down as you go, “It’s right… Wait. It’s—I know I had it on me,” then you snap your fingers and go, “Oh wait! I probably left it in the bathroom by accident. I’ll go get it.”

           You move to go pretend to get the said I.D. but then the guard grabbed you by the forearm. Then he pulled you closer to him and pulled your mask down. The scowl on his face deepened as recognition shined behind his eyes.

           “You’re coming with me,” he said as he tightened his grip on your forearm.

           “Nah. I’m good.”

          You swung your arm down, breaking his grip on you by the fingers, and you ran. As you ran you heard him chasing after you and using his walkie-talkie to tell his security team that there was a breach on the premises. You did your best to make it hard on him to follow you; serpentining through people’s work, equipment, and people in general. You weren’t wanting to mess anything up too badly, but you also didn’t want to get caught.

          A couple of security guards blocked your first choice of an exit, and you make a wide U-turn as you go around the back of the stage. You hid in the shadows of a curtained area and once you heard them run past you, you frantically looked around for that small door you remember seeing on your map. The small door is supposed to be a side door that leads out to a private parking lot.

          You find it in the simi-darkness just as you hear the security team charging back towards you. You bust through the door and hide among the vehicles. There were a few buses, trucks, and normal looking cars. As you crouched among the vehicles the security team ran out through the door. You heard them yelling about spreading out to find you.

          You were slowly inching your way towards the gate that leads out of the isolated parking lot, and as you were hiding behind the front of a bus, you heard someone whisper at you.

          “Hey, Kid, what do yah think yah’re doin’?”

          You look up to see a gentleman in maybe his fifties. He looked like your stereotypical trucker, with a mesh baseball cap with a fish on the front, a salt and pepper ginger handle mustache, and he was super tan.

          When you looked up at him in surprise, his eyes widened at you like he recognized you.

          “Hidin’ from security?”

          You nod.

          The trucker man looked around then he said, “Come on. I’ll let yah hide on the bus.”

          You scramble to the other side of the bus and the door was open like he said. You climbed up the little stairs as it closed behind you and scrambled past the man to the back of the bus. It was a fancy bus, with little succulents setting on the windowsills, and a lot of blue and yellow plush pillows, and there were small portable instruments like a small keyboard and acoustic guitar. You made it to the back of the bus and hid in the bathroom. You sat in there for a bit, contemplating the wisdom of trusting a stranger like this when you heard the door to the bus get knocked on.

          From the bathroom you heard, “Hey, Mark. Have you seen a trespasser hiding out here?”

          “Nope. Don’t believe I have.”

          “Well, be careful. Who knows what they want with Faz-co’s property.”

          You made a face at that. Sure, Fazbear Entertainment created Sun and Moon and all the other fun themed animatronics, and by technicality they own them because of that, but they don’t own them spiritually…

          “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.” You heard the trucker man say.

          There was a long pause, and you took the time to think about the ethics of how a company literally makes sentient robots and how they trap them into things they may or may not like or want to do, when there was a knock on the bathroom stall.

          “Ah!”

          “Yah better not be takin’ a shit in there. The bus isn’t designed for solid waste like that.”

          You open the door just a crack and look up at the man. “Do you know me?”

          “Yah’re quite famous around this entertainment establishment, or well… The boys haven’t stopped talkin’ about you since that little marriage license prank you pulled.”

          You opened the door all the way with a groan. You really were never going to live that down. You should have just done a funny picture signing or something instead. Ah, well… You still wouldn’t trade those signed fake marriage licenses for anything anyways.

          “So… Mark, right?” The trucker man nods. “Thanks for hiding me. I’ll get out of your hair.”

          Mark steps back as you get out of the bathroom and he says, “Yah don’t have to go. Yah can stay in here until Sun and Moon get done with their show and I have to drive them back to HQ. They’d love to see yah.”

          You keep your back to him as you fiddle with your fingers. “And you’re okay with that? With some weirdo fan hanging out with them?” You turn around to face him.

          Mark takes his hat off to smooth back his graying ginger hair as he said, “Look. I’m their driver. Not their babysitter. If they want to spend time with a fan, then that’s their business. And like I said, they would love to see yah again.”

          You sway back and forth on your feet and say, “Sooooo… What should we do as we wait?”

          “Want to watch the live stream feed of Moon and Sun’s show?”

          You brightened at the offer. “I would love that!”

          You gather up the pillows and Mark gets out his phone and the two of you sit on the couch as you watch Sun and Moon play live at the concert as you hide in their bus. When the show was over, it was still going to be a while, so you learned about Mark.

          You learned that Mark has been Moon and Sun’s driver for a decade now. You’ve learned that’s he’s more than a fan of the robotic rockstars, and he treats them more like his sons. He get’s the bots things that Faz-Co would deem not needed for them, when it absolutely was needed for their emotional wellbeing and he would sometimes drive them around longer routes for them to have the chance to look around more. It’s gotten the man in trouble more times than he can count, but he doesn’t mind getting into trouble for them.

          You chuckle at the notion and say, “Yah... I don’t mind getting into trouble for them either.”

          Mark gives you a soft smile and ruffled the hair on your head. “Yah know what. I don’t think yah’re just a weirdo fan. Yah’re alright, Kid.”

          “Wanna trade phone numbers?”

          “Sure.”

          As the two of you were swapping phone numbers, there was a knock on the bus door.

          Mark stood up and readjusted his pants as he walked. “That’s my cue.”

          You stayed seated in the bus, confident that the bus windows were thickly tinted enough to hide your form. You heard Mark speak with the security team that was escorting Sun and Moon and then Sun walked into the bus. He looked tired and sad and happy all at the same time. It made you want to give him a hug. When you locked eyes with him, he froze.

          You brought a finger to your lips in a sush-ing motion as you gave him a small smile. Moon walked in and was frozen at the sight of you too. You waved at him.

