#moth deals w asks

[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

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 1: welcome to my nightmare.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - you were barely acquaintances in high school, but his reputation as a delinquent and freak didn't exactly endear you to him. now he's moving in. at the risk of being too literal: oh, brother.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 4.4k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - male masturbation, swearing, mentions/implications of a deceased parent, reader is a tad judgmental but that's what character development is for!

You knew something was going on— you weren't so dense that you could actually not notice your mom's change in demeanor, her sudden increase of long nights at work and business dinners, the bizarre excuses to disappear overnight.  Of course, she apparently thought you were that stupid, but you weren't.

Still, when you found out who she was seeing, you thought you might have some kind of cardiac event from the sheer shock of it all.

"W-Wayne Munson?" you repeated, and she nodded.  "The trailer guy?"

"Well, that's not how I think of him but, yes," she announced, summoning some pride.

"But he's, uh…" you trailed off, trying to think of the right way to say this.  "Isn't he broke?"

"What difference does that make?" she challenged you.  It's not like you didn't believe in romance at all or anything, but you considered love to be, in part, an economic issue.  You always thought if your mom remarried, it would be to someone better off than you already were— and you could move into a bigger house and he would buy you a car…

Okay, so maybe you'd idealized the remarrying scenario a bit.  Still, who could blame you?  Maybe if your mom had married someone richer, you would've been able to go to university and not just Hawkins Junior College.  But no, you were still stuck at home, in the same small bedroom in the same small house, pretending you were fine with it.

"He asked me to marry him, honey, and— I said yes, obviously," she continued.

"You don't have a ring," you noticed.

"He can't afford one yet.  We'll pick one out together."

"And I assume you're paying for it?" you crossed your arms, and she frowned.

"You're focusing on all the wrong things," she accused.  "Can't you see that I'm happy?  I didn't tell you because I know you have… high standards, for someone new to come into this house.  And you should, because your father was—"

"We don't need to talk about him," you interjected quickly.

She sighed, stepping closer to you and reaching out to hold your shoulders gently.  "You knew, didn't you?  That I was seeing someone.  You knew because I started wearing perfume again, and I changed my hair for the first time in fifteen years, and I smiled more— you noticed, right?"

You glanced down, but smiled a little.  "It wasn't that, mom.  You've been singing in the shower again.  That's how I knew."

She cooed and gave you a tight hug, which you hesitantly relented to.  "Oh, sweetie— you'll like him, if you give him a real chance.  He wants to meet you so badly, he really wants you to like him."

Maybe if you were younger, he would need to get your approval before marrying your mother.  But you figured that, since you were old enough to be on your own if you only had the money, it was just that he would prefer if you liked him.  It's not like you had any say in this: she'd made it clear this was happening.  He was moving in, you were dealing with it, end of story.

Well, you didn't know it yet, but that wasn't quite the end of the story.  "He wants you to meet his nephew, too," she added, and that was when you suddenly remembered.

"Oh, fuck," you groaned, "he still lives with him, doesn't he?"

"Y-yeah— you went to school together, do you remember him?  Eddie Munson?"

That was a stupid fucking question.  You remembered him much better than you wanted to.

Wayne was trying his best; you appreciated that, at least.  He had a little cut on his neck where he must have nicked himself shaving, and his collared shirt had some moth holes here and there— he stuck out like a sore thumb here, and at least a few people seemed to notice.  Your mom was so smitten, she didn’t seem to care, or even notice at all.  It was… weird, seeing her hang off of his arm, but you were getting used to it as fast as you could.

“Your mother told me you’re majoring in photography?” he prompted, and you nodded as you finished a sip of iced tea.  

“Uh, yep,” you answered.  “I want to be a journalist someday— a photojournalist, that is— and maybe next year I can transfer to Indiana State… or Purdue, but that’s… I don’t know about that.  It’s a lot of money.”

“Right,” he smiled thinly.  “That’s very interesting though.  Do you usually take pictures in black and white, or color?”

“Depends,” you shrugged.  “I usually just buy black and white film, but sometimes for assignments at school I have to use color— and I have a Land camera, that’s color, of course.”

“Huh,” he nodded, and you knew that he was just playing along— not so much that he didn’t actually care, but more just that he was performing how much he cared for the sake of your mom.  You figured she wanted you two to, eventually, be closer.  You didn’t think that was necessary; as long as he treated her well, you didn’t have any plans to get in the way.

You’d pretty much let the conversation die out, focusing on your plate— Caesar salad, nothing exciting— waiting for this all to be over with.

Wayne cleared his throat, making you look up.  “Y-you know, I have a nephew, he’s your age—”

“Yeah, we were in the same grade,” you remembered, “for a while…”

“Yes, well, he’s had some… troubles,” Wayne justified.  You tried not to visibly react; you hated excuses.  Everyone’s been through shit— you lost your dad, you managed to graduate on time.  It’s not that hard.  “You know, his parents aren’t around and all.  Anyways, maybe you two will get along.”

You wrinkled your eyebrows together, pushing a piece of lettuce around your plate with your fork.  “I mean, maybe…”  Also known as, no.

There was a longer pause, and you looked up again.  The expectant look on their faces told you that you were missing something.

“Why?” you pressed.

“Well, he’s been living with me a long time,” Wayne began, “and—”

"We were thinking that you might be willing to share your room with Eddie," your mom explained, offering you a smile that showed she had no idea how insane that request was.

You cleared your throat.  "Can't he live alone in the trailer after you move in with us?  I mean, he's certainly old enough."

"Well, if we sell the trailer, that's enough to get your mother a nice ring," Wayne smiled.  "Not as nice as she deserves, but—"

"Oh, honey," your mom giggled coyly, and you stared down at your salad to keep from rolling your eyes.  Be happy for her be happy for her be happy for—

"Hey, there he is now!" Wayne smiled, waving towards the front door behind you.  You spun around on the slippery polished wood of your chair, watching Eddie navigate ungracefully between tables and chairs.  He apologized quickly to an old lady whose seat he bumped into, yet continued knocking purses and bags around as he haphazardly tumbled towards your table.  You sighed as you turned back to your plate.

"Oh, this is gonna be awesome," you mumbled sarcastically, getting a quick glare from your mother before she smiled up at Eddie.

"Hey, good to see you again, ma'am," he offered to her politely along with a somewhat out-of-place handshake.  He was dressed… nicer than he usually was, if memory served, but not quite up to par with the dress code here: his jeans were untorn and chainless, and his shirt actually had buttons, but everything was wrinkled and ill-fitting and probably borrowed from Wayne.  "Nice to meet you," he offered a handshake in your direction next, smiling and staring down at you expectantly.  

You didn't let go of your fork.  "We've met," you said simply.

"Right, yeah," he nodded as he sat down in the empty chair, reaching between his legs to pull it in closer to the table.  "Sophomore English, yeah?  You were on yearbook committee."

"Oh wow, he remembers you!" your mom beamed.  "I figured he would."

"Hard to forget a girl like your daughter, ma'am," he grinned back at her, glancing at you one more time, "I never noticed the resemblance before, but sitting next to each other, you could be sisters."

"Stop that," your mom chided playfully, but she couldn't fight her smile.  For the most part, Eddie was just like you remembered him, but this ability to charm adults was certainly new— he was hated by every teacher back at Hawkins High.  Maybe he just antagonized them on purpose?

"Actually— I don't know if you remember this— but you took the picture of Hellfire in the '83 yearbook," he informed you.  "It was just four of us back then."

"Hellfire?" your mom tilted her head.

"Just a social club I run at our school, ma'am," he explained.

"Your school," you reminded him.  "I go to HJC."

"Right," he smirked at you.  "You were class of '84."

"So were you," you smiled back at him, in a less friendly way.

“Did you wanna order something?” Wayne asked Eddie.  “We already got ours—”

“Oh, don’t sweat it,” Eddie dismissed with a wave of his hand, “I’m not hungry.”  He took a glance at your plate, watching you push your food around.  “Guess you aren’t either,” he chuckled.

There was a slightly awkward pause— maybe they were waiting for you to say something, but you didn’t have much to say.

“Hey, you know,” Eddie interrupted the silence, “why don’t we give you two lovebirds some space?  You can have dinner on your own, and we—” he motioned to himself and to you— “can go catch up somewhere else?”

You weren’t really in the mood to hang out with Eddie Munson, and you never had been, and you never would be; but, you considered the idea compared to sitting here getting to know Wayne better, and it wasn’t so bad…

“Would you like that?” your mom asked you.

“Um— yeah, sure,” you nodded, “you two enjoy the rest of your dinner alone, alright?  I’ll see you at home later?”

“Yep,” your mom agreed.

“Sure,” Wayne said at the same time— and you deflated a little because, yes, you would see him at home later, too.  You weren’t against the idea completely, it was just going to be so strange.

Eddie moving in?  Yeah, you were against that completely.  But you didn’t have a choice, really.  

He grinned as he stood up, and you pushed your seat back to join him.

"Hey, uh," Eddie announced as you were about to leave, like he just remembered something he wanted to say.  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a horribly worn wallet, flipping it open and pinching his fingers together around a wrinkled ten-dollar bill.  "Get a cake or something, alright?" he suggested as he put the ten down on the table.  "On me."

"You're too kind," your mom cooed, and Eddie gave her a faux sheepish smile before starting to leave— and you followed him.

Out of the restaurant and on the sidewalk of downtown, you gave Eddie a look.  "What are you looking at me for?" he asked.

"I'm currently using my psychic powers on you," you informed him, pressing two fingers to your temples on either side.  "Hummina hummina hummina…"

He quirked an eyebrow.

"You had a ten dollar bill on you because you just sold some kid an overpriced bag of weed," you predicted, "and that's why you were late.  Because you were doing a drug deal in a button-down."

Eddie smiled, leaning back a bit as he stood.  "You see right through me."

"Yes, I do," you crossed your arms.  "You were trying so hard, I started to feel a gravitational pull from the force of your ass-kissing."

