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best-online-gun-stores · 1 year

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ANDERSON AM-15 SNIPER 223 REM/5.56NATO 24″ 30+1 B2K868A000R

For those who expect accuracy, dependability, and versatility, the Anderson AM15 is a high-performance rifle.

It has a 24″ barrel, a 30+1 cartridge, and is chambered in.223 REM/5.56 NATO. This gun is ideal for tactical use, hunting, and long-range shooting.

Precision and Scope

The Anderson AM15’s 24″ barrel, which offers exceptional accuracy and range, is one of its most distinctive characteristics.

Longer barrels enable the bullet to travel at greater speeds, flattening trajectory and improving accuracy over a wider range.

The free-floating barrel of the gun improves accuracy by lessening vibration and stock interference.

Dependability and Strength

The Anderson AM15 is a long-lasting design.

High-quality aluminum is used for both the upper and lower receivers, which are then precision-machined to guarantee a snug fit and reliable performance.

The bolt carrier group of the firearm is also constructed from tough materials and is intended to function smoothly and dependably under even the most difficult circumstances.

With a 30+1 capacity magazine, the rifle gives you plenty of ammo for prolonged shooting practices.

Durability and dependability

Built to last, the Anderson AM15. Its upper and lower receivers are constructed from premium aluminum and expertly machined to guarantee a snug fit and reliable performance.

The rifle’s bolt carrier group is also made of tough materials and is built to function easily and dependably under even the most difficult circumstances.

You will always have enough ammo on hand for prolonged shooting practices thanks to the rifle’s 30+1 capacity magazine.

Anderson AM-15 Specifications & Features:

ACTION: Semi-Automatic

CALIBER: 5.56 NATO

MAGAZINE CAPACITY: (1) 30rd

FINISH: Black Anodize

BARREL LENGTH: 24 Heavy Barrel Straight Fluted

RIFLING: 1:8

RECEIVERS: 7075-T6 Forged

BCG: AM-15 Bolt Carrier Group

You can also go through our more selection of precision tactical shotguns!. You will easily find Anderson AM-15 tactical rifle sniper for sale here at Gun Ammo Shop at the best price. Moreover, check out the deals we offer for other guns as well as ammunition deals. In case of any query or question do not hesitate to contact us for any kind of detail.

Our Guarantee:

Ammogunshop.com stands behind all of its products. We guarantee our merchandise to be free of manufacturing defects and will accept any defective item for refund or exchange. For more details, please see our full Return Policy. Read more

#Best quality shotguns for sale

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secondamendment222llc · 1 year

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Let’s find you some of the best side-by-side shotguns for sale. It might be challenging, but certainly possible with the right approach and a reliable online shop.

#Shotgun #GunForSale #Gun #ShotGunForSale #Sale

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gunskins · 1 year

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It's not too late to get in on our Holiday Season Savings! 15% off sitewide + FREE SHIPPING. New products, patterns, and bundles! Only at gunskins.com

#gunskins #ar-15 #shotgun #pistol #guns #firearms #weapons #custom guns #christmas sale #holiday sale #gun wraps #camo wraps #vinyl wraps

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fusionfirearms · 2 years

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https://fusionfirearms.com/liberty-series-basking-special-edition-lgb?cid=106

Liberty Series - Basking Special Edition "LGB"

The Fusion Basking model was designed as a universal shotgun for the home base. This shotgun incorporates a rugged.

#Parts #pistols #Range Bags & Accessories #Sales & New Products #shotguns

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ammoandgun · 2 years

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Website : https://www.ammoandgunaccessories.com/

Address : 501 W Franklin St, Marmaduke, AR 72443

Phone : +1 870-761-5043

Located in northeast Arkansas, we sell ammo, rifles, handguns, shotguns, gun accessories, optics, and a lot more! We ship ammo and gun accessories to your house and you can pickup your guns here or we can ship to your local FFL of your choice.

#Gun dealer near me #Online gun dealer near me #guns for sale near me #pistols for sale near me #rifles for sale #ammo for sale #shotguns for sale near me

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octuscle · 2 months

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Howdy, Support! I'm a 22yo twink working at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Only good part about my job is uh..."servicing" the passing truckers. One of 'em is a real beast of a man; late thirties, tall, burly and hairy, with a big, solid beer/roid gut that's always straining against his filthy tanktop. Everytime he stops by, we have a beer shotgun contest right in front of everyone. Loser blows the winner in the stalls. I normally enjoy losing (not that I have a choice), but this time, I want him to meet his match...literally! I want to drink him under the table, and with each beer I down, I want to feel my gut grow heavier and larger as my work clothes turn into a stained tanktop and I gradually transform into a hulking, hairy trucker that stinks of sweat, just like him. I've programmed all the relevant settings for height, muscle, hair, BO, attitude and clothing, but I just realized I don't know how to sync the transformation to an event trigger like shotgunning the beers, much less on how to make it gradual! Please help me, he's due today!

