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deantfwinchester · 10 months

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Fresh Start 1/?

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel x Neighbor!Reader

Summary: When you move to Austin after finishing grad school, all on your own, you find a small house for rent next door to a handsome contractor and his teenage daughter. He gives you a hand moving in, but it turns out he could use more help than he knows.

A/N: Lol more Looking After Joel content (like anyone’s surprised)

Idk if we can rly call this pre-outbreak or no outbreak, but the sentiment still stands! In my head it’s f!reader, and it’s 2nd person, but no use of Y/N. Probably the first of a few parts that feel like one-shots.

My Joel Miller Fluff crusade continues!

You moved to Austin after finishing graduate school, despite not knowing anyone in the city. You’d been offered a job you couldn’t turn down, and needed a fresh start anyway. When you arrived in Austin and began exploring, you happened upon a cozy little neighborhood with a small house for rent. You were honestly sick of the motel you’d been in for a couple of weeks while looking for a place, so you went for it.

Within a week, you’d moved everything you had into the little house, which admittedly wasn’t much. You had a few things leftover from previous places, but you were serious about wanting a fresh start, including getting rid of your hand-me-down furniture. You went shopping and bought a new bookcase, bedroom set, and coffee table, all on your own. While the furniture store staff helped you load the miscellaneous boxes of parts into your car, you got home and began struggling to pull them out and lug them into your new home. You began wiggling one particularly large, heavy box taller than yourself out of the car. When you began to lose your grip on the box and it started tipping your direction, you heard a gruff voice accompanied by rapid footsteps across the grass behind you.

“Woah, hey! Hold on a second!”

You grappled with the box, and turned your head toward the sounds to find your neighbor rushing towards you. You’d seen he and his daughter a couple of times that week walking in and out of the house next to your own, but hadn’t gotten the chance to greet them yet.

When he reached your side, he reached above your head and grabbed the box towering over you with one hand, steadying it on his own. As you turned around to thank him, your breath caught in your throat.

He was much closer to you than you were expected - he kind of had to be to keep the box from falling on you as you struggled - and he looked down at you with the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen, and smiled slightly. He’d seemed like a nice looking guy from afar, but you hadn’t given it much thought. Up close, you could see he was incredibly handsome in a gruff, effortless sort of way. His dark hair was closely cropped, with just enough length to show its slight wave, and his beard was fairly short, and patchy along his jaw. His heathered t-shirt stretched across his shoulders which were broad enough to eclipse yours entirely as his hand rested against the box. Before you could gather any words to thank him, he cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Sorry. Looked like you needed a hand” he said, moving around to grab the box from the side. “I’m Joel,” he added. You introduced yourself and thanked him for his help.

“I really appreciate it. Not sure why I tried that on my own,” you said.

“That’s alright. It’s aspirational,” he replied, smirking up at you from where he’d bent to grab the box. You chuckled back at him and nodded.

“Can I help get the rest of these in for you?” he offered.

“That’d be great actually, thank you,” you said as you moved to grab the other side of the tall box.

“Naw, don’t worry about it, I got this one,” he said, lifting the giant box with relative ease. Your eyes widened as he did so, watching the muscles in his forearms flex in the process. You’re afraid he’s caught you nearly gawking when you see him smiling back at you “try to grab one that’s shorter than you this time” he snarks. You grab another one of the boxes from the tailgate, and lead Joel into the house.

On the way in, the two of you chat briefly about your move into the neighborhood. Joel mentions his daughter, who you’d seen outside before, and you tell him him you’re looking forward to meeting her. He asks if you’re new in town as you breach the threshold, and you begin to tell him about your move to Austin.

As you both place the boxes down, Joel takes note of the scattered boxes you’d already brought in. He raises an eyebrow and puts both hands on his hips, looking around.

“Looks like you got a lot to put together here. Might take you a while on your own,” he says.

You’re not quite sure where he’s going with this when he interrupts “c’mon, let’s grab the rest and bring ‘em in.”

In just a couple more trips, you and Joel have lugged in the last of the furniture boxes, and as you begin an attempt to sort them into piles, Joel speaks up.