"Forgive me for wanting to get along with my uncle's fiancée," he scoffed.  "And it wasn't ass-kissing, by the way, it was just being friendly— guess you'll have to explain that pull you feel towards me some other way."

You rolled your eyes, so you wouldn't have to see that sparkle in his anymore.  "Oh, get over yourself."

"Come on, my van's parked around back," he tilted his head in the right direction, and you wrapped your cardigan around your chest to protect from the cool night air.

Following him to the rusty old thing, he stopped along the passenger side to open the door for you, motioning his hand towards your seat with a smile.

"Ladies first," he offered, extending his hand out as you got closer to help you up— which you ignored completely as you stepped in past him.

"You know drug dealers and their chivalry," you mumbled as he shut the door, dashing around the front— your eyes followed him through the dusty windshield— and hopping in the driver's side.

"So—" he did a little drum on the steering wheel before he turned to you and leaned closer— “where d’ya wanna go?” he asked.

“Uh, let’s just go to my house,” you shook your head.

“You mean our house,” he smiled, turning the key.

“You’re acting like you’ve already moved in,” you pointed out.

“I mean, I don’t have much— should take me about ten minutes to move in after I pack up the van.”

You didn't reply, because words failed you as he put his arm around your seat and turned back to look out as he backed the van up.  Swallowing didn't do much for the sudden dryness in your throat; looking over at him, you noticed more than ever the strength of his jawline, the softness of his eyes, the curve of his nose…

And then he turned back to face the front and pulled the van out of the parking lot, and you shook your head to banish the thought.

"Hey, um… did you know your uncle was dating my mom?" you asked him.

"Well, yeah," he said like it was obvious.  "He introduced me to her right around Thanksgiving break, she stayed the night at the trailer sometimes—"

You shuddered, trying not to imagine that.  Mostly, you were just a little hurt that she hid it from you for so long.

"He said she had a daughter my age— I didn't realize it was you."

"Me?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah,” he replied.

"You say that like it's a problem that it's me," you pointed out.

"I mean, it's not a problem, I was just hoping it would be someone, you know, cooler."

You scoffed.  "Well, I was hoping it would be literally anyone but you."

"I'm sure," he grinned.  "Guess it's true what they say— you can't pick your family."

"I'm gonna stop you right there," you turned to him with crossed arms.  "We are not family.  You’re just a mooch who’s sucking up to my mom so she’ll make me share my room with you.”

“Wow,” he sighed, “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life— bastard, freak, psycho, junkie— but mooch?  Too far.”

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm, and he smiled at you.  

"If we're not family, then you don't get the friends and family discount on my product," he warned you.

"I'll survive somehow," you promised.

"Unless you wanna be friends?" he offered instead.

"Yeah, no."

"You had me at 'yeah', sweetheart," he smiled.

Of course, you hadn’t thought to clean your room before dinner— you didn’t know Eddie was going to drive you back and start scoping out the place.  You ran to get in the door before him, scooping up dirty clothes off the floor and tossing them into the closet, then trying to rid your bed of the pile of stuffed animals and fluffy pillows.  

“Sorry,” you whispered to Barry the Bear before tossing him into the closet as well, shutting the doors as best you could with the overstuffing of everything you hoped to hide.

You were just starting to tear down the Miami Vice poster when Eddie pushed open the door and leaned his head in.  He had a raised eyebrow and a tilted smirk on his face as he sauntered around, examining your room.  You were nervous for his inspection, though you did your best not to show that you cared what he thought.

“Nice digs,” he smiled, running his tongue over his teeth.  “Very… flowery.”

“Okay, to be fair,” you defended, “I haven’t changed it much since I was a kid.”

He nodded as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, coming up closer to your bed.  He reached out and pushed down on the mattress.  “Is it comfy?”

“What’s it to you?” you wondered.

He didn’t answer that, turning his attention instead towards the closet.  “How much room is there in that?” he asked.

“Uhh— enough,” you promised, hoping to deter him from opening it, but before you could stop him, he’d swung the doors open and unleashed the pile of dirty clothes and stuffies.

“Ah,” he grinned, bending down to pick up a white horse plush, “I figured you were keeping some secrets in here.”

You snatched the toy from his hands; “Yeah?  Then maybe you should’ve kept out of it.”

“Who’s this?” he asked as he picked up Barry next.

“Stop doing that!” you frowned, grabbing the bear and holding it to your chest next to the horse.  

He whistled, grinning back at you over his shoulder as he dangled a pair of lacy white panties off the end of his finger.  You gasped and dropped the animals so you could snatch them away from him with a glare.

“God, you’re such a creep!” you hissed.

“Who gets to see you in those?” he wondered aloud.

"You shouldn't have opened the closet," you mumbled, feeling your face get warm.

“But this is where you're hiding all the good stuff!  You’re sweet to try to clean up for me, though,” he tilted his head.

He spun on his heel, and you turned to watch him walk around— and followed him closely in case he went snooping anywhere else.

“My guitar will fit great right there,” he decided as he looked at the corner, closing one eye and measuring it approximately with his fingers.

“Like hell it will,” you frowned, “I already don’t have room for you in here, let alone your stuff.”

“Where’s she supposed to go, then?” he pouted.

“There’s a garage—”

“No, no way,” he shook his head, “the temperature changes will be too much for her— she’s very sensitive.”

“Could you stop calling it a ‘she’, please?” you crossed your arms.

“Don’t call her an it,” he countered.  “She is the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, so longer than one night?”

He smirked, in a way that made you regret saying anything.  “Don’t say that, honey, makes you sound jealous.”

You did the only thing you could think to do, which was to burst out laughing.  "You're—" you choked on your word from laughing too hard— "you're funnier than I remember, Munson."

"Remember?" he pressed.  "We hardly talked in high school.  I think the only thing you ever said to me was, 'a little to the left'."

Right, the yearbook photo— you did remember taking it.  "I remember telling you to stop making silly faces, too."

"Yeah, that's right," he smiled.  "You said we needed one serious one.  But I snuck a face in all of them."

"I wasted so much film on you," you sighed.

"It was a good picture, though," he told you.  "It's my favorite of the club from any year— ask anyone, I cut it out and taped it up on the wall."

You nodded.  "Hey, thanks… I guess that makes you the only person to display my photography."

"Is that what you want?  Your pictures hanging up somewhere?"

"Yeah, it'd be nice," you shrugged.  "I think the best case scenario is my pictures in a magazine.  You know, like Life or National Geographic or—"

"Hustler?" he added.

You laughed a little.  "Not unless they have a massive topic shift in the next few years."

"Well, if any of your stuff ends up in a magazine, I'll definitely buy it," he decided, "especially if it's Hustler."

When he first suggested it, you had thought he was joking— you really, honestly, thought he was joking.  But there you were standing, staring at Wayne’s solution to the ‘not enough room for two beds’ problem, blinking slowly and wondering when you were going to wake up from this nightmare.

“Cool, right?” Eddie beamed as he stood next to you with crossed arms.  “I always wanted a bunk bed as a kid, but it was sort of stupid, ‘cause I never had any brothers or sisters or anything.”

There’s having to share your room with Eddie Munson, and then there’s having to sleep three feet away from him— three vertical feet.  

“You can be on top if you want, sweetheart,” he purred— and you didn’t like the way he said it.  The little tingle you felt in your jeans almost made it seem like you liked it, but you definitely didn’t.  

“U-um, no, that’s okay,” you cleared your throat, “I try not to spend more than a few minutes at a time that high up.  I’ll just stay on the, uh, ground floor.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugged, jumping onto the ladder. His jeans were obscenely low as he climbed up to his bed, black handkerchief dangling out of his back pocket just below where his blue checkered boxers were exposed; you crossed your arms and looked away, scoffing to yourself.  He fell back on the mattress, plopping down with his arms out wide— even though it made them hang over the edge of the wooden railing— and sighed dramatically.  “This is better than my old mattress— I don’t even care that it’s smaller.”

You groaned as you started to attempt to make your own bed, struggling to stuff the sheets down in the back corners.  “Good for you,” you offered in a half-hearted mumble, knowing this was going to be a downgrade for you— all of this was a downgrade for you, meanwhile he got to live rent-free in your house, and for what?  Because your mom liked his uncle?  Why should he get to live here— and most of all, why should you have to live with him— just because of that?

Your bed was gone— you'd only had it for a few years since you replaced your childhood twin— and sold for extra cash to kick off your mom and Wayne's wedding fund.  Your dresser was moved and the bunk bed was put along the wall, which completely disrupted your Feng Shui.  Actually, everything about this disrupted your Feng Shui, and your zen, and your qi, any other word in any language that could be used to refer to the balance of your life.  Just your sanity in general, really.

Eddie's stuff was supposed to be delegated to one corner, but it had started infecting everything.  There was an Iron Maiden poster next to your beloved Crockett and Tubbs; he left his stacks of cheap rings on your vanity; you'd already tripped on the power cord to his amp twice.

Oh, and both Eddie and his uncle seemed to think it was appropriate to drink orange juice straight from the carton.  And leave the toilet seat up.  And hog the TV when your shows were on.

But, the worst aspect of sharing your room with a guy didn't reveal itself until Eddie's third night in the house.

It was a normal night at first: you were already in bed when he got home late from Hellfire, and he tried to sneak in the room and climb the ladder without waking you.  Obviously, that was pretty much impossible, but you didn't say anything because you were trying to get back to sleep as soon as possible yourself.  You almost did, despite him seeming to roll around and muck with the sheets forever up there, but once he'd stilled you heard an odd noise.

You could just barely hear it, coming from a few feet above you— heavy breathing.  You figured maybe that was just how he breathed when he slept or something, until you heard the softest sound, a grunt under his breath.

Opening your eyes and staring up at the wooden slats above your face—barely visible in the dark— you heard it again, along with a clicking kind of sound, except… wet.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly, and the way he said it gave it away instantly.

"Eddie!" you whisper-yelled.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?"