I love challenges… First of all, I'll add one more skill to your traits. "Stable up to 3.5 per mille". I don't know how much your crush can take. But now you've got a damn good chance of drinking the guy under the table. However, you should manage at least 2.0 per mille. Because your transformation will take place in parallel with your blood alcohol level. Linear, until you have reached 2.0 per mille. At 2.0 per mille, the transformation is complete.

It's around 8 p.m. when your buddy finally comes in the door. Like you said: a beast of a man. The fist bump he gives you almost breaks your forearm bones. Beast of a man? You're miles or 2.0 per mille away from that. You are cute. But a twink. Not a man.

The regulars know what to expect. They chant "Booze! Booze! Booze!" One of them shouts that you're in desperate need of a protein shot. The others roar. Your buddy orders 20 cans of beer. He shouts to his colleagues that there will definitely be some left for them. He looks at you, winks and licks his lips. He has no idea.

The first can of beer. It really hits you. 0.3 per mille. One seventh of your way gone in one go. You feel a bit dizzy. You've been king of the highway for two years now. Well, maybe prince of the highway. You haven't put much weight on your ribs yet. But the good food at the truck stops and the hard work loading your truck are already having a bit of an effect. Your arms are no longer as thin as twigs.

The second beer. It didn't go quite so quickly. You have to burp loudly. Your buddy follows your example. 0.56 per mille. You've been driving your 7.5-ton baby through the countryside for over three and a half years. Does you good. Not as skinny as you used to be. You look healthy. Maybe a little red in the face. Drunk.

After the third beer you have over 0.8 per mille. Another burp. You need a piss. You stand with your legs apart in front of the urinal to avoid peeing on your boots. You take out your cheesy beauty from your dirty jockstraps. And empty your bulging bladder. Wash your hands? That's for twinks. You simply wipe your hands on your dirty Wranglers.

Janet brings you some onion rings with your beer. Good idea. After the toilet break, you finish your fourth beer almost in one go. Your buddy has noticeable problems. Your blood alcohol level is over 1.0 per mille. This competition between you and your colleague has been going on for about seven years. In the trucker scene, your competitions are small highlights. As soon as it is clear when and where you will next get drunk under the table and then disappear to the stalls, new routes are planned. Service stations know that you'll bring in good sales and are keen to host the competition. There used to be a lot of betting on winning and losing. Your buddy has been unbeaten for seven years. There's not much betting anymore. The odds on you winning are huge. But nobody expects that anyway.

The next beer. At 1.26 per mille, you start to falter. Your buddy weighs a few more kilograms than your 100. Maybe you're already a little over 100 - you broke that magic barrier a few weeks ago on your 30th birthday. Eat, work hard and lift iron in the evening. That shapes your body. And beer. Lots of beer. To the delight of the audience, you interrupt your drinking contest for a short burping contest. The landlord actually has a device to measure the volume. You lose. That's clear. You lack the resonance body…

The next beer is a big miss for both you and your buddy. Your dirty tank tops are now wet from the beer. But that was a quick round of drinking, so it happens. You feel a bit dizzy. Your buddy is already looking extremely glassy-eyed. A murmur goes round the room. Should you really stand a chance?

After the seventh beer, you both have to go for a piss. Shit, why are you doing this to yourselves? So that one of you can blow the other? You do that as often as you can see each other anyway. And luckily your paths cross from time to time. "Dude, has your beast grown?" slurs your buddy as you stand swaying in front of the urinals and can no longer aim and hit the target very well. "You bet your life, get ready for a lot, bro," you slur back. "And now give me a kiss, I can't wait any longer."

You're too drunk to remember to turn your caps backwards. You push his cap off his head and it falls into a puddle of urine. Damn, it's seen worse. You stagger back to your beer cans. After the eighth beer, your first goal is achieved. 2.0 per mille blood alcohol. Spread over a proud 120 kilograms of your 35-year-old body. A passionate trucker for 13 years. Your 36-ton beast is basically your home and your family. Hehehe, there are a few other people in the family too. Mike here next to you, for example. You rip open the ninth can and empty it almost at record speed. Shit, you're going to be sick. Mike opens the can, takes a sip. And stumbles towards the toilet. He can't reach the toilet bowl. But at least he throws up in the sink.

When he comes back, he looks at you with glazed eyes. He falls to his knees in front of you to the loud roar of the audience and tries to open your trousers with his drunken head. You have to laugh. "Not here, not now, Buddie" You pull him up. Let him sober up a bit first. You should both enjoy the moment when he sucks you off for the first time!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #tank top #age progression #redneck tf #twink to jock #ai image

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420technoblazeit · 1 year

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in my mind dean was always supposed to get older and become the new bobby. like ok you're a hunter, maybe a little new to the scene and still figuring things out. and you're tracking down a werewolf, easy case. except some things don't line up quite right and now you're thinking it might not actually be a werewolf. so you ask around a hunter's bar and they all say the same thing. go to this one bunker in the middle of nowhere in kansas

and you're like sure what the hell. you're stumped anyway, might as well check it out. maybe it's a weapons storehouse or something. but then you get there and there's a doorbell and a bee-shaped welcome mat out front and you're starting to think you've got the wrong place. the door swings open and there's this middle aged guy with a robe and batman pyjama bottoms. and he laughs at the look on your face and tells you to come in, he doesn't bite. not since he got that vampire cure, anyway. you're not sure what to make of that last part but he winks at you when he says it so you figure he's joking. maybe.