“You ever done the assembly on one of these before? Can be kinda tricky. And sometimes kinda stupid, actually,” he grinned. “I’d be happy to help you get ‘em together. Be a lot quicker that way.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You’ve helped me plenty already, I can’t ask you for that,” you replied.

“Well, you’re not asking for anything, I’m offerin’. C’mon, I’m a contractor, so this is child’s play for me. Like a little puzzle,” he says, smiling at you.

You blush a little under his gaze, but huff in relief. “Fine, you can help me put these together. Mostly because I’m just now realizing i forgot to get… tools” you say, grimacing as you say it aloud.

Joel bellows out a laugh, and heads for the door, “that’s alright, sweetheart, I’ll grab mine, be back before ya know it.”

“Thank you. Wait? What about your daughter, don’t you need to be getting home?” you inquired.

“She’s fourteen, so she’s fine on her own. I usually don’t get lucky enough to be home this early, so she’s used to it,” he said.

You felt guilt creep up your back, and it must have shown on your face, as his expression clicked as you spoke. “Oh, Joel, I can’t interrupt your family time. Really, I can handle this myself.”

“No, no. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, I just mean she wouldn’t mind. But you’re sweet to think of her, so here: I’ll see if she wants to come over with us, if that’s alright? She’ll be excited to meet you.”

You hesitate for a moment, still afraid you’re imposing, but you really could use the help. Alone this could take days. “Yeah, of course, bring her over! I’m excited to meet her too. Do you think she’s eaten? I can order some pizza?”

Joel smiles at you again and chuckles a bit before walking out to head toward his own home. “You definitely don’t have to do that, darlin’, but I’m sure she’d love it.”

Joel came back a few minutes later with a toolbox in his hand and Sarah walking in beside him. The two of you instantly hit it off, and Joel seemed satisfied, getting started on one of the boxes while you ordered the pizza. You and Sarah actually tried working on a different box together, but by the time y’all had made it through the cardboard and packing foam, Joel had finished 90% of the nightstand, and was looking smugly at the two of you when he and Sarah began teasing one another. You looked on, giggling at their banter, heart warmed by the closeness they shared. You were distracted watching Joel when Sarah grabbed the instructions for the box the two of you were tackling, and urged you forward, apparently some kind of race was afoot, and you two were already lightyears behind.

You spent the next four hours chatting and building with Joel and Sarah. On more than one occasion, you two made some funny mistakes on your pieces, and Joel won by a landslide. The sun went down outside, and suddenly most of the furniture was put together, and Sarah seemed to be flagging. You and Joel started moving the pieces into place, and then he looked down at Sarah sitting among the cardboard wreckage.

“Alright, babygirl, it’s after nine. You got school in the mornin’, let’s head home,” Joel said, coaxing her up.

“Oh my god, I had no idea it was so late! I didn’t mean to keep y’all this long, I’m so sorry!” you said, face warming in guilt at the recognition.

Joel told Sarah to head home, and said he’d be following shortly. Sarah smiled at you and waved goodbye, letting you know she’d had fun. You told her the same and waved goodbye back.

“You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, darlin’. We were happy to help, and I’m always around. Let me know if you ever need a hand, yeah? I’d rather not find you beneath a giant box again, if I can help it,” he smirked at you.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I seriously can’t thank you enough for your help today. Definitely would’ve taken me into next week to handle on my own,” you said, once again blushing at his smirk. You hoped it wasn’t too obvious, but his face told you yours was betraying you plenty.

“Well, I’m sure glad you didn’t have to,” he looked down, and then began to chew a bit on the inside of his cheek before speaking again. “Would you wanna come over for dinner one day next week? I don’t always know what my schedule will look like, but we’d love to have you. I think Sarah would be real happy to see you again too.”

“I’d love to, Joel. I’ll be happy to see her again as well,” you responded, smiling warmly at him. You’d really enjoyed their company tonight, and hoped it was clear in your eyes as you looked at him. Joel smiled back at you, and put his hands in his pockets, when suddenly, a yawn overtook his features. His eyes went wide and he covered his mouth quickly, obviously a bit embarrassed.