"Um…"

"Are you jerking off right now?!"

"Yeah," he admitted, and you bared your teeth as you swung your legs up and kicked the bottom of his mattress.  "Hey!"

"Don't jerk off in my room!"

"Well shit, whose room am I supposed to do it in?"

"Anyone but mine!"

"But this is my room, too!" he defended.

"You're the worst," you groaned.

"Now go back to sleep so I can finish—"

You kicked him again, and even though it was dark, you could see enough of his face as he turned over and looked down at you from the railing.  

"Are you done?" he snapped at you.

"Are you?" you returned.

"Shut up for a second and maybe I will be."

"Okay, but before you get back to it, imagine Principal Higgins slathering himself in baby oil—"

"Yep, you did it," he groaned, "you totally killed my boner, thank you."

"Any time, bro," you offered with a smile.  "I was thinking of getting it on a t-shirt: killing boners since 1981."

He laughed.  "That's not true, though."

You wrinkled your eyebrows together.  "Huh?"

"I mean, you were pretty in high school.  I'm sure you… inspired a lot more than you killed."

"I was pretty in high school?" you repeated, incredulous.

"I thought so."

Oh.  Wait, what?  "And I guess sometime after high school, I stopped being pretty?"

"No, I— that's not what I meant, sorry," he laughed.  "You're still pretty, but you're kinda my sister now so I don't notice it.  And you're not my type anyway."

"Heartbreaking."  You put all your energy into channeling every ounce of monotone sarcasm into that single word.

"Ah, but you didn't stop me from calling you my sister," he noticed proudly.  "We are family, then?"

"Yeah, kinda being the operative word there," you rolled your eyes.

"Sweet," he announced.

"Goodnight, Eddie," you offered flatly as you turned onto your side.

"Goodnight, sis," he returned, and you were too tired to protest to that.

#eddie munson x reader #stepbrother!eddie munson x reader

[lunar-serpentinite]

assorted hjp headcanons

he takes to guitars like a bird to the sky. acoustic, bass, electric, you name it, he'd slay it

he eventually finds a way to force kreacher into retirement, but still lets the house elf have absolutely free reign in the former bedrooms of his beloved departed masters

harry has this habit of just picking up all the even mildly pathetic/helpless strays he finds on the streets and ends up raising them. 12 grimmauld place looks a lot like a menagerie now, and he kinda likes it

he went to luna for help on how to take care of his newfound animal roommates and thats how he befriended luna's then-penpal-turned-bf rolf scamander

eventually he moves to a quaint little cottage right outside of godrics hollow to be closer to his parents' final resting place. it's heavily warded, fidelius'd, and nobody except for ron, hermione and luna know the address

he never really did like living in a gated community / suburban neighbourhood, it reminded him too much of privet drive

the first time someone mocked him by calling him freak, harry blacked out a bit and the next thing he knew he was standing over a decently beat-up person

creatures associated w death like corvids, moths and the like are weirdly attracted to him. hell, he even found a whole vulture in his backyard once

harry is pretty apathetic about the notion of his own death post-battle of hogwarts. he told luna once that it felt like he was just idly waiting by for death to come by again

differences aside, he and pansy (my characterisation of her anyways) wld bond over being nosy, gossipy little shits

he would've said yes if cedric and cho invited him into their relationship lmao

i dont think hes necessarily a naturally jealous/possessive person. he just doesn't know how to properly have a grip on himself if the few scant ppl and stuff that he considers his are in danger of being taken away from him, born from trauma from the dursleys ofc. make him feel secure enough and he'd be chill

hes kinda shit at potions especially without proper instructions and motivation because he learned how to cook first, and potions deals w exact measurements while cooking is just measure based on vibes

he would make an excellent beekeeper. idk but he just gives me that vibe

harry's vibe checks are rarely wrong but he doesn't say anything abt em anymore bc hes used to ppl automatically assuming that hes a liar

"harry, why didnt u tell us" "you didnt ask. and if u did ask, youd probably assume im lying"

hes a bit of a hoarder lmao he has a small room in his new cottage thats just filled w his trinkets

he has absolutely no qualms in lying to everyone's faces if he thinks he's justified based on his own criteria of justice

he cant dance those fancy formal dances but at some point he will discover that he likes other types of dancing, just not in front of other people

harry would abuse the FUCK out of slang so he can say as little words as possible. his convo partner is confused but he also doesnt like them ? theyre a grownup with access to books, they can figure it out by themselves

#harry potter #harry james potter #harry potter headcanon

[silentmoths]

Moth Moth Humor me a little Zhongli seeing his beloved in lingerie.... <w< that's it that's all bye

OHOHOHOOOOO BITCH.

okokok so immediately the brainrot for this hhhhh

Some vaugely nsfw brainrots below~

nothing particularly explicit but like, its there ig.

his darling is a shy little thing, for the most part you're all baggy shirts and sweat pants, a real comfy vibe, and he loves that, your style screams 'cuddlable' and hell fkn yeah you are. He loves to just hold and nuzzle and snuggle it's his immediate de-stressor after coming home from another long day dealing with director Hu and her pranks.

now much like the outerwear, he's very used to his darling preferring comfort over style when it comes to underwear, something he can understand.

so when he comes home one day to find his darling in a matching set of lace lingere?

He nearly hits the damn floor.

He has to do a double take, a triple take. He needs to make sure he hasnt walked into the wrong house but no, thats definitely his little gem's face, bright red with embarassment.

Before you have a chance to squeak and hide, before the second thoughts come crashing in, he's on you like nothing else before. He's purring so damn loud and like, it doesn't exaclty take much to get him horny, but like, bruh, the rate in which he goes from flacid to full flag is....honestly a little concerning sir is your blood pressure ok?

It takes all his self control, and you hissing about how much this set cost, for him to not absolutely tear it off you to fuck you stupid, no, he has to be reverent if he ever wants a treat like this again.

but this also leads into another funny little thought.

Zhongli being stuck in paperwork hell, he brings work home and holes up in his office, you're a dutiful and understanding person of course, your husband worked hard and you would always be there to support him. wether it be bringing him a fresh cup of tea and a kiss on the cheek, the occasional dinner in his office.

but encouraging him to take a break could be...difficult.

unless of course, you lean in the doorframe with nothing but a new set you'd been saving for him on, only slightly hidden beneath a matching chemise.

dude nearly ploughs straight through his desk when you wink and slink off down the hall towards your room.

Taglist: @stygianoir @meimeimeirin @ainescribe @dustofthedailylife @rjssierjrie @crystalflygeo Want to be added to the list? shoot me an ask~

#Silentmothasks #silentmoth writes #moths moots #its crys!! #zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader smut

[aphroditelovesu]

If you do miraculous ladybug I would like to please request yandere adrien/cat noir head canons!!! Thank you ^W^

"Even if everyone leaves you, I will always stay by your side." - Adrien Agreste/Cat Noir.

❝ 🐞 — lady l: Hey! A little time without seeing each other, huh? I've been pretty busy these last few days dealing with personal issues so I haven't had the time and I didn't want to write or post anything, but I'm back. Anyway, I hope you like these hc's for yandere Adrien/Cat Noir. 😉

❝tw: yandere themes, obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, overprotection, inferiority complex, suicide, mention of kidnapping and implied murder.

❝🐞pairing: yandere!adrien agreste/cat noir x gender neutral!reader.

Adrien Agreste is your servant, your obedient and loyal boyfriend, your best friend and no one else loves you like he does. That boy would do anything for you, absolutely anything.

He is very shy and awkward around his obsession, Adrien would be even more closed off about his feelings than he normally is. He doesn't want you to hate him, for you to find him disgusting, for you to walk away from him.

He's the kind of guy who prefers to watch his sweetheart from a distance so he doesn't risk being rejected, so he's more than satisfied just being your one and only best friend. Just the two of you, as it should be.

Adrien is very impulsive, he acts by emotion and not by reason, if someone is taking too much of your time he should and will act quickly to change that. He wouldn't be so direct as to threaten someone, but he would be subtle, manipulating you to get away from them and if that doesn't work then maybe they'll get a visit from Cat Noir.

He will do anything and everything for you, you are his princess/prince so you don't have to bother lifting a single finger because he, like a good boyfriend/friend, will do whatever you want. He'd be more than happy if you asked him to help you get ready, Adrien doesn't miss a single opportunity to stick close to you.

Adrien is extremely overprotective of you, if you are a Miraculous wielder he will try to get you to give up on and if he fails to do that, in a fight he would never leave your side. He can't and won't risk you being harmed by a villain or even Hawk Moth. Speaking of which, if any of these villains managed to crack a finger on you, Adrien, more precisely Cat Noir, would get rid of them once and for all and in a more definitive way.

Jealousy? No, Adrien is not jealous, he is possessive. Agreste is jealous of anyone or anything that has your attention no one but him should get your precious attention, no one but him can hear your beautiful voice and see your pretty face, hey, he's a famous model, a beloved superhero and your best friend, is that not enough for you? Is he not enough for you?

Adrien is friendly, empathetic and generous to everyone and those traits will always carry on, that's who he is, but if you asked him he'd put aside all his friends, even Ladybug, hell, he'd go so far as to disobey his father for you. He is your biggest support, whatever you want to do or have planned, you can be sure he will be there for you. Always.

Adrien has a desperation to be loved, he desperately wants to receive his father's approval and love, but since he doesn't, it's you he seeks love and approval from. He's very reckless and he doesn't mind getting hurt in his superhero duty or as a civilian, if that's the price he must pay to get what he so craves so much, so be it.

He is very insecure, Adrien always needs confirmation that he is the person you love and care about the most, if not, he gets paranoid and can get to the point of getting hurt and asking you questions like ''Why don't you love me?'', ''I… I'll do anything! Please, Y/N, don't leave me!''. Adrien would go to extreme lengths for his sweetheart, you are the only person important to him, if you left him, he would not try to hurt you, no, he would kidnap you and, after realizing what he had done, he would kill himself. Adrien can't bear the thought of being taken away from you, so if he can't be with you in life then that he will meet you in death or another life. Either way, you two will meet again.