          When Mark closed the door, he pushed aside the two bots and said, “Come on boys. Did you freeze on us? They got chased by security just to see you two.”

          Moon wheezed and said, “No! You didn’t!”

          “Yep. I tried sneaking into your show.”

          Sun leaped for you. Static-ly, squealing happily as he embraced you into a firm hug, “How’s our favorite little Star!”

          You laugh at the affection, hugging him back. Moon moves around the two of you and sit on the couch with you, his arm resting comfortably over your shoulders as you and Sun talked. Mark watched the seen a bit with a small smile on his face, then he moved to his seat and started up the bus.

          “You guys were amazing as always with your performance.”

          “Thanks Angel,” Moon rasped as he leaned against you more.

          Sun rested his head more comfortably in your lap as the bus started to drive out of the private parking lot, with Sun’s arms wrapped lightly around your midsection. You mindlessly ran your fingers lightly over Sun’s rays. They felt like soft plastic.

          “I thought it was really funny how you kept losing and then making more drumsticks appear on your person as the songs went, Sun.”

          “Thank you. I thought it was funny too.”

          “How many are you able to keep on your person at a time, anyways?”

          The bus bounces a bit as Mark drives over a speedbump.

          Sun sits up more and makes a show of how he doesn’t have anything in his hands. Then he acts surprised, like there’s something behind your ear. Then the pulls out four drumsticks from behind your ear. You cackle at the sight.

          “That’s amazing!”

          “Thank you. A bit of old coding and practice,” Sun said, preening from the praise.

          You turn your attention to Moon and said, “I also like that thing you do with your voice when you sing Golden Horizon. You sound so ethereal. It gives me the best shivers.”

          “You mean, like this?” Moon’s voice was low and soft, with a bit of a rasp that had so many feelings in it. You felt your skin prickle in goosebumps.

          “Yah! Amazing.”

          Moon chuckled lowly. “Thank you.”

          The three of you talked a bit more about different things, but you didn’t know how much longer this drive will last, so you pushed through your nervousness and decided to just blurt it out.

          “Are we friends!?”

          “Huh?” They both asked.

          “I mean,” you side eye Moon, “I’ve only ever seen you guys at the concerts, so we don’t see each other often. So, I don’t want to get presumptuous on what we are to each other and whatnot.” You said tapering off at the end as you lost more confidence the more you spoke to Sun and Moon’s staring.

          You especially avoided eye contact with Moon. You don’t know who knows about his late-night wanderings from the company, but you certainly weren’t about to out him now. If he’s going to tell someone, you’ll give him the chance to let him tell them by his own admission.

          You felt a metal hand on your shoulder, and you were turned to face Moon. “We’re friends, Angel.”

          “Really,” you said, unable to help the surprised sound in your voice.

          “Well, only if you want to.” Sun spoke up quickly as you turned to look at him. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

          “That’s what I was worried about too! I don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable either.”

          “Oh, come now. We’re married,” Sun teased.

          “You’d never make us uncomfortable,” Moon added jokingly.

          You pouted as Moon and Sun chuckled over your reaction.

          “Alright.” Mark said from the driver seat. “We’re at a stop light. I’m goin’ to have to kick yah off, Kid.”

          You sigh sadly. Moon leans a little heavier into you and Sun’s rays shrink into his head.

          “Okay. Okay,” you say as you get up, “I’m going. Bye guys.”

          “Bye Star.”

          “Bye Angel.”

          Both animatronics gave you sad little waves as you walked off the bus.

          “Give me a text when yah get home okay. I don’t want to be worried to death that I left yah in a death trap of a neighborhood or somethin’.”

          “I will Mark,” you said before the bus door closed behind you and you quickly ran off the road for the sidewalk.

          You stand on the sidewalk and watch the bus drive off. The glass was tinted so darkly, even if the animatronics were waving goodbye to you through the window, you wouldn’t be able to see it. It didn’t stop you from waving goodbye to the bus. Once the bus was out of sight, you walked to the nearest bus stop to take you home.

#fnaf #fanfiction #punk! sun & moon #rockstar au #kaleidoscopek9

[jean-dieu]

I know you like tieflings but whats your fave kind of tiefling? Either like the pathfinder heritages, or just specific aesthetic qualities you like in them

I'm VERY into angels and demons, especially in their cliché catholic aesthetic, so I'm always up for the very classic horns+tail design and red skin... Hence Raphaël.

Hellspawn are my fave heritage as they embody this aesthetic quite well. The whole Lawful aspect of Hells and Devils is also something I'm quite into. HOWEVER. I'm really into (almost) all tieflings lol.

Regarding pathfinder heritages, they all have something interesting, and while I didn't do a tiefling OC for each of them, I'm currently working on a demodand-spawn tiefling to try something new. While I'm very into horns+tail, I always try to put something a little more different on my characters, something that separate them a little more from humans. Raphaël has hooves and fur. Lazare has a lot of ornamental (or not) scars. Ziel has ever growing scales, serpentine eyes, mouth and tongue, and sharp, uneven crooked teeth. Valéry's traits are very discreet, and he could almost pass for a half orc if not for a tail and very small horns that looks like bones. Zarathustra emits a constant odorless black smoke, and everyone feel slightly uneasy around him.