he gives great advice about hunting everything under the sun and if you stick around long enough he'll go on and on about how he saved the world at least five times. ok sure. you don't want to be rude so you just sit there and sip your coffee politely while he talks about some guy called chuck and how much of a bitch he is. and another guy who's aged a little more gracefully comes padding down the hallway in a metallica t-shirt and rolls his eyes. has he told you about tvland yet? ('i was just getting to that part!')

if you go to the basement you'll find shotguns filled with salt, wooden stakes, holy water, and demon-killing bullets for sale. and if you're lucky the witch who sells hex bags might be around. low-grade curses only, of course. you better leave the powerful stuff to the professionals. and she'll get in trouble if she gives you anything stronger, not that she can't be persuaded. a girl's gotta make a living after all and she's always encouraged eager new witches. it's worked out pretty well for her so far. and then a guy you swear is twice your height will raise an eyebrow at her and insist she only sell the weaker hex bags, please. you don't need any more witches in your coven, rowena. you've got plenty

pagan god giving you trouble? there's a man who swings by every once in a while who knows how to deal with those. give him some candy or a fun magic relic and he might help you out. it depends. he's a little picky about dishing out advice and he likes to play favorites. and if you've got a demon problem they can give you the number of a guy who swears up and down that he used to be the king of hell. but you've seen him walking around with a purse-sized terrier tucked under his arm and a dozen more following him so you're not really sure if you believe him

idk i like to think that dean got to grow old and retire. that doesn't mean he stops helping people, it just means he hangs up his coat and becomes an old man who rambles on and on about 'back in my day' and makes a dent in his leather armchair. there's a foosball table where the dungeon used to be and sam complains about beer bottles being everywhere and it becomes a safe haven for anyone still fighting the good fight. it's just that for dean and the rest of team free will the fight is over. they're done hunting now

#THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME BUT. i was thinkign about the spn finale and what i'd picture as a happy ending for tfw (mostly dean sorry. samgirls)#adn like. i dont think dean would ever give up helping people but i also think at some poitn in time he'd recognize that the way he views #hunting really does hurt him. n maybe eventually he coudl be convinced to take a step back yk? and be a little more hands off like bobby wa #and YES im givign rowena gabe adn crowley happy endings too. up to you to decide if htey live in the bunker now. (i think crowley does at #least once he abdicates the throne. he went full will graham and has like a hundred dogs n dean complains about how much mud they track in)#supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #rowena macleod #sam winchester #gabriel spn #crowley macleod #crowley spn #the pig squeals

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hexfloog · 4 months

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Hi everyone... I've been a bit quiet for the last few weeks on account of some health things. The short of it is that I have a lot of issues with my teeth, I will need a lot of money to address them, and that I can cover most of it, but will still need a little help. I have been in active pain for months at this point and my appointment is in approximately two weeks from this post.

Please do not feel obligated to contribute. Take care of yourself first. Any and all reblogs appreciated!!

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The above sheet is mostly self-explanatory, but here is the abridged version of what I am offering and ways you can help (with clickable links):

Donations/Tips • ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/hexfloog

Collectibles for Sale [USA only] • Mercari: https://www.mercari.com/u/569875333 • eBay: https://www.ebay.com/usr/veetis • My Etsy Shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/PonyPerlerParlor

Commissions - Sketch Illustrations Estimated 1-2 week turnaround from start.

Example 1 - As Above, So Below Example 2 - Howl 2 Example 3 - Noir Zine Movie Poster 1

Prints [Pre-order window closes 02/10/24] #1-4 to be printed on heavy card stock with a gloss finish. #5 to be printed on poster paper. Links lead to proofs of each print.

1 - Kaito Kid on Spire (11 x 17): https://sta.sh/01buulcs62mp 2 - Mouri Ran with Shotgun (11 x 17): https://sta.sh/0aw4vtwogxa 3 - The Desperate Revival (8 x 10): https://sta.sh/0yjm7li4f0q 4 - Evil Conan (8 x 10): https://sta.sh/024c2zogj61z 5 - Famous Alesaurer (16 x 20): https://sta.sh/01t2a3kmlb3t

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Please shoot me a message at any of the following if you're interested in ordering something:

Tumblr (here): @hexfloog Discord: hexfloog Email: theponyperlerparlor[at]gmail.com

If you got this far, thanks so much for reading!! And thank you for your consideration!!! I'm about to get so annoying reblogging this until the 10th, sorry in advance :(

#commissions #commissions open #dcmk #zoids #artists on tumblr #queue

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oldschool-lolita-archive · 1 month

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Suzuki wears an unknown tartan Cornet op in green, yellow and red! The apron seems to be detachable.