He's a walking danger to himself and others, but not to you, and the fact that he possesses the Miraculous of Destruction doesn't get anyone excited. Although he is very honorable and kind, Adrien will not hesitate to use a miraculous for a selfish reason for you. He will destroy the whole world just for you if you ask him, so it would be perfect, wouldn't it? Only the two of you would be left, the only people that really matter.

In general, Adrien is a safe enough yandere to be trapped, he would never hurt you and would do anything for you. But as I said before, he only loves and values you and your opinion, Adrien would get rid of his friends and his father if they tried to stop him from being with you, no one who tries to keep him away from his obsession can be good and he swore to rid the world of bad people. He will make the world a better place just for you, all the bad people will be eliminated and no one can stand between you. Perhaps he ends up destroying himself in the process, maybe even becoming Cat Blanc, but none of that matters to him and only the fact that you are safe and with him. Only with him until the end of yours lives.

#yandere miraculous ladybug #yandere miraculous #yandere adrien agreste #yandere cat noir #yandere adrien agreste headcanons #yandere cat noir headcanons #yandere adrien agreste x reader #yandere cat noir x reader #yandere headcanons

[coffeebanana]

Summary

If a little dancing can help Ladybug de-stress, Adrien doesn't mind if she doesn't know all the steps.

Written for the @ladrienjune prompt "slow dance." Posted early because I have no self-control 😂.

Read on Ao3 or under the cut!

...

At the sound of Ladybug crashing into something—the foosball table, as it turned out—Adrien set down his pen and swivelled around in his desk chair, watching as she rubbed her hip and returned to pacing around his room. She'd shown up twenty minutes ago, insisting she didn't want to distract him from finishing his homework once she'd realized he was working on it, and had then started wandering around like she might implode if she stopped.

He'd let her be for a while—experience told him that sometimes she just needed to get something out of her system. But at this point, he doubted whatever was bothering her was something she'd manage to walk off.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, almost crashing into the sofa as well. And under other circumstances, Adrien might have smiled. He loved every side of this girl who’d long ago stolen his heart. Her inability to walk straight was no exception.

(“Besides,” she would say if he teased her about it, “what kind of bisexual would I be if I walked straight?”

And Adrien would follow up with some joke about how he should stop walking in runway shows if that was a qualification for being bi.)

But today didn't feel like the time for jokes.

“W-what?” she said.

He shrugged, following her lead when she glanced away—he didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed. But he missed having her in his line of sight—even when he’d been finishing up his math problems he’d been able to see her reflection on his darkened computer screen. So he quickly shifted his eyes back to her, smiling when he noticed she was watching too.

“Whatever’s on your mind.”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say…”

“I know. I could just…tell.”

“Ugh.” She made a face as she slumped down on the couch’s armrest, falling back against the cushions a second later. “I’m the worst company today, aren’t I? Sorry. I can go if I’m too much of a distraction.”

“No!” Adrien shouted, loud enough that Ladybug sprung back to a sitting position, bracing herself on the back of the couch. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to shout, I just...well, I don't want you to go. I love it when you visit, and I’m almost done with my homework anyways. It just seems like…maybe you’re upset about something?”

Ladybug stood, fiddling with her hands as she slowly made her way towards him. She stopped beside him, and for a second he—foolishly—hoped she might sit in his lap. Instead she leaned against the edge of his desk, tracing a finger over the numbers and variables he'd inked into the page.

"I'm not...upset, exactly," she said. "More like...stressed. But it's no big deal." She shrugged. "Just life stuff."

She sent him a somber smile—the kind that had I'm trying to tell you I'm fine—totally FINE! But actually I'm coming apart at the seams HAHAHA written all over it. Adrien knew it well. But he hated seeing it on someone he loved.

"Is there any way I could help?" he asked.

"I mean, if you could take down Shadow Moth, that would be great."

"No problem!" He smiled. "Be right back."

Committed to the bit, Adrien was steps away from his bathroom when a giggle cut him off. "Are you hiding him in the shower or something?"

"Psssh. No! I was trying to fake a dramatic exit."

"Through the bathroom? Were you going to jump out the window? Slide down the drain?"

"Actually, there's a secret passageway behind the mirror."

"Wait. Really?"

He laughed. "No. But good to know you believe me so easily."

"Pfft. That was the last time, Agreste."

"Uh-huh..."

Still grinning, Adrien made his way back to the desk. When he got there, he rolled the chair away in favour of leaning against the desk beside her. He wasn't bold enough to sit so close that their hands would brush, but he was rewarded anyways when Ladybug leaned her head against his shoulder. Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Or ten.

He wanted to say something else, but he didn't dare disturb the moment.

"I just have so much to do," she said. "But it's all stuff I have to wait for. Like, I'm organizing an event for my class at school, but nobody's getting back to me about what they can bring. And I promised my parents I'd help them install some new shelves, but the order keeps getting delayed. And then there's Hawk Moth, who could strike at any time. And like...the only things I could probably get started on are a few projects for school. Except those aren't due for at least a few more days, so I can't seem to make myself actually start them, and so I keep just playing things over and over in my head, trying to figure out what activity I'm going to slot in when, but there's no good answer, and ugh. I have fifteen kwamis in my room, including one I could use to see the future, but then, like, that might" —her next words were encased in bunny ears— "mess up the timeline."

She sighed, hands slumping back to her sides. "Which really means that none of the superpowers at my disposal are actually helpful, and it's just...I feel like I'm never going to get anything done, which is stupid, I know, but..."

She finished by standing up—Adrien immediately missed her warmth at his side—and throwing her hands up in frustration while she made some indecipherable noise. Then her eyes locked on his and widened, like she'd only just remembered he was there.

"I don't think it's stupid," he said gently. "I think...it's amazing you do all that and still manage to be as wonderful as you are."

His words seemed to have the opposite effect as intended, making her shoulders slump. "But I'm not wonderful. I snapped at my best friend today, and at my cru—uuuh...at my other friend." She started pacing again. "And now I'm dumping all my problems on you, and you probably think I'm crazy, and you'll never invite me back here, and..."

She listed a few more things Adrien couldn't quite make sense of—something about kids and hamsters?—but he didn't think the words were really for him anymore. Unable to watch her keep spiraling, he stood and walked over, stopping her mid-sentence by setting his hands on her shoulders.

"Hey," he said. "I'm sure everything will turn out okay."

Her gaze dropped to her feet. "Maybe..."

"Definitely."

She only sighed in response.

Adrien debated his next words carefully. Part of him wondered if he was secretly being selfish considering his next question—the idea was definitely thrilling to him. But if he were in her position, he was pretty sure it was what he would want someone to ask, even if he weren't in love with that someone. And he probably didn't have much to lose.

"Would you like a hug?"

Her eyes shot back up to his, gleaming with some emotion that sent a thrill through him. Then she nodded, and Adrien wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her.

Of course she fit well there—he'd hugged her enough as Chat Noir to know that. But he wasn't expecting the way she practically melted into his embrace, or the way his heart rate skyrocketed when her breath ruffled his T-shirt. She smelled of something sweet and floral—he'd ask her what shampoo she used if that weren't so creepy. And even the way the ends of her pigtail brushed against his arm when she turned her head was a tiny bit of ecstasy he was certain he'd remember for the rest of his life.

But the hug wasn't about him

"Do you feel better?" he asked maybe a minute later, rubbing a hand down her back. She didn't answer, so he pulled back and searched her expression. "Ladybug?"

Her face crumpled. "No. I still can't stop thinking about everything. And you're being so nice, which must make me awful, and—"

"It doesn't," he assured her. "You're still incredible."

That time, his compliment earned him a tiny smile.

"Maybe you just need a better distraction," he said, before he had to watch that smile fade. "We could...play some mecha strike?"

She shrugged, shaking her hands at her sides. "I feel too...jittery to sit down."

"Ah. Okay. I guess that means a movie's out of the question."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, I promise. We'll figure something out." Adrien bit his lip, looking around the room. So much stuff, but none of it was useful. Then an idea popped into his head that tugged a smile onto his face. "We could...dance?"

Ladybug laughed. "I can't even walk without running into something, and you want me to move other parts of my body at the same time?"

"So, we'll slow dance then. No way you mess that up."

She snorted. "No, but I can totally hurt you when I step on your feet twelve thousand times."

"Twelve thousand? That would actually be impressive."

She laughed again, then sobered. "But do you really...do you want to dance with me?"

Suddenly nervous, Adrien resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck. Instead he reached out his left hand, trying to project confidence despite the flutters that rippled through him when he noticed her cheeks redden. "It would be my honour."

Taking a deep breath, Ladybug reached for his hand. Adrien followed up by taking a half-step closer and hesitantly settling his free hand on her waist. After that, she seemed at a loss with what to do with her other arm, but she slowly bent her elbow and placed a hand on his chest. Instinct—from lessons he'd taken years ago—told him she should technically put her hand a little higher, but he pushed those feelings aside, trying his best to focus on nothing but her.

That wasn't exactly hard when her eyes found his.

"S-see?" he said, a little breathless. "You're already a pro."

She bit her lip, unable to conceal her smile. "We're not even moving yet."

"Well, that's not so hard either." He took a small step back. "Just one step after the other."

"One after the other," she repeated in a whisper, lowering her gaze as she followed his first step.

They went on like that for a while, in small slow steps, eventually building up some semblance of rhythm. Ladybug started humming some song at some point—one with 4/4 timing that didn't at all work for the waltz he'd been counting in his head. But somehow that made the moment even more perfect, like how when she finally stopped paying so much attention to each step, she giggled every time she stumbled into him.

She was finally smiling, and nothing else mattered

"Thank you," she whispered against his chest when they got tired of actual dancing and ended up swaying slowly behind by the window. "I feel better now."

Lost in the moment, Adrien didn't even think before bending down to kiss her head. "Me too, my lady."