More eyes, tentacles, claws, animal's traits, more mouths, uneven anatomy, more arms, more fingers, more whatever, I'm into it. Tieflings can be so versatile and that's clearly something I love about them. From the almost-human-yet-a-little-eerie tiefling to the wtf-is-that-thing tiefling, you can do so much with them. But Hellspawn still have a special place in my heart ;u;

#ask #certified tiefling lover #tysm for the ask!!!! #tiefling #pathfinder #oc: raphael #oc: valery #oc: ziel #oc: zarathustra #oc: lazare

[skyliv]

you can disagree with Every single one of my other hcs on Liv, but i neeeed to go crazy abt the kinda music i think she'd like

so first off it'd obviously be slightly older music, duhh, but she definitely doesn't/hasn't had much time to listen to music anyways

but BAM

𖦹 Cool female vocals

𖦹 Slower/calmer rhythms (could be smthn she had on while working)

𖦹 STRANGE MACHINE NOISES A LOT OF THE TIME

she's so ugghhh and she sorta just gives off the vibes of this sorta alternative music... pleas if u consider urself a fan of her check out Doll's Eyes (rhe music video esp,) the Pawnbroker, the Maida Vale sessions and sooo so much more

#pram #broadcast #stereolab #olivia octavius #into the spider verse #spiderman itsv #itsv #doc ock #doctor octopus #headcanon #Spotify

[spicyicymeloncat]

Crystalised part 2 ep 23, 24, 25, 26 spoilers

Yeah I put them all in one post lol

Ep 23

Again, using minecraft logic

Antonia’s “I fished out the last one it’s your turn” lol wow, she makes it seem like this happens often

Antonia did the “if I had a nickel” meme

Oh frick Nya survived?? Also no legs for Nya??

Ofc casual sexism from the mechanic. She has a name!

Okay Jay didn’t crash!! Hell yeah Jay saving Nya for once!

The mechanic is anti jaya also that was such a sick line jay

Okay her fuckin legs are fine now ig

Also Nya’s gonna become water again :(

I think it’s weird that the Crystal warriors can pass out tho

Again city that never sleeps. Paperboys still gonna do their thing amidst a freaking war

Wu: I can’t do child soldiers

Nelson, pointing at the ninja: wtf are these then???

BENTHO IS COMING BACK :D

HELL YEAH LET NINJAGO CITY FIGHT BACK FOR ONCE

Oh gosh that was sick

ep 24

OH MAN THE THUMBNAIL

Lloyd rlly said frick you man

EXCUSE ME POLICE BUT WTF ARE UR PRIORITIES?? THE MAYOR IS GONE NOW WHAT LAW ARE U EVEN USING

NOOO NOT THE SERPENTINE :[ that’s so sadddd

Lloyd really blew his mind there

MISAKO FINALLY CAME BACK FOR A SEASON

I feel like the prophecy guy was brought up before but idk how to spell his name lol

PIXAL MY BELOVED I LOVE HER SO MUCH

Man zane is on the fritz

Oh god he has no limbs man that’s kinda fcuked up man jeez.

However the the ice emperor schtick is kinda funny

Oh my god he’s in a rucksack

OH MY FUCKING GOD ICE EMPEROR IS ONLY BACK FOR COMEDY not what I was expecting but I’ll take it

Hell yeah Ronin! Pixal and Ronin team up will be interesting

Omg the other sog who basically got completely rejected by Harumi this time round. Rip Pixal everyone is evil even her boyfriend

Hell yeah Ronin!! Trying to actually break out of the cycle

Also freaking Zane kicking ronin with his foot

Zane: vex? Vex! Wtf is vex when you need him

Ofc Cyrus didn’t even know

Ep 25

it’s the lava episode :)

Aww man Cole really hit his head

Okay even if I’m not a Kailor shopper I support skylor calling Kai hot shot

Ig this episode really will say which ship is canon

Freaking pythor. I love him

I guess Harumi is looking for lloyd

I would just like to remind people I coined Embershipping for the Kai/skylor/cole ship

ITS JAKE

I’m literally gonna start crying about Garmadon. Mans has half of his emotions but in the ways he’s expressing them, he’s sad about how Lloyd doesn’t accept the Oni heritage that he himself has and how christofern is a weird confused metaphor for Lloyd :((((

Gayle and vinny xxxx

God clutch literally has Nadakhan still oh my god

Okay this door must be a Chekhov’s gun bc they’re so gonna answer a knock that isn’t the paper boys

26

OH NO I DO NOT LIKE THIS EPISODE TITLE

Okay so I assume the romance is gonna get cleared up in this ep. We see the harbour so we know jaya is a thing. We’re looking at Kailor at the start. And like. Pixane… I’m gonna cry

Okay thank god we’re addressing the problems with them right here and now. I’ll hate the ship significantly less if they do this right.

Okay that’s fair

(I’m still a lava shipper tho)

No I refuse any couple shit from wusako no thanks

FreKing Garmadon. He’s like my baby brother whenever someone is on the phone

RACER SEVEN OH I LOVE HER SLSO

OR LIKE BLAZEY is it blazey? H SPEED. I love her

Oh my gosh. I hope Rarlkove integrates Pixal into the long con snake jaguar au

UV just 👉👈 at pixal

:(((( Zane. Has borg tried turning him off and ok again? Putting him in a bag of rice? Giving him a few thumps on the back? What if we just say “protect those who can’t protect themselves” that worked in s11

THEY LET BLAZEY KEEP A PRIME EMPIRE GUN??

ZANE YOU CANT KEEP DOING THIS HOW MANY FUNERALS DO YOU WANT MAN

WHAT THE FUCK THE PIXANE KISS

ZANE IM GOING TO DISMANTLE YOU MYSELF YOU SLEEPING BEAUTY FUCK

PIXAL SQUEALING

FUGIDOVE IS EVERYONE

THE SAM X SUIT LOOKS COOL

Okay barely any jaya and I look forward to draw Zane’s fucked up face but like JEEZ MAN HE DONE DID IT AGAIN ITS LIKE HE SAID NINJA NEVER QUIT… DYING

At least that’s a good place to stop

#ninjago #lego ninjago #Ninjago crystalized #ninjago crystalized spoilers #reaction

[meewz]

do you have any blade/yakumo thoughts 🫶

i have actually thought about them before yes!!

so.. both of them are service tops. but they don’t know this until they’re far too in the moment to really care.

blade is very prudent on making sure everyone has their essence levels topped up, yakumo included of course. actually yakumo gets special attention because he often busies himself so much or gets lost in his anxieties, and that mixed with his general lack of concern for his own wellbeing means he doesn’t regulate his essence as much as he should. that’s where blade comes in!