The example image is from a sales listing on this post by Cornet-Shotgun-Wedding here on tumblr

(such a useful resource. Does anyone know if it is still active? I’d love to contribute).

#this is crazy #pre 2000 #unknown #cornet #op #reminds me of mr wormwood from matilda

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best-online-gun-stores · 1 year

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What to Expect When Buying Your First Gun Online

Gun purchases differ from purchasing any other type of commodity in the United States. Learning the laws and regulations governing the purchase and ownership of guns might seem intimidating at first, especially for first time gun users. Below is a description of a typical online gun sale transaction.

Procedures for Best online gun stores

These days, 60% of all gun purchases are bought online. If the gun shops in your area don't carry the gun of your dreams, you might want to consider the vast availability online gun sites have to offer, such as the Appalachian Sportsman Club. The Appalachian Sportsman Club is listed with every single gun site online under FFL. If you are in Virginia and do not see our FFL listed, contact us if you would like us to handle your gun transfer.

ATI OMNI 223 HYBRID 7.5

Once you make your online purchase, if you are a resident of the State of Virginia, the gun will be shipped to Appalachian Sportsman Club. All gun shipments are required to be delivered by two-day service.

You will receive a call once the gun is in our possession. We are required to keep records of the guns that go into and out of our store, so the gun will be entered into our book.

When you pick up your gun, you will need two, matching, valid forms of ID, at least one being a government issued photo ID that is not expired and the second proving residency, such as a gun permit. You will be required to fill out an ATF Form 4473 and a Virginia State form SP-65 in their entirety.

The staff at Appalachian Sportsman Club will call in the forms into the State Police and will either receive a direct approval or it will be delayed. If delayed, it could take up to three days to receive an approval code. Once we receive the approval code, we are authorized to release the gun to you, the purchaser.

If you experience a delay, Appalachian Sportsman Club will call you as soon as the state police provide an answer. If you are denied, you must contact the state police and FBI to find out why you were denied the purchase and resolve the issue.

If you live in Virginia but live far away from Appalachian Sportsman Club, we will ship the gun to another FFL location of your choice.

If you live in another state and make your purchase with the Appalachian Sportsman Club, you must pick an FFL in your state, and we will ship your gun to the FFL. You will have to fill out the federal and state forms there and follow those procedures in order to purchase your gun. For example, all guns in New York must be listed on the gun permits, so every time a gun purchase is made, you have to get a coupon to bring to the county to have your gun permit amended. In Virginia, it is not required to list all of your gun purchases on your permit, so you don't have to go through those extra steps.

Best quality handguns online

For neighboring states, sometimes exceptions apply. For instance, in Virginia, we can sell pistols only to Virginian residents. However, we can sell long guns to anyone as long as they are legal in the purchaser's state of residence and the purchaser is above 18 years of age. Visit www.gunammoshop.com

Resource

#Best quality shotguns for sale

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secondamendment222llc · 1 year

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Finding the best semi-automatic shotguns online can be an arduous task. But looking into the right portal can make it convenient, easy, and precise to find the gun that matches your personality.

#Shotgun #GunForSale #Gun #ShotGunForSale #Sale

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kemetic-dreams · 1 year

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Elmore Bolling, he was too successful.

Elmore Bolling, whose brothers called him Buddy, was a kind of one-man economy in Lowndesboro, Ala. He leased a plantation, where he had a general store with a gas station out front and a catering business; he grew cotton, corn and sugar cane. He also owned a small fleet of trucks that ran livestock and made deliveries between Lowndesboro and Montgomery. At his peak, Bolling employed as many as 40 people, all of them African like him.

One December day in 1947, a group of white men showed up along a stretch of Highway 80 just yards from Bolling’s home and store, where he lived with his wife, Bertha Mae, and their seven young children. The men confronted him on a section of road he had helped lay and shot him seven times — six times with a pistol and once with a shotgun blast to the back. His family rushed from the store to find him lying dead in a ditch.

The shooters didn’t even cover their faces; they didn’t need to. Everyone knew who had done it and why. “He was too successful to be a Negro,” someone who knew Bolling told a newspaper at the time. When Bolling was killed, his family estimates he had as much as $40,000 in the bank and more than $5,000 in assets, about $500,000 in today’s dollars. But within months of his murder nearly all of it would be gone. White creditors and people posing as creditors took the money the family got from the sale of their trucks and cattle. They even staked claims on what was left of the family’s savings. The jobs that he provided were gone, too. Almost overnight the Bollings went from prosperity to poverty. Bertha Mae found work at a dry cleaner. The older children dropped out of school to help support the family. Within two years, the Bollings fled Lowndes County, fearing for their lives.

Elmore Bolling and his wife, Bertha Mae Nowden Bolling, in Alabama circa 1945.

#elmore bolling #bolling #alabama #creditors #african #kemetic dreams #africans #afrakan #brownskin #brown skin #afrakans #business #african american #bertha mae

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fusionfirearms · 2 years

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Pistol Parts PARTS Shop By Items 1-12 of 971 Sort By Position Product Name Price BUL - M5 - White Dot Adjustable Sight Set Special .