...

Thanks for reading!! 💜

#miraculous ladybug #ladrien #ladrienjune2023 #coffeebanana fics #fluff #adrien agreste #ladybug #long post

[beanofspace]

Beanus Weenus

Species: Alien creatura, moth, thing(?)

Gender: yes :0

Pronouns: mostly she/they

Am taken by dealing with the demon :3c

Level 20+

I'm a bean of space! I draw yiss, mostly out of determination or after a moment of burn out. I tend to over do things once and awhile ;w;

And lookie! A catto of loaf here :0 👇

Believe it or not, I do take commissions! I'll insert a post about it here. (Open)

Ooooh commission dimension

(come back again later if you wish to commission)

I do accept art trades! (open)

Just pop a pm! I do not mind (just dont be rude ówo)

Back on the introduction:

I am multifandom, and I hop from one fandom to another at times to draw about em.

Current ones atm :0

You can tell what is what.

This way cuz am a little buzzin from coffee-

I have original characters as well, but if I doodle em here, it would take up the entire post and am almost outta paper-

What else...

Oh! Massive disclaimer:

This space is a safe one, but I warn you:

Please be nice, it is a place of good vibes and peas, and a-drawins, many a-drawins. Sometimes.

If you were to criticise my art, I'll kindly ask you to stop. (unless I actually do ask for criticism)

Creepers, proshippers and etc are not welcome here. Shoo bye-

I do not tolerate any sort a fights and drama, if there are any I want any part of it (not sure if it may even happen but who knows, just dont bring em here-)

If I do not respond in pms, it because am distracted ngl, I'll get to you in a second!

This place is mostly sfw, no nsfw here (cause I'm a flustered bean if i even tried drawing it)

Have fun! Good vibes save lives (not the saying, but eh-)

My tags!

(I'll edit some in to my previous posts ;w;)

For writing and reblogs

#mosstalk #reblog things :> #beanussays #enjoy my shenanigans #bean ramblin

For art

#my art hehe #beandoodles #mosssketches #beanart

That would be all for now!

Peas, love and cats!!

#mosstalk #beanussays #enjoy my shenanigans #beandoodles #mosssketches #bean ramblin

[kusanalogy]

Mother~!

Characters: Yelan x adopted daughter!reader

A/n: this was requested by @kujousarah007 ^ㅇ^ Uhh i think i got a bit carried away writing this 😭 it kinda became short towards the end bc i wrote it at like 1am yesterday lol. reader is a bit shy btw, but i tried not to make it too much

warnings: reader has depression according to the request, but their may be potential misinformation about depression. I made it not so depressing but more fluffy so i could avoid mistakes. Proofread, but in a rush so there might be some things grammatically incorrect

word count: aprox 1.1k words

•Yelan found you on a mission sleeping on the grass under a tree, with a little basket beside you. There she found freshly picked berries

"This must be her food.." She thought

•You sensed her presence, waking you up from your nap

You woke up facing a person you didnt recognize. The unknown woman turned her eyes to you "Ah- Hello there, kid."

"Mhmmm.. Hi there" you rubbed your eyes to see her clearly "W-what are you gonna do to me?"

"Dont worry, I wont do anything bad. I just happen to see you while- going for a walk!" It was a half-lie. Yes she did just happen to see you, But she wondered if you knew where her target; a group of treasure hoarders were.

"Oh! Sorry for the misunderstanding. A group of strong men had recently stole my backpack and.. I thought you were one of them!"

"Strong men... stealing... Could you describe they're looks?" The unknown woman asked.

"Are you gonna help me find my backpack~?" You stood up, looking at her exictedly.

She reached out a hand to you "Sure. I have other stuff to deal with that group though. Just sit back and watch, alright? Unless you wanna cover your eyes."

Yayyy!!! Thank you uh.. ma'am~!" You happily held her hand, Exicted to watch her deal with them.

"Call me yelan by the way. You?"

"I-I'm y/n, nice to meet you yelan!"

Yelan smiled and continued to ask you more questions about the group, giving her more clues. not long after, You both managed to locate them.

You listened in amazement on how she explains the plan "So complicated... but fun!" Your mind wandered, thinking about different outcomes and turning them into scenarios

After that, you soon became fond of yelan. She treated you the way noone treated you before, Making you feel a.. different feeling.

"Im sorry y/n.. I have to get back now."

"B-but mama... I want you to stay with me!" You stared at her with puppy eyes "Let me come with you!!! Pretty pleaseeee with a cherry on top?"

She was surprised once you said "mama" she sighed, realizing you got that attached to her

"We can meet up here next time, Its getting late." She attemptee to politely answer

You shook your head and grabbed a part of her clothing. "Nuh-uh. Im not gonna sleep alone somewhere far away. If you're not gonna let me come then i'll just have to follow you! If you somehow manage to get away then ill f-find you tomorrow."

She could sense the sadness in your words. Well, Theres nothing she can do.. you seemed to be really clingy. She's dealt with children like you before, Many times. But how come torwards you, it was unalike? who could resist a poor child like you? Why did it feel... familiar? "How am i going to explain this to the agents.." She pondered

Once you both arrived in liyue harbor, She and her men set up a little room for you to settle in. You cleaned yourself up and sat on the comfortable matress.

•Your eyes roamed across the small room, you dont know why but.. it made you feel a bit emotional. Noone has ever done this for you, It made you feel a bit special.

"How is it, little one?"

You jump as you didnt notice your so called "saviour" standing behind the half-opened door.

"O-oh mothe- yelan! Its very pretty. Not like where i usually settle."

She chuckled "Mother, huh? You got comfortable really quick." Well, its not like she got comfortable too. She wont loosen up that quick though. You never know, a child could be involved with something unfortunate.

You went up to her and stared at her face. Yelan knew you wanted something, so she bent down to your level

"Its time to sleep now, y/n. We can chat tomorrow." Yelan said.

"I have one request, w-will you stay with me? just for a bit?"

.

.

Now, this moment prooves her speculations that you're having a rough time with your mental health. Seeing you having trouble falling asleep, moving a lot, all that. The sad part is, You dont notice it. You got used to living this poor life given by fate.

•The day after, she started to take care of you, Although she was always away due to her duties, you didnt mind.

•Sometimes you'd accidently call her "mother" and she'd frequently tease you about it and imitates by calling you "dearest daughter" with a hint of sarcasm

"Yelan, mother, a friend or a mere stranger. I can be any of those. I can play whoever you want me to be."

•Yelan taught you lots of stuff growing up! Most of it was on how to communicate with people, the rest, she wanted you to learn on your own so you could be independant.

•When she was away, She'd always send you letters to remind you that she hasnt forgot.

•But getting older, you soon start realizing things.

•Its the way she kept lying. You knew your mother's job was to lie, no doubt she lied to you multiple times. But as you lay down in the middle of your bed, dozens of thoughts going thru your mind, what made you believe her?

•You get up to look at your calendar.

"Mother said she'd be back yesterday. What happened to that? hrm, another lie yet again." You spoke to yourself.

"Listen to me. yes i lie, you know me. You know what i do. But i promise you one thing.."

The familiar voice made sure to speak clearly, though how it spoke so suddenly startled you.

"Ye-yelan..?"

"Missed me, my favorite y/n?" She slightly teased

You jumped to embrace her, feeling warm again. "Im listening! Tell me the promise."

"...That i'll always come back." She cleared her throat and continued. "That is the one thing that will never be untrue. I have a reason for keeping you as far as possible from my work and not telling you everything, you know? Well, one of those reasons are to keep you safe. Its for that very promise. I understand your feelings and- i apologize if i couldnt fulfill several of your wishes due to work. I'll make it up to you, next time theres another minor problem im tasked to do, i'll bring you along with me just like how i did the first time i met you. Are we clear?"

Your eyes widened, then you smiled. The genuine one you only showed to her.

"There we go, now you're smiling. Keep it up." Yelan said.

"Watch me, i'll use the technique you taught me when that time comes!"

Yelan looked thru your window, and back to you. "Exicted again, hm? Lets get you to bed now, the days will go by faster."

#genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin x female reader #genshin x fem!reader #genshin yelan #yelan genshin impact #yelan x reader #gi yelan #yelan x y/n #yelan x you #🍀▪︎genshin writings

[msfcatlover]

I am insane for your tma x dc headcanons! I have to ask, do you think any of the other dc characters are entity aligned? Heres a few hcs i had:

The Scarecrow: honestly might be an avatar touched by all the fears like Jonathan Sims. Probably like Sims, he started researching the fears and Scarecrow became obsessed w them. If i had to go with a single entity, i would say he is Dark/Corruption/Eye alligned

The Riddler: Eye or Spiral alligned

The Joker: slaughter or corruption (the angst if Jason shared an entity w his murderer!)

Poison Ivy: Extinction?

Harley Quinn: hunt or stranger aligned? She was hunting down the cure for Jokers issues, but he wasnt who she thought he was and she became the prey

Killer Croc: Flesh babey!

Two face: maybe another slaughter?

The penguin: Web

I dont know enough about non-batman characters to do others tbh

Okay, so in my opinion plenty of characters have been touched by various Entities or even marked by them in ways that can motivate them without fully being Avatars or aligning themselves with those Entities. Like, Scarecrow just screams to me of someone who was touched by the Spiral (and is probably in real danger of becoming an Avatar,) but he’s holding on to his own sense of rationality as hard as he can and trying to make Fear make scientific sense. Someone who would walk out of an impossible corridor, and spend weeks measuring the outside of the building trying to find where the hell that corridor was supposed to fit, before sending someone else in to see if they experienced the same thing, only to become fixated on the differences… Not saying that’s what happened, but Jonathan Crane had some kind of experience with the embodiment of Unreality itself, and he definitely feeds it regularly.

(Harley, likewise, seems more like a victim of the Spiral, Corruption, or Stranger than anything else. Oh, she’s still a supervillain/anti-hero depending on the day, but her origin story is of her mind being broken by the Joker’s abuse. That is either depressingly mundane, or being chewed up & spat out by one of those three Entities.)