if yakumo’s busy in the kitchen, blade reminds him to feed himself and gives him a kiss to restore some of his essence. if yakumo’s cried a lot that day, blade makes sure he drinks lots of water and gives him a kiss to cheer him up as well as pass along some essence. blade loves to give him little kisses throughout the day, seemingly for no reason at all, and you’d think yakumo would be used to it considering how often it happens, but he always blushes bright red while blade comments on how cute he is <3

during their brief escapade as idols these ‘essence regulation check-ins’ only increased in frequency. yakumo usually makes sure he pulls away for the kiss can go on for too long, lest he get too wrapped up in it, but this time… he’s been so anxious lately, and blade is such a comforting presence (and an enthusiastic kisser) it can’t hurt to get a little carried away, can it?

yakumo pulls blade down on top of him, blade letting out these appreciative hums like he wants to compliment yakumo on how good of a kisser he is but he can’t because of how tightly the serpent is holding on to him. they have to split for air eventually, regardless of how badly yakumo just wants to run his tongue across blade’s teeth until he can’t think anymore, and blade sits back to look down at him with his eyes sparkling and lips shiny.

“wow, little yakumo! you’re so good at that! how come we’ve never done that before?”

yakumo barely processes the compliment, too busy thinking about how badly he wants. his dick is aching, so worked up from a simple makeout session, and for once he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. probably because of the way blade’s looking at him.

“u-um, mr. blade.. i..” yakumo’s plea for.. something gets abruptly cut off by a needy whimper as blade settles back, aligning their hips together and letting out a sing-songy moan at the sensation.

“little yakumo, you’re so cute like this…” blade pants out, gazing at the man under him with a look in his eyes that makes yakumo’s heart flutter. he knows some of his serpentine traits are showing through, his fangs elongated after kissing for so long and pupils narrowed into slits, but blade looks down at him like he’s the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

“you’re so hard down here,” he admires, petting at yakumo’s stomach in a way that makes him squirm and wish that hand would move just a bit farther down. “do you.. want me to make you feel good?”

‘you already are.’ yakumo’s lust riddled mind helpfully provides, but instead of saying that he simply nods and blinks away the tears in his eyes.

blade opens himself up while kissing yakumo, skilled fingers working quickly and efficiently in a way that would make not-sex-drunk yakumo wonder if he usually does this to himself or others. knowing blade it could honestly go either way.

blade then proceeds to ride yakumo for hours, the stamina of an e-droid and a yokai not to be taken lightly, moaning loudly at the way the serpent’s unusually clumsy fingers rub at the glittering gem imbedded in his chest.

(distantly, yakumo feels guilty about telling eiden he would go to sleep early tonight, but he consoles himself after remembering how easily he falls asleep after burying himself deep inside eiden and making him cry out in pure pleasure until the sun rises the next morning. if anyone knows how tiring rigorous ‘exercise’ can be, it’s their beloved ‘manager’.)

(eiden notices, because of course he does, though he doesn’t say anything too direct. instead he simply smirks and shakes his head, remarking on how the two of them must have had a great sleep last night, much to yakumo’s embarrassment. blade does not help by energetically embracing yakumo in a hug from behind and saying ‘yep! little yakumo’s a great cuddler!’ in a way that has the serpent squeaking regardless of whether blade notices the innuendo of his words.)

#so basically: yes i have many thoughts about them #mouser mews #love letters 💌 #yakumo ♡ #blade ♡ #yakublade

[dandunn]

Can u do limping with Kaz?

art not mine//art commissioned for me by @/manonamie

100. Limping

Kazuya's body ached, it always ached. 

Pulling his daily shifts at the factory, then clocking out only to haul himself downtown to clock in at the fighting rings would do that to a guy. 

It was stupid, and risky since one injury could put him out of both jobs for weeks or potentially months, but he needed the money. 

And besides, the aunties could speed up the healing process from months and weeks down to hours, or even minutes. 

Yeah, this lifestyle had no drawbacks whatsoever. 

All Kazuya had to do was drag his aching, bleeding carcass to the borders of Dragon Town, say hello to Jay, Iris and Zoe and watch all his awful life decisions just melt away. 

"Ow." Kazuya muttered to himself, dragging one clawed foot down the street, every step punctuated with another "Ow, ow, ow." 

Most of his draconic form was hidden under the Glamour, but using it fully cost him energy he simply did not have. He looked quite the sight, a big punk with one  scaled midnight blue T-Rex leg dragging in plain sight where any human could clock him. The spur on the back of his foot was severed badly, almost to the point of falling off him entirely. 

He turned towards Auntie Jay's place, a building that was once an old church that had been converted into a bar, and a safe haven for dragons. 

Kazuya raised a fist and pounded on the old oak doors, next to the sign saying that they were closed for the night. 

The aunties greeted him at the door like a Greek choir. The white-furred, bespectacled form of Aunt Iris opened the door, her jaw dropping when she saw the blood pooling around his boot and exposed foot, "Kazuya! What have you done to yourself?!" she cried, always the 'good cop' in situations like this. 

"Again!" Jay muttered, her talons curled against her cheek as she craned over what looked like tax forms on a spare dining table. During these arguments, she was always the one who 'just works here'. 

The serpentine form of the Long laying across the wooden beams stirred, Zoe's head and neck descending down to look into the doorway. Her lazy eye drifted to a corner of the bar, but the other fixed on Kazuya's injury. Usually the bad cop when Jay didn't feel like it. She loudly declared, "STUPID EGG!" the walls vibrating with the power of her voice. 

Kazuya grinned apologetically, hoping that Jay wouldn't slam the door in his face. "Please may I come in? Matty is going to have a fit if I go home to him like this." 

"Politeness isn't going to help you, young Kazuya." Iris sniffed, gesturing him inside all the same. 