#Pistols #range bags & accessories #sales & new products #shotguns

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lenavonschweetz · 11 months

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Grace For Sale

Sam Winchester x Reader

Synopsis: Your town could definitely handle themselves, but a little help isn’t something you’d willingly turn down. When the Winchesters show up - do things get better, or worse?

Warnings: language, anti-religious sentiments, slight religious inner conflict, angst? If you squint?, smut, Under 18 keep faaaar away.

A/N: Takes place during s5:e17 - 99 Problems. So funny story, I actually AM a preacher’s kid so this episode kinda made me laugh then gave me the idea for this. Title comes from The Devil’s Carnival. Also, this has been sitting in my drafts for literal years, guess it’s about time I post it. As always, I don’t have a beta so please excuse any typos. I’ll fix any that are pointed out to me.

Enjoy!

Sam and Dean aren’t exactly sure what to make of your little town.

The welcome wagon was a little more off the wall than they were used to - what with a firetruck full of holy water, a portable exorcism, and a group of civilians that actually knew about the things that go bump in the night. Still, it wasn’t…the strangest introduction they’d encountered.

“So, are we gonna talk about that?” Sam asks as Dean steers impala into town - right on the tail of the Sacrament Lutheran Militia’s truck. What kind of a name was that anyway?

A church looms overhead, answering Sam’s unspoken question, and he wishes he hadn’t even asked.

It’s definitely the apocalypse, what with the devil’s trap brandishing the walkway up to the church door.

Sam’s eyes are heavy - spending the wee hours of the night fighting hellspawn will do that to you. Especially when you’re bleeding out. At least the militia had some quick fix first aid handy.

The first thing the brothers notice upon entering the sacred building is the couples standing at the alter, all facing the priest who prattles on about finding something special amidst the impending doom. The second thing they notice is all of the townsfolk holding shotguns.

Sam scoffs.

“A wedding? Seriously?” How in God’s name - no, y’know what, scratch that - how in the Hell were they hosting a wedding at a time like this?

“Yup. We’ve had 8 so far this week.” The man to his right, Paul, says and it’s obvious Sam isn’t the only one who’s less than impressed. At least they’re in good company.

It’s definitely the first time the brothers can be completely transparent in their introductions. Sure, sometimes they’re found out, or sometimes they’re among other hunters. But to tell an entire town - and a priest, no less - that they are demon hunters? Yeah, that may take a little getting used to.

So is the priest toting a gun and the children packing salt rounds in the basement of the church. Dean makes a quip about running scared or sticking around and making a home out of the place and Sam thinks he’d be leaning toward the later if the end of the world wasn’t resting on their shoulders.

But none of that explained how a whole town had taken up hunting.

Well, until the mystery prophet is introduced in the form of the “Packing Preacher’s” daughter - Leah.

Well…he’d been through stranger.

Dean makes a pass at her - right in front of her father. The father. Sam just rolls his eyes, gaze landing on the corner where another figure lurks.

Oh.

This one…he thinks…this one is much more his speed.

“Ah, my other daughter.” Pastor Gideon says, holding a hand out to beckon you forward. Sam watches as you push off the wall and approach the group. There’s little family resemblance, he notes, but definitely isn’t complaining. While your sister is clad in muted colors, baggy sweater, and tennis shoes - you opt for something a little form-fitting under your dark leather jacket with the combat boots to match. You scream ‘hunter’, ‘capable’, and ‘danger’ more than anyone else in this town and he has trouble tearing his eyes off of you. Now, you’re not complaining. In fact, your eyes linger on Sam just as much as he does on you. And when he realizes this, the mountain of a man becomes a flustered mess. It brings a smirk to your face and a blush to his. “Y/N, this is Dean and Sam Winchester.”

“So I’ve heard.” You chuckle, arms crossing in front of the very cleavage Sam’s staring at beneath your open flannel. You cock a brow, baiting him, though he seems too nervous with your father present to answer the challenge. “Shame Leah never mentioned you. Though,” you cast an appreciative glance over their strong frames and Sam very nearly shivers. Beside him, Dean practically preens. “I can see why. If I knew fine specimens such as yourself were going to be crashing in our little town, I’d keep it to myself too.”

The Father is none too amused when you wink at your sister and the two of you share a giggle. Again, Sam notes the distinct lack of resemblance but brushes it off.

“Y/N,” Your father says in warning, which you completely ignore and grant the taller Winchester another ravenous once over before turning on your heel. If anyone asked, you would deny that you were overemphasizing the swing of your hips.

“If you need me,” you tell him without so much as a glance, calling over your shoulder as you saunter up the basement stairs. “I’ll be at Paul’s!”

—————

The next time you see the brothers, it’s at the house Leah’s vision lead you to. Well, actually, that’s a lie. You saw them the night before at Paul’s bar, but they seemed to be wrapped up in a very important conversation - if the concentration on their brows had anything to say about it.