I hadn’t thought much about most of the villains, but I am 100% with you on Ivy being an Avatar of the Extinction, and I can definitely see Croc as an Avatar of the Flesh. I’d throw in Hugo Strange as probably being at least aligned with the Spiral, and Pyg has definitely at the very least been marked by either the Spiral or Flesh (though I don’t know him well enough to say if he’s a full-blown Avatar or not.) If you only saw my first post, I also decided Talia & Ra’s are both aligned with the Web, though Talia values her own freedom enough I don’t think she’s a full Avatar. They’re the ones who helped Bruce find the Mother’s embrace. Damian was supposed to be a Web Avatar as well, but he’s just a little too desperate for love when nobody’s looking; his swarm is silk worms & moths, and he does manage to fake it for a while. If Joker’s an Avatar, it would either be the Stranger, Spiral or Slaughter, in my opinion, but I always like when experts of every kind take time to study Joker and are like, “Yeah, IDK WTF is going on with that guy, but I hate it.”

(Jason is an Avatar of the Desolation in my version, because the Slaughter is about the violence on as large a scale as possible while the Desolation is about the very personal aftermath. The Slaughter is War, where the Desolation is something taking out your entire life in one single night and leaving you behind to deal with it. Jason absolutely wants his targets to be scared of what will happen, what he’ll do to them, but in a “destroy everything you’ve ever worked for & drive away everyone you ever cared about” sort of way; not a “blow up an entire city block for no reason” sort of way. And given how much Jason cares about protecting innocents, he’s actually partially starving himself by not following through on complete Desolation the way people like Jude Perry do. Imagine if The Archivist (around s3) tore out the last page of a statement & threw it away without glancing at it before he started reading. That’s basically what Jason’s doing to himself.)

Some people in the DC universe, though, are just Like That(TM). Sure, it can be hard to tell supernatural trauma apart from genuine mental illness, but it’s still a superhero setting and some people are just little freaks (affectionate.)

Like, Oliver Queen? Just a little freak with a bow. Just a weirdo. Black Canary? Superpowers, but not of the Fear Entity induced kind. She’s just Like That(TM).

Speedsters? Oh honey, you better believe they’re all just Like That(TM). Anti-Avatars, if anything; those bastards basically became one with a potential aspect of the Vast and went “But what if I was just. Like. Nice about it? Or only mean in extremely specific, petty, personal ways? What if that?”

My main “outside of Gotham” thought is that Amazons are aware of the Entities. Primarily, they have to be very careful & monitor eachother for signs of potential influence of the Hunt, but they’re aware of others beyond it (though they might define the Entities along different lines thanks to cultural differences & all that; I don’t have any specifics, I just really like that headcanon that while certain fears are nearly universal, the way different cultures group & view them are going to be different. Like, if spiders are viewed as purely benevolent & good luck by the culture you were raised in, it’s very unlikely any capital-f Fear is going to have a spider motif. Smirke separated the Buried from the Vast, but aren’t they both primarily about being overwhelmed, about Too Much? At the bottom of the ocean, is there any difference? Why should other cultures draw that same line?) This created some tension with Batman at the start of the Justice League, as Diana knew even if he wasn’t lying when he swore to have the best intentions, Batman was still walking a razor’s edge; he could become a monster so very easily. On the other hand, it was a huge relief for Dick (who, again if you’ve only seen my first post, I’ve changed my mind on and decided he’s a Hunt Avatar) when he first met the other Titans and they all went over their powers, to have Donna realize what he was talking about and promise to stop him if he ever lost control. A promise she has actually had to follow through on a few times, when a villain got into their heads and pushed Dick too far; he sleeps better at night knowing Donna is both willing & able to wrestle him to the ground and keep him from hurting anyone, even when Dick’s gone full-feral.

(The tag for this AU on my blog is "tma crossover," if you wanna check out the... everything I have for it.)

#tma crossover #batfam crossover #smirkes 14 #tma entities #batman #batfam #wonder woman #teen titans #dick grayson #richard grayson #robin #robin dick grayson #wonder girl #troia #donna troy #Hunt aligned Dick Grayson #Web aligned Bruce Wayne #Corruption aligned Damian Wayne #Desolation aligned Jason Todd #my life #my writing #mine #questions #callmekohaii

[ticklishbeans4]

Bugging out

This fic was inspired by an ask from @fluffomatic and my friend @ticklytums fuzzbutts! Hope y’all enjoy!

Why him? Out of every other coven head, why was HE picked to accompany the golden brat on a mission? It was ridiculous! He wasn’t a babysitter! Ugh. Stupid childish little brat. He brought shame to the Golden Guard’s legacy. Why was a 12 year old given this position anyways?

“We’re almost at the drop off, should just be another hour or so.” the annoyingly squeaky voiced tween of the hour piped up. Titan, his voice was so grating sometimes. “Thank you little prince, I never would have been able to guess.” Darius grumbled. “Remind me why we had to WALK there? Why not take an airship, or a carriage?” “The package is too delicate and too volatile. Bringing it too high and it could explode. If the road gets too bumpy, it could break and… also explode. So walking is safer, as well as keeping it contained in your abominations. Less impact means less danger for the package and us.” the brat explained clinically.

That was another thing Darius didn’t like about this boy. He was so… professional. He was only 12, yet he spoke and acted like he was years older. It was… unsettling at times in all honesty. “Whatever. I still think there are better ways this could have been handled.” he scoffed, crossing his arms in a very not pouty way.

“Then you can bring those up with the emperor.” the tween replied. Apparently he was playing the game of “lets see how much I can annoy Darius today”. Bloody brat.

Darius huffed as he looked around them, scanning for danger, or for anything to distract him from his misery. It was a rather beautiful day, and the forest was teeming with life. Eberwolf was more the animal person, but even Darius could appreciate the wildlife around him. Little creatures flitting about, playing and rough housing, singing their songs to attract their mates. Bugs crawling about, looking for their next meal. He even spotted a few little creatures that he knew quite well, given how… playful Eber could be.

He couldn’t help but smile a bit as little cotton bees floated around them, the little puffballs simply bumbling wherever the breeze took them. They were sweet things, one of the few creatures in the isles that didn’t try to kill you. They could be quite affectionate though, which given how fuzzy and… well for lack of a better word, tickly they could be, Eber liked to summon them simply to make him squeal. Embarrassing at the best of times.

There were also some fuzzbutt caterpillars, devilishly smart creatures. They had extraordinarily long lives, and sometimes bonded closely with witches, like pets. They were affectionate, fuzzy, and had an awful powder coating their bodies that made skin much more sensitive. True tickle monsters in their own right. And that wasn’t even getting into their other form, feather moths. He shuddered just thinking about those dastardly things.

He was brought out of his thoughts by… an unexpected noise from his companion. “Did… did you just squeak?” “No!” the golden brat quickly replied, “I-I just thought I felt something odd. But it’s noth-ING! AH!” Darius was a bit alarmed now, the boy’s odd shriek making him wonder if they were under attack. He summoned his abominations and looked around. “Is someone there?! Whoever you are, know you’re dealing with an official coven head who already doesn’t want to be here, and is not afraid to take his frustration out on someone else!”

“N-no! We’re not under attack! I-I don’t think.” the tween said quickly.

“Then what in the isles was that noise for?” he huffed back.

“I don’t kn-OW! Ehehe! W-wahahait! No! Whahat is that!?”

Darius looked on… dumbfounded as the boy began… giggling? Why in the world was he giggling? He took a closer look at the child and finally spotted it. There was something crawling under his tunic! “I see… well it’s good to know we’re not under attack. Or… at least I’m not.” he smirked.

“Whahahat do you mehehean!? Whahahat’s gohohinn on!? What ihihihis this!?” he giggled, hugging his midsection and looking utterly lost.

“You seem to have made a little friend.” Darius replied coolly, using an abomination tendril to lift the boy's tunic a bit, revealing the little fuzzbutt that had managed to crawl onto his stomach. “Don’t worry, they’re harmless. Just tickly.”

“W-whahat’s thahat mehehan?” he asked, another squeak bubbling out.

“What does what mean?” “T-tihihicky! Whahat does it mehehan!?” Darius blinked in genuine confusion, “Do you… little prince do you really not know what “tickly” means?”

“N-nohohoho! I dohohohon’t!”

Wow… that was a bit sad. He’d never been tickled before? It was such a basic form of affection for children. “Well… it’s what you’re feeling right now! The thing that’s making you laugh so much. That’s tickly.”

“Ihihihit’s weheheird! Gehehehet it ohohohoff!” the boy squealed. Darius barely held back a coo, this was… honestly adorable. He’d never been fond of the boy, but… well it was hard to deny how cute he was when he was blushing and giggling up a storm.

“Mmm… in a bit, maybe. You seem to be having so much fun, and growing boys need to laugh sometimes.” Darius hummed, dusting off a log to sit on as the child fell onto the forest floor, squealing and snorting away, his little legs kicking out, similarly to a puppy.

“N-nohohoho! We hahahahave a mihihihission! EEP!” he squeaked, another shriek coming out as a second fuzzbutt joined the fray. Hunters laughter grew louder, and a bit more frantic as he screeched. “NYAAAAHHAAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIHIT’S-IHIHIHIHIHIT’S T-TIHIHIHICKLY! DAHAHAHRIUS! HEHEHEHELP!”

Darius simply pretended to look at his pentsagram, the kid needed to loosen up anyways, this was for the best.

Hunter snorted loudly, an unfairly cute noise from the brat. “P-PLEEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! AHAHAHAHAHAH! G-GEHEHEHEHET THEM OOOHOHOHOFF!” Darius sighed, but hearing the beginnings of genuine distress in the boy's voice, carefully removed the little bugs with his abominations. “There. Now that wasn’t so bad was it? I’m sure the sensation of “laughter” if foreign to you, right?” The tween simply lay there, giggling still, curled into a ball as his ears twitched and he gave little puppy-like kicks. “N-nohoho, I cahahan laugh… Titahahan that was ahahawful.”