Zoe didn't move from her perch up on the rafters, but one of her whiskers snapped across Kazuya's head as he stumbled inside, like a tree branch pulled back and released suddenly. 

"Aw, you were worried, Auntie Zoe?" Kazuya chuckled, looking up at her as he rubbed the back of his head. 

"Hah! Worry, he says! You were egg when I found you, you are still egg now." Zoe said, resting her head back down on her skinny chicken-like front legs. Her body weaved around the cavernous space of the old church, her tail area disappearing somewhere into the old wooden roof. "If we are not here to worry about you, egg you will always be." 

Iris turned with a swish of her fluffy tail and pointed Kazuya into a chair, pulling his leg up onto the table where Jay's paperwork was spread out. She summoned a white glow of magic from between her claws and started to heal him up, clucking and tutting the whole time. 

Jay had to pull her paperwork out of the splash zone of blood heading her way, but soon returned to grumbling and grinding her sharp teeth over her business expenses, punching digits into a calculator with a claw. "Did you win, at least?" Jay said, without taking her eyes from the numbers. 

"Nope," Kazuya sighed, "Leon says it's more profitable for me to lose these days, says I make more money by taking a fall." 

Jay responded with a gruff sound of disapproval, stabbing her calculator with a sharp click. 

"If job gets you hurt all the time I see not why you don't quit!" Zoe called down. 

"It's not that simple." Kazuya muttered, trying to weather the disapproval of the three women at once and starting to dissolve underneath it. "Once me and Matty have enough money to get our own place, I'll quit. I promise. I just need enough to pay Leon's fee for training me, then we'll be all square!" 

"I taught you how to fight!" Jay cut in angrily, her feathers bunching up around her shoulders, "I bet I trained you more than that filthy woodlouse ever did. You're being conned, kid - fleeced for every penny you make!" 

Every inch of Jay's slender yet muscular and compact body was tensed up, her oil-slick coloured feathers rippling in a wave. 

"Dragons being reduced to providing entertainments for humans, it is a crying shame!" Zoe rejoined the chorus, lifting her majestic head dramatically. 

Kazuya rolled his eyes as Iris continued to heal his foot, he had heard it all before. Most of the time he let them bicker amongst themselves. 

Most of the time Iris didn't look at him so sincerely from underneath her round spectacles, her green eyes glowing with a radioactive brightness as her soothing healing powers flooded through him. "There must be something you can do with your life, sweet one, you have a good brain in your head." 

"I doubt that very much," Kazuya scoffed, rolling his eyes and watching Zoe fall into a half doze above him. More and more of her mother of pearl scales seemed to be falling out these days, leaving her body resembling a patchwork quilt. Her rear leg emerged from somewhere in the ceiling and scratched a few more out as he watched, they fluttered down like confetti at a wedding party. 

Once Iris was done healing, Kazuya inhaled and forced his leg back into human form to match the rest of him, leaning back with a wince. Now in the dim light of the bar, he could see his tatty jeans were coated with blood, and the rest of him wasn't much better off. 

With a lurch, he realised that he still didn't want to go home to Matty in their tiny flat. He wanted to sneak up to the rafters and sleep next to Zoe, like he was a hatchling again. 

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?" 

"Yeah," Jay gruffed, doberman and velociraptor all wrapped in a bird of prey skin, but Kazuya knew her, really. She was soft when you caught her at the right moment, "Just don't get in the way when I open up tomorrow." 

"Thanks." Kazuya stood up, finding that Zoe's fearsome antlered head was already waiting for him, blinking at him with a hint of leftover irritation. Still, she let him grab a hold of one of her antlers to catch a ride up to the rafters. She placed him down into a curve of her body where he lounged against her.

"You will do better, Kazuya." Zoe huffed, a gust of her breath blowing cool over him. 

"Yeah, okay." he promised her, even if he didn't even know if 'better' was something he was capable of. 

"You will." she insisted, nuzzling his mohawk with her snout, "We were made to fly, not to sink to same level as humans and play their games." 

All her coddling had caused his mohawk to fall flat against the side of his head; he tried to push it back upright in vain. 

"There was once a time where we were revered by them as gods," Zoe hissed, her big, pale eyes staring into his own. He had heard this a thousand and one times, but he nodded along anyway. "Man was merely our messenger." 

Zoe had been homeless for a long time, before Jay and Iris gave her a place to stay, living under a motorway near a filthy river. If there was a time when dragons like her had been revered, it was thousands of years ago, probably long before she had been born. 

Kazuya muttered, "I don't think I'm better than them, I don't want to be treated like a god, I just wanna be treated the same as everyone else." 

"Hmph," Zoe growled, "Being the same is nothing to strive for. You are beautiful and you are strong, and you need to remember it." 

A tongue the size of a bath towel licking over Kazuya's hair made him give up on any attempt to straighten it out. He curled up by his aunt's flank and shut his eyes. 

He had seen plenty of silk paintings of dragons that looked like Zoe, on numerous school trips to museums. The kind that unwound themselves down hanging scrolls or were carved out of solid stone, but not any like him. Sometimes he felt more like the ugly, overgrown komodo dragons that were always painted with spears stuck through them. 

Maybe that was all he was destined to be.

Not a god or a man, just a monster. 

#this took me so long to think of like anything to write about #and then I wrote this all today go figure #my writing #my ocs: kaz #ask a cowboy #🐇 #long post

[gracebeyondmeasuree]

Paradise in crisis

The sneer, the lie, the tree, the call

Sneer - Satan trying to get Adam and Eve to sneer. The fall of the human race starts with an attitude of heart. 2 things. First, more often than not, we lose God not through argument but through atmosphere. Afraid of ridicule and breach of the spirit of the age. When someone says do you really believe that? A proper measured response: that is an assertion trying to create an argument. So can you tell me why that is untenable?