Still, that hadn’t stopped you from ordering the brothers a couple of beers. To his credit, Paul doesn’t judge you - which is a lot more than you can say for your family as of late - and even brought the boys their drinks so that you could do the ever so clique cheers across the bar.

Sam merely nodded in his head in thanks, raised his own beer with a silent ‘cheers’, then went back over to his brother.

So you couldn’t get a better read on them that night. That’s ok. It gave you the perfect opportunity to ogle to your heart’s content.

They were some fine specimens, that’s for sure. The perfect hunters. Sharp eyes, strong statures. Hell, Sam looked like he could take out multiple demons all on his own - I mean, come on. Those arms!

God, you had gotten such a perfect look at them while they brooded and planned what with the way Sam’s sleeves had been rolled and pushed up to his elbows. Had you ever found forearms as attractive as you did at that moment? Probably not.

And that jawline? Christ, you could cut glass on that thing.

The sideburns may have been a little much, but hell, if that was all you could pin as off, you’d take it!

Your ogling session had been cut short by the bell tolling - another of your sister’s visions - and after arguing with your father in front of the whole church that ‘yes, I am going with them’ - your hunting group was on the doorstep of the abandoned home. Most of the townspeople are toting guns full of salt or sprayers of holy water, all armed with the ridiculous incantation your sister had told you to use to exorcise them.

But not Sam. No, Sam was only wielding a knife, and God did he make it look easy. If you weren’t too busy kicking ass and getting your ass kicked, you’d be drooling over that too.

Only when the dust settles do you take the opportunity to approach the brothers.

“You really are the hunters my sister made you out to be.” Sam’s perfect eyebrow arches at that, gaze flickering to the way your chest rises and falls with your heavy panting.

“You didn’t think we would be?” You mirror his smirk and shrug, ignoring the way Dean is eyeing the two of you like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. Honestly, he probably did. Dude seemed about as horny as you did.

“So,” Sam pants, following the group out of the house. You miss the way he’s eyeing your ass as you’re just steps ahead of him. “That’s what it’s like.” There’s no shortage of sexual innuendo in his voice and you decide to poke the bear a little more. Whether your father was in earshot or not.

“What what’s like?” You’re turned to him now, handing in your pockets and treading carefully backward. He meets your hungry look with one of his own and shivers absolutely rattle your body. Again he smirks, making sure the coast is clear of your father before saddling up right next to you.

“Having back up.” He all but whispers in your ear, large hand grazing just inches above your bottom and god, how did he make such an innocent statement sound so filthy. There’s no way he misses the way you tremble and sigh, not with the way he smirks at you while walking away.

You’re not sure what’s going to kill you first. The Demons or your insatiable need for Sam fucking Winchester.

—————

Neither.

Neither of those things is gonna kill you first.

Because it’ll be your father that kills you.

Because you’re going to fucking murder your sister.

After the Winchesters brought back a murdered Dylan…well, things were tense. People started to resent them and the warm welcome they had initially received turned cold. Only you and Paul would speak to them without adding to the guilt you knew they already felt.

You knew it wasn’t their fault. Hell, half of you had been through it before - coming off a hunt all together too cocky and not aware of the demon that still lurked around until it was too late. Dylan was a good hunter. Dean and Sam were good hunters. It had happened to the best of you. And so you do what you always did - you held a funeral and vowed to be more vigilant next time.

But that wasn’t enough for the townspeople.

Or for your sister.

No, she had to go and suck the fun out of everything.

No drinking, no gambling, no pre-marital sex.

All per the angels’ command, of course.

“What a crock of shit.” The empty glass thunks against the wood of the bar - as hollow as you feel right about now. Paul only echoes your sentiments and pours you another glass. The only thing that pulls you from your ire is the bell signifying a newcomer. For the first time since Leah’s proclamation, your scowl softens as the person you wanted to see most walks right through that door.

“So, what happened to, uh,” he makes a grand gesture to the empty bar - earning a snort from the two of you, “’the apocalypse is good for business’?”

“Yeah, right up until Leah’s angel pals banned the good stuff.” Paul says, earning a groan from you as you pinch the bridge of your nose at your damn sister’s name. “Y/N’s here helping me kill some inventory.” Sam chuckles at the glass you raise, tipping it toward him and saying ‘I’m only doing the good work.’ “Want to help?”

With a drink in hand, Paul pours a shot for each of you. He doesn’t hold back on his opinion of the ‘holy rollers’ nor their hypocrisy, to which Sam calls him out for his noticeable lack of faith. Paul shrugs it off, defending his honorable lack of prayer.

“Look, there’s sure as hell demons. and maybe there is a god, I don’t know. Fine. But I’m not a hypocrite. I never prayed before and I ain’t starting now. If I go to Hell, I’m going honest. Besides,” Paul nods to you just as you put your shot glass - empty again - back on the bar. “I figure if this one can get away with it, so can I.” Sam’s eyebrows raise at that, eyes finding you.

“You either?”