Darius couldn’t help but chuckle, “Oh come now, it can't have been that bad. You seemed to be having such fun!”

Hunter sat up and stretched, “It was… odd. Not the worst thing in the world I suppose, but I’m not too keen on doing it again. Come on, we still have a fair bit of ground to cover.”

Darius scoffed as he rose, following the boy at a leisurely pace, “My my, still so serious. You know it won’t kill you to loosen up now and again!”

Hunter grumbled and walked a little faster, ears turning an adorable shade of pink, that made the coven head chuckle almost fondly. Maybe this kid wasn’t that annoying… At least now Darius had a way to get him back when he bothered him.

#toh tickle #tickles #tickle #tickling #toh tickle fic #tickle fic #ler!darius #lee!hunter #darius deamonne #toh hunter #owl house tickles

[mothask]

I have question. So each moth species has specific uv patterns on them and pheromones to signal their own kind, now I understand that there is inter species relationships because of bly and aayla, padme and anakin, that oc trooper and the fairy; exc. for plot reasons of coarse, but it would mean that attraction was subjective and not binary to any one species like we see in canon Star Wars, but that’s not the point. What I’m trying to ask is that if the boys see a moth lady or guy that’s the same wing species as them do they immediately be like 😍😳🤩😵‍💫 because they look extra pretty to them because of wing patterns but another clone of a different wing species is like eh they ok. If this makes any sense.

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW BADLY I WANT TO DRAW THIS BUT CAnt

okay OOFOOOHGOOWH

yes, it is like a big deal if you find a partner that is the same moth type as you it's seen as a lucky thing, you know culture myths n what not, but the rich take it to a fucking absurd degree.

The rich in this au think of it like pure breads which is messed up because these are people, they force their children to court other rich families that are the same species of moth sometimes they're allowed to step outside of this if it's for business partnerships or other affairs but a good amount of the time its a matter of keeping the blood line "Pure" Or some shit.

I'll get into later hopefully but relationships for the clones is messy, the republic doesn't want them having long term relationships and they can face serious consequences if they sought out relationships.

But the republic is fine with the clones paying the strippers in clone cash-

but I digress. OAHWA I wanted to make a post about the ladies in Star Wars like other moth ladies n such.

mon mothma it goes without saying but she's a moth. lmao.

But yeah :) without spoiling much in the future when we return to Louis's story, we'll get to see someone very epic <w< I'm very hyped about that.

#moth ask #moth au

[trashland-llamas]

-> Fic Masterlist <- (Fandoms A-K | Fandoms L-Z)

Marvel

Serpentine; poem about Loki

MCYT Adjacent

I’m Home Again; Dad!Corpse

NWTB

Rivets; My attempt at making one of those Youtube egos

Obey Me!

Bah Bah Black Sheep; Mc has a nightmare where they're the sheep character in Catherine and die trying to complete the obstacle course. Waking up, they go seek their beloved demon. [GN]

Astronomy themed nicknames Belphegor calls Mc [GN]

One Piece Live Action

Red Bottoms; Strawhats + whether I think they can successfully walk in heels

Strawhats + reacting to reader cupping their face [GN]

Strip Poker…but w/ Peppers?; Sanji and Zoro compete for y/n's affections over a sinister game of strip poker, suggested by the cook [Fem]

Do You Have a Light?; Sanji & Zoro react to Reader smoking for the first time [GN]

Take It Off; Zoro catches trans! reader over-binding [Male]

Stoic; Reader goes to Sanji for comfort after becoming fed up with Zoro's methods of comforting them [Male]

Could Just Eat You Alive; reader agrees to being Sanji's meal [Fem]

Relaxed, Squishy. Flexed, Hard; Reader asks Sanji while drunk why his muscles are so squishy [GN]

Moth to a Flame; Sanji jumpscares touch-starved reader with touch [Male]

Feel My Heartbeat Beat Beat; Soulmate au where Sanji can sense reader’s heartbeat [GN]

Ohhhhh Waaaaitttteerrrr; Reader is a customer at the Baratie & has to tell Sanji their order turned out wrong [GN]

Vignettes; Vignettes revolving Sanji and Reader's sex life [GN]

Cramps; Reader has PCOS and finally experiences cramps. Not knowing how to deal with them, they confide in Nami [Fem]

Ouran High School Host Club

Two Peas in a Pod; Mori-senpai x reader who like him, doesn't talk a lot [GN]

Outlander

Pineapple…on Pizza? Why?; Oneshot about Jamie trying pineapple pizza [GN]

Resident Evil

Cat Eyed; Reader helps Vendetta! Leon apply his eyeliner [GN]

Tiddies; Reader coerces Leon into letting them play with his tits [GN]

That Girl is Poison; Reader attempts to poison Leon [Fem]

Everyone Grows Old; Reader’s self-conscious about their gray hairs, Leon comforts them [GN]

Sidemen + Troops

Mrs All American; Hcs bout Reader being an American [GN]

Mom Friend; Reader makes breakfast for the Sidemen crew [GN]

Fruit Gushers; Trans male reader is on their period [Male]

Welcome to Jackass; The bit/scene from Jackass 4.5 where Steve-O tries advertising his condoms by filling them w/ sewage from his RV but insert the Sidemen instead

Scary Dog Privileges; Sidemen's reaction to y/n having scary dog privileges [GN]

Hey, Catch!; Reader has dyspraxia [GN]

I’m Not Angry Anymore; Cal falls asleep to Harry singing

Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist; a poltergeist starts following Lux around [Fem]

Fat, Funny Friend; Behz consoles reader after finding them broken down after a particularly bad day [Male]

Who Let the Dogs Out; Reader's trying to reel in their dog or where Ethan thinks they're catcalling them

When the Sun loves the Moon; Harry's had a crush on his next door neighbor y/n for a while but has been too much of a chicken to talk to her until Simon encourages him to invite her over [Fem]

Touch Starved Harry

Caregiver; JJ & Simon are Reader's caregivers, Reader's an age regressor [GN]

Why So Sad?; Simon accidentally scares y/n while they're already regressed, making them further regress into headspace and JJ takes care of them. Sequel to Caregivers. [GN]

Absolutely Stunning; Simon tries on lingerie for JJ

Dad; 4x the Sidemen called Josh ‘Dad’

Enthralled; Tobi doesn't let Reader do work related stuff during their movie night [GN]

Stranger Things

Barbie; Y/n beats Munson at his own game of name 3 songs

What’s Wrong with my Speech?; Reader goes w/ Eleven to speech therapy

We Bare Bears

Stuffies; Ice Bear notices y/n’s beloved stuffy finally needs to be replaced [GN]

Wednesday

Pack Animals; Remus is one of the lycanthropy specialists that Enid's parents sent her to

Studyblr?; Tyler finally finds the time to strike up a conversation with a regular, y/n, an infamous studyblr blogger on tumblr

#masterlist #masterpost #fic masterlist #mcu #obey me #opla #outlander #ouran host club #resident evil #sidemen #stranger things #we bare bears #wednesday netflix #long post

[fierykitten2]

Do you ever hear about KOSA and just think “I should draw some porn before it’s too late” and then realise you can’t draw and you’re vaguely uncomfortable with drawing porn so you just draw characters/species from your special interest being snarky about it by hiding themselves behind a censor? No? Just me?

Don’t ask what Moth is doing or why Jugulis seems to be tipping itself upside-down. Or why Valiant and the Neo Swords have their blades out (okay that one actually makes sense)

Featuring an over-exaggerated censor because I realised there are only 8 letters in censored and I had the opportunity to do the best thing ever (each letter matches one of the Future Paradox Pokémon)

Who each of the descriptions is referencing: “11 beings with no gender” is the Future Paradox Pokémon as a group because I still haven’t worked out the difference between genderless and gender unknown, “pan dragon” is Miraidon (I considered referring to it as “Mimi” because I bet Jugulis nicknames it Mimi to match everyone else being referred to as the second word in their names), “ “lazy” omni dragon who may have ADHD” is Jugulis because it has a similar colour scheme to the omni flag and I guess I wanted one to have ADHD, the moth that Jugulis is in a relationship with is Moth, “two “dangerous” humans with autism” are Hands and Valiant because I’ve seen people refer to Valiant as autistic and I think one of Hands’s animations looks like a stim - specifically Hands is the one in a relationship with a penguin (it’s Bundle) and Valiant is the left-handed one that will stab you (I bet it’s like “I don’t wanna entertain stereotypes but” *stabs you*), the overexcited party animal deer is Leaves because it’s got a funny run animation and it bounces its hind legs before performing Psyblade, the pyromaniac bull is Boulder because I headcanon that it and Fire like to use explosives on their enemies (them combined with Valiant’s eagerness to stab those it believes did stuff wrong probably means that in this reality, KOSA doesn’t stand a chance), the “disgruntled goat that has to deal with them” is Crown (who agrees with their political opinions but doesn’t agree with Boulder’s methods of dealing with them) and the metalhead is Thorns (but honestly at least Valiant and Boulder are also metalheads. And Leaves because it’s my favourite Pokémon. And all the Future Paradox Pokémon just because). The only one I didn’t single out was Treads. This is because I wasn’t trying to single out every single one of them I just thought I should say stuff about them

The parts about them trying to live their lives being sexual, Jugulis being lazy and Hands and Valiant being dangerous are meant to be sarcastic (though admittedly Valiant is definitely dangerous, it’s just not the autism’s fault). I probably didn’t need to include the neurodivergent parts (and admittedly if we assume these guys aren’t well-disguised cyborgs it doesn’t make that much sense anyway) but I guarantee everyone that supports KOSA has a problem with the disabled

I didn’t intentionally create a pan flag using Valiant, Boulder and Bundle’s parts of the background (also random but if you line up the Neo Swords in Pokédex order their lights make a pan flag)

I think I wanted to restart Miraidon’s lightning but I liked that it formed a W shape as if it was saying “whatever lol” to right-wing opinions (as in ignoring them)

Oh yeah those strange glowy bits are Leaves (in pink), Boulder (in orange) and Crown (in blue) levitating the sign

And don’t ask what happened to Treads (this is why I need to pay attention to the size of the brush I’m using)

#fandom with politics #fuck kosa #future paradox #iron treads #iron bundle #iron hands #iron jugulis #iron moth #iron thorns #iron valiant #miraidon #iron leaves #iron boulder #iron crown #procreate art #strangely Crown seems to be the only one in the process of attacking

[kiwikipedia]

Erron Black, acting mature? Not with Ciel Lloyd and Danver Hakka within general proximity of him. Kotal really should read those resumes before he hires people, now he has to deal with the three most chaotic Earthrealm-ers in all of Outworld. 