Second, humour - the fall of the human race happened through an attitude of heart expressed through a kind of humour. Humour that is humble and says we are all alike. Vs a kind of human is serpentine - putting someone down to put yourself up. Shakespearean comedy always ends with everybody laughing. Vs Greek classical comedy look at all those fools out there, to laugh at the people there because the lack sophistication of viewers. As opposed to all men are sinners, no one can claim immunity from common exposure. Excellence turned on its head - to see your own pretentious and pride exposed. The characters are exposed and forgiven.

Snark is a kind of humour that puts everybody down. When you have a society filled with bs you have to get up to say it is bs. But there is a kind of humility that says we human beings need to be laughed at. As opposed to corrosive humour that laughs at everything - putting yourself up that - this cynical humour that says everyone is out for themselves but me leaves you without life, friends. The fall of the human race starts with a sneer

Lie - after an attitude the heart comes a lie. For God knows when you eat of it your eyes will be opened. Here’s what he is saying: God if you obey him will keep you down. If you obey God you will miss out. Notice Satan does not go after the existence of God. He also does not go after the law or will or holiness of God.

Instead he denies the goodness of God - behind all those decrees. You can’t trust him, you have to take things into your own hands. That lies in your heart. There is temptation because you believe you can’t trust God - if you believe God you don’t be happy. The moralist says I will earn my salvation because he does not trust the grace of God. The younger brother in the prodigal son thinks the same. The human stain: not trusting God. We have been ruined by the lie. So we work ourselves to death / try to people people down - bcuz we don’t trust in God. Lie of the mind.

Tree - the act of the will. She took some and gave it to her husband who was with her. The great sin. What is wrong with the tree? Logic behind the prohibition? Here’s what so bad: what if God had given Adam and Eve and explanation. The reason why God didn’t give the explanation is crucial to why the decree was important. If he had given the decree it would be cost benefit analysis, you are in the driving seat. That’s not really obedience. God is saying my children I am God. And this life and world is a gift to you. I want you to live as if I am God and your life and world is a gift to you / that you are living by my power / this world is a gift and not your position to do anything you want / your lives are not yours and you cannot do as u please. So you can choose to treat God as God or put yourself in the place of God. And the servant knows that. You have to look beyond the rules. Don’t put yourself in the place of God. Obey the rules because you are not God. Not because of cost benefit analysis not because you see why but because I am God.

Everything wrong with human race is when we put ourselves in the place of God. I get anxious because of how my life has to go and God is not going to get it right. I have anxiety because I am in the place of God. Because of the mistrust we put ourselves in the way of God. All of our problems are coming bcuz of this. We can’t forgive because you think you know what they deserve but how do you know?

Bcuz he is God and I am not. Period. Disbelieving the lie that we cannot trust God. Doing what God calls him to do just because God says so.

The call - you see the rest of the human race in a nutshell. They hid. God called to the man “where are you”. We are now hiders. We cannot bear to know who we really are. In the presence of God we see what we don’t want. We are running from the truth, from ourselves. But while we hide, God seeks. He is engaging. In love he is coming after then he is counselling, trying to get them to answer.

If I love thee, thou must have come after me first.

God going out in love finds it’s ultimate expression in Jesus Christ. Jesus crushes the serpents head. He deals with the lie the tree and the sneer. Jesus was in the dark garden. He climbed the tree of death and turned it into a tree of life for you and me. That is the reversal of the tree sun - human being putting ourselves in the place of God. But the tree salvation - God coming down and putting himself where we should be. That deals with the lie - all the poison in our life - you have to see Jesus climbing the tree of death and turning it into the tree of life. That will take the toxins out of your soul and wedge out of your heart the belief that basically I’m on my own.

Jesus even deals with the joke. If you ask anyone who knows the gospel if they’re christian, they laugh and say yes. What a great joke it is that we belong to you because of your grace. Help us to smile, laugh at that. Rejoice for the rest of your life that your son did what he did.

[houston66mackenzie]

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[jujywrites]

1, 5 and 6 for RosaWatts? OuO

ohoho, naughty naughty~ bet u thought i forgot about this BZZT WRONG!!

i couldn’t figure how to make a coherent fic out of all of them at once but blease enjoy this grab bag of spice drabbles uh no actually, the first one was long and the next one’s heading the same direction SO! ur gonna get tagged 3 times and that’s only on tumblr im so sorry~~

(prompts from this list)

Body Press (prompt: 1, against the wall. set in my A Simple Favor AU)

They were there to “keep up appearances” (yes, always withthe air quotes and an eye roll whenever Eva said it), to snag an angel investoror two while they were at it, and hey, if either of them happened to findsomeone who was interested in a quickie in one of the million and a halfbedrooms infesting this mansion, so be it.

Keeping up appearances was easy; Neil only had to hover hishand over the small of Eva’s back once in a while. Eva only had to make eyes athim occasionally. Sometimes they swapped drinks. (He’d dug his wedding ring outof its box from its dusty corner of the bathroom drawer, just for thisoccasion. Where was Eva keeping hers?)

Eva’s built-in competitive streak, powered up by animositytoward him, gave her an advantage; halfway through the evening she’d gotten twochecks from two investors while Neil only had one.

But his was bigger. Ha.

He was attempting, now, to make small talk with a woman whoclaimed to be the assistant to some bigwig who would definitely, probably, openquite a few doors financially. Truth be told, though, his heart wasn’t in it.And then his heart went somewhere else entirely when he saw Eva slinking aroundhis periphery wearing a murderous gaze.

Bingo.

“I’ll be back before you can say  ‘what’,” he told the redhead.

“What?” she said, tittering.

He gave her a wink and strode for the hallway Eva had justdisappeared down.

“Okay,” he said when he found her, tilting the last of herthird drink into her mouth, “what the hell’s your problem?” He found himself influencedby the dim light into speaking quietly (if not less harshly), though no oneelse was around to hear him.

“I don’t have a problem,” she said coolly. “Seems like youdo.” Her face was a mask again, no trace of the daggers she’d been shootingminutes ago. “Sweet talking any piece of ass who can get you to the guy withthe keys to the kingdom. Supposedly.”