“I grew up in the church,” you explain. “I’ve seen how the…holiest of us all can be far worse than the ‘hooligans’ of the world.” You wink at Paul, air quotes bouncing as you mimic your father’s ‘preacher’ voice. The two of you share a laugh and you miss how Sam’s fingers tighten around his glass along with his jaw at the intimacy you two seem to share. “Yeah, I believe in some kind of higher power.” You continue, focus shifting to the Adonis beside you. He doesn’t miss the bitter tone your voice takes on. “But I don’t believe in the church. The organized religion crap. Never been too big on it. But then, neither had Leah. And now, out of nowhere, she’s some chosen prophet?” You scoff. “I dunno. I just can’t trust it. And like Paul said, I’m no hypocrite. I know I’m messed up. Won’t pretend otherwise.”

This time when you regard Paul, patting his hand as one would a brother, Sam’s shoulders relax.

“Yeah, I, uh…I know what you mean.” A moment of heavy, thick silence passes between the two of you before you’re pressing him for his thoughts with nothing more than a look. “I believe.” But he doesn’t sound so sure. More convincing himself than he is you, maybe, so you stay quiet and let him work through his thoughts. “Yeah, I do.” He says, more assured this time. “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” A big sigh breaks from your chest, one of those sighs that comes when you feel like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, and suddenly this conversation is too heavy for how drunk you are not and for how drunk you want to be.

After a few moments, a morbid, hindsight joke blooms in your head and you can’t help but laugh, noting the questioning look on your drinking buddies’ faces.

“Guess those newlyweds knew something we didn’t.” You chuckle, taking a pull of your drink. “Tied the knot before Leah could restrict ‘em. Betcha they’re bangin’ like rabbits right about now.” The liquor burns, smothering your humorless chuckle as you knock it back. “Lucky bastards.”

Behind the bar Paul chuckles, noting the tension in the air, the sudden shift of mood, and takes his exit - mumbling something about grabbing more from the back. Neither you or Sam really hear him, though - too wrapped up in the other’s stare you share at what you’re implying.

Helluva wingman, that Paul.

Once the two of you are alone, Sam swivels in his chair until his long legs drape open and you have to force yourself not to look down. A bushy, perfectly masculine brow arches. Then he speaks - voice low and sweet and pure sin.

“Really? You, uh, don’t seem to have much issue with breaking the no-drinking rule.” And it isn’t a question. He flicks the back of his fingers against your glass, warm eyes staring right at you as the faint tinkling tickles your ears. Your heart shutters in time with the tinkling of skin on glass and you don’t realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip until his eyes flicker to it. “You gonna draw the line at pre-marital sex?”

“Now, Sam Winchester...who said I would do that?” The look you fix him with has him adjusting his suddenly too-tight pants.

“Not afraid of being damned? Of not being one of the ‘chosen’?”

“I’m no ‘chosen’.” You scoff, bouncing air quotes once more. “That’s my sister. Me? I’m just the poor little preacher’s kid who lost her faith a long time ago.” It isn’t seductive talk - in fact, it’s dark as hell. But he asked, and like you’d said before - you were no liar, and you were no hypocrite. You turn to your companion, renewed . “But you know…there is a curfew.”

The tonal shift isn’t subtle, but that doesn’t keep the space between you from growing ever smaller, Sam’s large hand sliding up your thigh and again you must fight off the urge to shiver. Especially when he lowers his voice once more, those big hazel eyes glancing at you from under his full, coal black lashes.

“Is that so?” A squeeze to your thigh, and you jolt just the tiniest bit, to Sam’s great amusement.

“My place is right around the corner.” You explain with a shrug, that damn lip caught between your teeth again. And suddenly in the dark, empty bar, you don’t care if you are damning yourself to hell. As long as it’s at the hands of Sam Winchester, you’ll go willingly.

—————

The wall of your entryway meets your back sharply, a hiss of pain escaping you momentarily before it’s silenced by Sam’s eager lips.

Hurried hands rid you of your clothes, his own falling like breadcrumbs alongside yours until the two of you are falling on to the bed. Fingers skilled at far more than knife-wielding ghost up your thighs, featherlight touches leaving a fire under your skin. He’s slow in his undoing of you. Reverent even. Watches the way you keen beneath him, begging for his fingers. Holds your eyes as he drags those fingers through his lips before trailing the wet tips down your front. When he finally gives them to you, one long digit sliding right up to the knuckle, your teeth break the skin of your lip just enough to hurt and you’re gasping - begging for more - which he gives to you, gladly. Working you until you’re ready for him and at the precipice of falling over the edge.

He had looked good in his clothes, sure, but god damn he’s ten times more beautiful out of them. Infinite smooth, golden skin lays beneath your greedy fingers, a dusting of fine hair contouring the plane of his chest and down below his waistband. Your mouth waters and you tug impatiently at his jeans.

“Someone’s eager.” He chuckles, low and husky, standing to drop both pants and boxers. Oh. Good God.

“Oh, you have no idea.” You only break your eyes away to grab a condom before you shove him on his back and straddle those strong thighs. "I've been wanting to get your clothes off since the second I laid eyes on you."