*Danver Hakka belongs to @purgetrooperfox | Variants, ID, and taglist below

[ID: An image of three characters drawn in a chibified style, all of them holding their hands in peace signs. The closest figure is Ciel Lloyd, they have darker blue hair tied back in a ponytail with two red clips holding their bangs back, paler skin than the other two, and two scars on their face one of which is on their left cheek, and one across the nose. Their expression is similar to an anime cat's expression with the 'w' or '3' mouth. They have two piercings under their lip and two in their ear. They don a neon green and dark blue coat with fingerless gloves that are black. Behind them in the middle of the group is Erron Black from Mortal Kombat 11. His hair is a grayish brown and covered up mostly by his cowboy hat which is a dark gray-brown with a red band and silver-gray accents. His eyes are disinterested and his face is mostly covered up by a mask with red and gray accents on them. He has a black scarf around his neck, a red puldron set with the top one having gray accents, a black vest over a blue shirt without sleeves, black gloves, and two bandoliers that are brown in color. One of his arms is behind Ciel's head making it look as if his second peace sign is giving them bunny ears. The final figure is Danver Hakka, whose eyes are closed and moth similar to that of a forward slash keystroke. His skin is dark, and his hair is black in color and shaved entirely on the sides and the remainder tied back in a bun. One hand is on Erron's shoulder, though the farthest one makes a peace sign like the other two. He also has fingerless gloves colored black and he wears clothes and light armor similar to Garett from the game 'thief'. It is colored in various blacks and grays and he has two straps and that cross his chest that are a lighter gray. On the side of his head where the hair has been shaved off he has dark green tattoos that are abstract and he has a cut through his left brow. Danver is mostly covered by Erron, as he is the backmost character. All three are outlined in hot pink and white with the words "The Kotal Crew" above them colored in the same hot pink with a white drop shadow. The C in 'Crew' has been replaced with a 'K' to match Mortal Kombat's pattern of spelling. The initial background is a bright yellow with an overlay of neon blue stars similar to what you might find in an old comic. Under the cut are three additional variants of the main image, all the same except for the background with the first being only the blue stars, the second being only the yellow background, and the third being without any background at all. The fourth image is of the trio only. /End ID]

Taglist:

@jedifisto @spaceydragons @purgetrooperfox @spacerocksarethebestrocks @insanelytomato @maulpunk @certified-anakinfucker @d3epfriedangels @iamthespacegeneral @thecodyagenda @dilf-archivist​ @txtalnyx​

Taglist Form or feel free to ask me to get tagged (just DM!)

Buy on Threadless

#Reptile took the picture #Ermac edited it #this is kotal's campaign poster for the next outworld election tm (/j) #Erron Black #Ciel Lloyd (PKOCs) #Danver Hakka (Leo) #Mortal Kombat OCs #Mortal Kombat #Penguinkiwi Creates #Penguinkiwi ocs

[smileylover99]

Tagged by @weprovideleverage

thank you for the tag :)

rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag blogs you would like to get to know better.

a - age: 23

b - birthplace: The North of the Netherlands

c - current time: 21:03

d - drink you last had: water as well, most times it is

e - easiest person/people to talk to: my sister

f - favorite song: god idk it's always changing imma go with the free life by Turbowolf

g - grossest memory: i've mostly blocked it out but there was this one campsite in France and when we arrived the sanitary building closest to us were nice and clean, but then for like the week we stayed there they never cleaned it 🙃

h - horror yes or horror no: no mostly, but occationally (I have also listened to tma)

i - in love?: not so far, and probably not ever

j - jealous of people?: rarely

l - love at first sight or should I walk by again?: save yourself the effort, I would like to be friends at first sight tho

m - middle name: no thank you

n - number of siblings: said sister from question e

o - one wish: long term probably like happiness, short tem a bigger appartment

p - person you called last: I had like a communication training and a week later we had to physically call an actor to do like a final practice convo before the real deal

q - question you are always asked: people don't really ask me questions?? the best i can think of is like what do you do? are you still studying? from like relatives and my parents neighbours

r - reason to smile: it's the weekend

s - song you sang last: Durch den Monsun by Tokio Hotel dkjlajdkl

t - time you woke up: at 8:00

u - underwear colour: black and white dots

v - vacation destination: I have a couple of places. I really want to see the northern light so like iceland or northern Norway for that one. I also wanna go back to Hong Kong because my last trip got cut quite abruptly. Also I want to see Tokyo.

w - worst habit: probably like scaring myself out of things ill enjoy

x - x-rays: oh shit it's good you mentioned the teeth thing cause ive gotten many a pictures of my teeth done, never broken a bone tho

y - your favorite food: I love spätzle, which i should make more often

z - zodiac sign: Leo, which is like the super social butterfly, i consider my self more a social moth, very energetic at random times and sit completely still for the rest

People who I want to get to know better: @itwoodbeprefect @ghost-faeries @pomato-queendom @localsealboy @pablothefrog (Only if you want to, of course.)

#actually trying to improve on my bad habit by interacting with people online lol #tagged in

[maxwell-grant]

Might I please ask whom you would pick if you were casting a version of Count Dracula for WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS? (Assuming, of course, that we're not shameless enough to cast Mr Jemaine Clement as Vlad's identical grandson who just so happened to become a much, much more famous vampire than Vlad himself ...).

Pretty much the same actors I mentioned here, on my “designing Dracula” post. I wrote a post once pitching some ideas for how the Vampires would react to Count Dracula, and since Dracula's the big elephant in the room everytime you do a vampire story that tries to take a look at the larger history of the archetype, so I assume at some point they're gonna get to addressing what Dracula is like in this world. But if I was gonna do actual Dracula appearing in WWDITS, I think the joke I'd go with, the one I think makes for the funnier outcome, is the idea that Dracula, of ALL fictional vampires, doesn't actually exist, and never has.

Even though every vampire in existence thinks he does, even though many of them are dead certain they've met Dracula. No, even the Council is not aware of this, they all are torn between those who think Dracula was real but died, and those who think he’s just biding his time. But unfortunately, it's one of the few things humans happen to be fully right about. Quite embarassing, really.

Yes, the Van Helsing bloodline exists, and yes, the non-Dracula cast of the novel does exist, there really used to be a group of Victorian train nerds who put an end to some of the biggest and nastiest vampires ever back in the 1880s, the book Dracula is a fictionalized retelling of how they met. And true to the book's infleunces, "Dracula" is really just an amalgam of several different figures merged into a single character, who ended up inspiring legions of copycats who ended up being mistaken for the real deal. 

Yes, Bram Stoker had insider knowledge of vampires thanks to a slightly scandalous affair with a certain Mr Cravensworth, which also means Laszlo's antics have indirectly gotten countless vampires killed and he never faced any consequences for it. Yes, Bela Lugosi was The Council leader for a while, vampires worldwide still bemoan his passing. Yes, Nandor had a fiercesome rivalry with Vlad the Impaler, who was not a vampire, but in fact the fiercest vampire killer of his age and a distant progenitor of the Van Helsing bloodline, I mean, who do you think discovered that a stake through the heart is an effective way to slaughter vampires? This is a fact that the vampires (sans Colin, who can’t keep secrets for shit) all collectively agree Guillermo must NEVER be informed about. You can imagine how pissed off Vlad the Impaler’s ghost would be, if he were to be aware of what his legacy turned into. 

Yes, there are a lot of dumbasses running around pretending to be Dracula, some of whom are even pretty believable. No, none of them are Dracula, the way the novel describes. Dracula really is just a name for a fictional character that all vampirekind believes to be real. Really, most monsters of this world are also fooled. The werewolves all largely hate Dracula and particularly hate him for his lording over wolves, it’s a pretty sore spot to bring up. Zombies, witches, necromancers, pretty much all characters with a foot in the supernatural also believe Dracula is real.

With, one exception.

Yeah, of course Colin Robinson, of all people, would be the one character in the entire world to really know what’s going, the only being alive who’s 100% aware of the fact that Dracula isn’t real, just because vampires are. He figured it out pretty quickly by snooping through the Council’s biographical reports on “the Impaler” and finding nothing but moth-eaten records of old Dracula plays, and just Googling stuff. He’s pretty good at that, too. 

He really doesn’t give a shit about this, but he likes to bring it up on occasion next to other vampires, who treat him like he’s the vampiric equivalent of a flat earther (which he pretends to be, also). He gets to both feed on their annoyance as well as lord over them in some small, petty capacity, like a playground kid just waiting to break the news that Santa isn’t real (which he is, but NO ONE knows what kind of being he is, and frankly that’s been a major cause of concern to vampirekind for centuries now).

OR, keeping in spirit with the movie: There was a real Dracula, an extremely powerful vampire lord who went by that name in England and fought a group of heroes and was recorded by Bram Stoker in a very popular and famous novel, who miraculously survived those events and was just biding his time until he was ready to reclaim his place as the King of all Vampires.

It was Petyr.

But then, y’know, Nick happened.

Fucking Nick.

#What We Do in the Shadows #wwdits #dracula #count dracula #taika waititi #jemaine clement #colin robinson #mark prosch