With a measured sigh, he followed as she sauntered down thehall looking around, glass lightly held; a planet following its sun. “We agreedbefore we came here! Do whatever we had to do, all bets are off, blah blahblah. Excuse me if I find certain people more interesting than others.”

“Sure, but I’m only human. Never said I’d be okay with itwhen it actually happened.”

He knew she was only trying to get a rise out of him.

It was working.

“Oh,” he said with a harsh laugh, “you are such a hypocrite.You assured me you were fine with it. And meanwhile I’m supposed to bea-okay with you smarming your way into some rich’s asshole’s pants.”

She paused near a bookshelf, sliding the empty glass ontoit. Then she turned to him. “I have better things to do than monitor yourfeelings about… all this.” She pointedly adjusted her tight, low-cut dress, aserpentine smile curving her mouth. “Just figured by this point yourself-control would be higher than a 14-year-old.”

Before he’d breathed he grabbed her by the wrists and backedher into the wall. He looked up at her wide eyes (damn her stilettos) and said,growling, “Fuck you.”

She met his stare, breathing calm where his was rough. Evenin the half-darkness, he could see her pupils expand.

One of her hands slipped away from his grip to cradle hisjaw, to slide to his chin, fingernails just barely digging in. “Oh, Neil,” shesaid, with that false tenderness that after all this time still went straightto his groin, “sometimes you’re so easy.”

He pressed her other hand harder against the wall and sealedhis lips to hers.

She moaned, opening her mouth to his tongue. One leg hookedaround his waist and pressed his body to hers; she rolled her hips, moaningagain. “Tell me what I want,” she said when they broke free.

“You want to get fucked right here.” He was already undoinghis fly, watching her hike up her dress. “You want to know you’re still mine.”

She laughed throatily, spreading her bare legs. “Please,baby. I want you to know you’re still mine.”

Christ, she hadn’t wore panties. “God, Eva,” and he groaned,biting her shoulder as he slid into her, so wet, “you’re such a sl—”

“Shut up and get me off.”

He felt her fingers working her clit, her thumb brushing hisdick as he moved fast and hard; one leg was around him again and she stillstood as firm as a pillar against that wall.

Neil wanted her knees to crumple. Wanted Eva to get loudenough that everyone would know. “You’re so fucking wet. How long have youbeen—nngh, fuck—thinking about this?”

“I went commando. How long do you think?” A bitten-off yelp,and she flexed around him. “Knew I‘d get you in me sometime tonight, justdidn’t know, oh, fuck, harder…!”

He moaned helplessly into her neck, dick throbbing as shecame jerkily. “So needy,” he gasped.

“Fuck yeah, give me another. Don’t stop!”

Instead he slowed, laughing as her nails dug into his hip.“I have the self-control of a 14-year-old, remember?” he said, reaching betweenthem to rub her clit. He shifted his angle, drawing out achingly slow andinching back in. Then he groaned, leaning up to kiss her again and tangle histongue with hers.

When he sped up again, feeling her heat grow, he muffled herscream with his lips.

He pulled back from her to breathe, the pressure and the pleasurewonderfully too much. “You’re a witch,” he grunted, pushing deep. “You’re evil.And, and you’re mine, fucking all mine.”

She whined as he came in her, grinding hip to hipagainst him until she came again, squeezing aftershocks out of him. “That’s right,”she said, panting. “Only you can do this to me.”

Maybe it was another lie, but he couldn’t care less. He slidout of her and tidied up, tamping down prickles of annoyance at how lithely Evaremoved herself from the wall he’d just railed her on.

“I should have worn panties after all,” she said, soundingvaguely put out. Would’ve been fun to walk around all filled up.”

“Eva, I swear to fuck you’re trying to kill me,” he said,his groan half tortured and half turned on.

“You should really do something about those nasty delusionsof yours, baby.” She gave a feral grin, then disappeared around the corner forthe bathroom.

When they returned home that night, this time she didn’ttake off her ring.

And like in so many things, he followed her lead.

#Rosawatts #JujYwrites #To The Moon #Finding Paradise #spice #kikithedeceiver

[inspiringruleandkill]

FINALE OF THE 124TH HUNGER GAMES

@hadeserpentine // @persephoneleon // @rocky-chiffon // @leona-springer // @seraphina-hilt

#it really wasn't supposed to be glitchy but the app i made this in failed me #it saved wrong and then it wouldn't let me save again without buying the license #that's all i can offer u #sorry #persephone leon #hades serpentine #rocky chiffon #leona springer #seraphina hilt #made by raluca #it's rlly annoying but for one watch it works #i just wanted to pay my respects to 124 <3

[leo-interactive-fiction]

okay so i got this random idea rn but how would the ros react to the mc getting into a physical fight with someone?

E presses a wet cloth to your brow, a disapproving look on their face as they dab away the blood. "You have to think things through a little more. What am I going to do if you get really hurt? You're lucky this was the worst of it..." they chide before pressing a hand to your cheek, "...At least you're safe. Just don't forget what I said! You need to be more careful!"

----------------

R flops down on the couch next to you with an exhausted sigh as you press a wet cloth to your split brow.

"I suppose it could have been worse," R mutters, crossing their legs as they lean back against the cushions. "If I wasn't there to bail you out, how do you think it would have gone? You're not always going to have an attractive mediator to vouch you out of jail, you know."

"Attractive?" you mock incredulously.

R puts their hands up, defeated, "See? Now I'm regretting it. I'm too kind to you."

The two of you share a small moment of laughter.

-----------------

L stares at you with a mixture of worry and disapproval, a stilling silence hanging in the room as they await your response.

You take the wet cloth off, glancing down at the speck of blood-stained on its surface. "Does it matter why I did it?"