"Trust me," he breathes - no, borderline growls - and you shutter, walls fluttering at how fucking empty you are and just how fucking bad you need him inside of you right now. "The feeling's mutual."

He’s big all over, just like you expected, and even rolling the latex over his thick shaft has you shivering in anticipation. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by the gigantic man beneath you and before you can react, he’s rolling his hips with a moan that takes your breath away. It takes immense focus to speak through your gasp.

“Don’t finish this before it’s even started, Winchester.” He laughs at your warning, fingers digging into your thighs and ass. Oh, this man is going to wreck you, you just know it.

“You have so little faith in me?” A quip lies on your tongue, something about having no faith at all, but that melts into a strangled moan the second his fat head presses past your opening. “Oh, Christ.” He hisses, teeth clenched and head thrown back in unadulterated pleasure at the feel of you, your hips rolling slowly as you try your best to take the overwhelming size of him. Your fingers digging into supple pecs does nothing to ebb the overwhelming feeling of Sam spearing you open.

“Leave him outta this.” You quip, sinking down the rest of the way - finally. You both shiver at the feeling of him fully seated in you before you start rocking against him.

Not much else is said - not much else needed to be said - as the two of you chase relief and distraction in each other.

The stretch burns in the best way and you realize you're going to be feeling this for days. Every step, every shift is going to take you right back here - your hands splayed out on sculpted pecs, Sam's angelic and angular face contorted in ecstasy as he does his best to keep his eyes open and watch you ride him for everything he's worth. Those big hazel eyes blink up at you, fluttering and rolling at a particularly deep stroke before they're suddenly open - fiery and determined. There's no time to even tease or question before he's pistoning up into you, his marble body rubbing yours in such a way that has you gasping for air, his massive hands splayed over your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you. Sloppy thrusts turn to rocking hips and the new angle has your toes curling.

His cock grazes just the right spot with every rock of his hips, both of you whispering moans and groans of the other’s name. You do your best to keep up, rolling your tired hips when you can, nails biting into his skin when you have to focus solely on not imploding right where you are.

Your orgasm crests, and you beg him to go faster - to take control - and he does, practically throwing you onto your back to angle you the exact way he wants to. The height difference is dizzying - even with you on your back and him on his haunches - all you can see while he hammers into you is the brand on his chest. You itch to bite into the ink, to make him mewl against your skin once more but all rational thought flies out the window when his thumb reaches between your splayed legs, presses in tight, dizzying circles, and sends you spiraling into oblivion as aftershock after aftershock rocks your nerves.

In the aftermath of it all - after you’ve seen white from the intense pleasure he milked out of you - you lie in a daze. Memorizing the way his hands feel as he wipes some of his spend off your chest. Jesus, the sounds that man had made when he came...you have half a mind to tie him down and never let him leave - your sister's 'orders' be damned.

“It’s past curfew, y'know?” You remind him, fingers tracing the divots and curves of his abdomen. God, he’s perfect. You could spend hours memorizing every inch of skin. Pity said skin disappears behind thick flannel once more. You bite back a disappointed groan, casting your eyes over his massive stature. You don't think you'll ever get over just how small he makes you feel - in the best possible way, of course. Especially when he flashes that perfect fucking smile at you, dimples and all.

“Yeah? What about it?” He urges, a shit-eating grin playing at his lips as he dares you to ask him to stay. You sit up on your knees then, leveling yourself with his chest and drag your fingers down once more. "Something you want to say, Y/N?" If possible, his grin grows wider when you crook an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to your level with a come hither finger to match.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay, Sam Winchester," you whisper, lips ghosting over his own and you take great pride in the way his sinfully long lashes flutter against the tops of his sharp cheeks. "You can keep waiting.” The low groan that escapes his throat when you cup him once more makes you ache in the absolute best way. You're seconds away from throwing your pride to the wind and pulling him back into bed with you. But this is the end of the world after all. No doubt he has other pressing matters to attend to.

“Yeah, well, as much as I would love to…I should get back before Dean gets worried.” Disappointment laces his words, but you’re both too grown-up for any fairytale crap. Your life felt like more a horror lately than a fantasy, anyway. So, with incredibly gentle fingers, he pulls your hand toward his lips, grazing them over your knuckles as his eyes bore into yours. Hmm, he plays dirty.

“Yeah…my dad’s probably expecting me at the church.” You offer lamely, though there's probably some truth to it. Not one night goes by without a demon attack or a vision from the chosen sister. You're surprised you haven't been interrupted by a frantic call from your father already, as a matter a fact. He smiles at you again, your heart running rampant as he's tossing the towel down to wrap his arms around your waist once more. The look in his eyes and the hardness pressing into your belly are tempting enough, but you manage to grit out a warning "Sam..."

“And here you are, sinning with the outsider.” He rumbles, smirking as his eyes drink in your face for - most likely - the last time. You return his smile, reeling him in for one last kiss...or twelve.

“Yeah, well, if I’m going to hell anyway, may as well make the road there fun.”

If only you knew the literal hell that awaited you in the next few hours…

FIN