"I suppose it doesn't. My answer may still be the same," L's hands tighten, "I don't understand why you would resort to violence above all things. I'm certain there were better options -- different methods to diffuse the situation. Do you truly find this to be an acceptable resolution? When the animosity has only been elevated? That seems a hollow victory to me."

----------------

V slaps your hand away, "Don't touch."

"Right, right," you sigh, laying your head down on the couch arm and staring up at the rotating ceiling fan. V hovers over you, shaking a powder onto your wound.

"Why didn't you call me?" they murmur accusatorily, "I could have handled it."

"It was just a little fistfight. I can handle it."

"As the Commander, it's your duty to avoid unnecessary risk. It's my duty to fight."

"Why're you so serious about-- Ah! Hey!" you wince as V puts pressure on your wound, causing it to sting. You see their brow furrow minutely.

"Part of the healing process. No complaining," they respond strictly, slapping your hand away once more.

---------------

P brushes away a streak of blood from the corner of their mouth, glancing behind them towards you. "Dumbass."

"I heard that, you dipshit," you growl back at them, dabbing the wound with a wet cloth.

"You were supposed to."

"Trying to pick another fight already?"

P makes a humming noise, brushing a knuckle against their cheek, "At least you can land a hit. Once in a while."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Shut up. I'm just pointing it out. Don't try to inflate it."

You chuckle to yourself, stretching an arm, "I guess you're not too shabby either. There are worse people to make a rival out of."

"A rival huh...?" P stares past the red strands of hair that dip past their forehead, resting their eyes on the dark silhouette of your shadow on the wall. They close their eyes, a small smile working against their lips, "You're such a dumbass."

--------------

M pats their lap with a calming smile, "You need...to rest..."

You attempt to hide the rising blush behind your hand as you press a wet cloth to your wound, "I-It's alright, I think I'm alright--"

Before you can move to escape, M presses their hands on your cheeks and pulls you down. You accept your fate as you stare up at M's pleased look.

"You don't...need to be...so shy...I'm good...at these...kinds of things...too...Just leave it...to me..."

You feel a tender hand rest against your cheek as M presses the cloth against your brow, humming a small tune.

"What is that?" you ask.

"Hmm...?"

"The tune you always hum."

"It was...a song...my mom...used to sing...But I...forgot the lyrics..." M's eyes glance away from you for a moment, "Do you...like it...?"

"It sounds really nice," you say earnestly, attempting to ignore the intense blush spreading across your face.

"It sounded better...with words...If I learn them...I'll sing it to you..."

"O-Oh, you don't have to-"

"Ah-Ah," M taps a finger against your lips and wags it, "I've...already decided...So look forward...to it...Okay...?"

--------------

"You don't have anything to worry about..."

Slender fingers caress your cheeks, lifting your head and coaxing your eyes to open. Dark eyes stare into yours, their lids lifting in delight.

Your voice is slow to escape past your lips, "Raven? What...are you doing here...?"

"I've always been with you," they brush your cheek while inspecting the freshly opened wound on your brow, collecting a trickle of blood with their fingers, "We'll have to get something for this. You made me worried, you know."

The wound finally becomes apparent to you, along with the stinging memory of an assaulter's fist. Your eyes open wider.

"Where is-"

Raven moves your head back to face them, pulling you into a gentle embrace as they stroke the back of your head. "It's alright. You don't have anything to worry about..."

Their dark eyes look onwards, reflecting a world of spattered crimson centered around a indistinguishable mass of flesh and stained bones.

"You don't have to worry. I'll take care of everything for you."

-------------------

"Eh, you're already lookin' a little scuffed up, friend," S gives you a bright smile as he strolls in the middle of your fight, "I heard there was some troublin' rousin', but I ain't expect you'd cause somethin'!"

"U-Uh, that's..." you glance sheepishly at your assaulter past the trickle of blood beginning to flow down your sightline.

They glare at the newcomer, "Who're you?"

"Oh me? I ain't no one ya know. But ya know," S justs a thumb towards you, "They've gone an' helped me out a bit. So...I'll be returnin' the favor!"

S grabs at your opponent's tie, pulling them down as they wind up to smash their forehead into theirs. As they fall, S scrapes loose dirt onto their shoe and kicks it into their face, a smug smirk on their face.

"Hey, ya ain't lookin' half bad like that. How'd'ya feel about comin' back to do it again later?"

S waves the aggressor off as they retreat before turning to you, their expression turning intensely serious as they look at your wound. "Are you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yes. You're..." the words drop off as S's face hovers mere inches before yours. Unable to hide the heat creeping up your face, S folds their arms.

"What's up? Ya gettin' sick? That stupid idiot must'a done a number on ya."

"I-I'm just a little...dehydrated...?"

"Ohh, I getcha! Well that's good, we can fix that!" S ruffles your head with a smirk, forgetting all about the welting wound.

"Ow!"

"Oh right! Whoops," they laugh, not seeming very apologetic.

-----------------

F stares at your wound, a finger tapping under your chin as they hold your jaw steady.

"A fight was it?"

You nod.

"With whom?"

Your move your eyes away, "I don't know."

"Is that so?"

"Are you going to let go now?"

F's finger halts its drumming, "And why should I do that?"

You slide your eyes back, taking in F's jade irises as they stare intensely into yours. You clench your jaw in annoyance.

"I'm not a pet you keep."

F smiles pleasantly, "Yet it seems you're in need of a keeper. Why else would you bring such trivalties to me?"

"That's..." your mind runs blank, only circling back to their gentle smile. You look away once more, "It's nothing."

"Yes, I am certain it is," F whispers, pulling out a piece of cloth and pressing it against your wound, "It is still my place to wonder."

"Why would it be? You're no keeper."

"Yet you come to me in times of strife and suffering? You are quite an indecisive pet."

"Get one that does what you want then," you bite.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand," F's lips part in a serpentine smile, "I'm not seeking obediance. Heeling is half the reward."

--------------------

Enjoy haha

#romance options #triaina academy #snippets