You chuckled a bit at his expression, and began ushering him out the door “Alright, you’re clearly exhausted, time to call it a night. Go make sure that sweet girl gets to bed, then get some sleep yourself, cowboy,” you said, leaning on the doorway and folding your arms in front of you.

Joel chuckled on his way out, clearly stifling another yawn as he turned once again on the porch, “Cowboy? Well this cowboy had a uh, great time tonight.”

“Me too. Goodnight, Joel,” you said sweetly.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Joel said, as he headed off the porch toward his own home.

Once you saw he’d made it inside, you shut the door and looked around at your now-furnished home and decided to leave the cardboard wreckage for the morning. You couldn’t stop smiling, thinking about the time you’d spent with Joel today. You’d certainly picked the right neighborhood.

Part 2

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pre outbreak!joel #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff crusade

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deepfivetraveller · 6 months

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Moriarty the patriot x sick!child!reader

Chapter 2

Everything happened so quickly. One moment your parents got arrested by the military for smuggling drugs in one of their hotels, another moment the Moriarty household took custody of you. Looking at the window, you plan and replan on how your first meeting with them will be. You hear a faint voice saying something in the lines of "______ alright?" So you immediately turn your head to hear what the voice said.

"Is everything alright?" William repeats.

'Yes everything is alright.' You hastily write.

He gently smiles and holds both your hands. "I know it must be overwhelming for you and it's the same for us but don't you worry, we're going to take good care of you." You smile at his statement, finding comfort in it.

Silence continues for some time. In a few minutes, both of you reach the Moriarty mansion. It is fairly large in size and looks luxurious even with its simple structure. William gets out of the carriage first so he can help you out.

As you hold onto his hand and step out of the carriage, you are greeted by a man who looks similar to William. He has a huge scar mark on his cheek parallel to his jaw.

"Good afternoon brother." The man replies. "Good afternoon to you too Louis." William replies back. "Y/n this is my younger brother Louis." Louis looks at you. "A pleasure to meet you." In order to give a quick reply, you smile back.

"Now." William fixes his hat. "I have to go to Durham for that lecture."

"You're leaving?" How can he leave you like this! How can he leave you alone? Sure you have Louis but you literally just met him.

William understands your fear and tries to quell it. "Don't worry love Louis is a person I trust my soul with. I'll come back before you even notice I'm gone." "No, don't leave me!" You hold him back with your full strength which of course doesn't work. He breaks out of your grasp easily. Seeing that he is unable to persuade you, he gives you a small peck on your forehead catching you off guard. Immediately he flees while waving goodbye.

After 50 shades of denial you finally accept defeat. Louis sees an opportunity to talk with you, so he speaks. "Well since you're going to be staying here for sometime may I show you the way around the manor?" You quickly grab onto his hand before you overthink it.

As you enter the manor, you notice a man standing at a distance and you quickly conclude that he is the butler of this household. Louis takes you to him. “Y/n this is our butler Mr Jack Reinfield.” “A pleasure to meet you Ms Quinn.”

‘Please do not refer to me by my last name. It gives me unpleasant memories.’ Jack’s expression changes into a worried one. “Then is it alright if I refer to you as Young mistress instead?” You nod a yes to his question and he smiles. “I do not wish to be a hindrance in your tour so I shall take my leave. Have a wonderful afternoon.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Louis has now brought you to a living room where you see a blonde man with blue eyes sipping tea while another man beside him is drinking something from a glass bottle

"Mr Moron at least try to quit your habit of drinking in broad daylight. We have a guest here." Louis mispronounced his name on purpose as Moron to emphasise his anger towards Moran and to catch his attention even in his drunken state. Poor you, having no idea, actually thinks his name is Moron. “Moron?! Who names their child that?”

The blonde man spits his tea and starts to crack up. Even Louis turns his head to the side and giggles at your misunderstanding. “The names Moran. Pronounced Mo-run.” He patiently explains with a poker face, blinking rapidly due to his drunkenness. Realisation dawns upon you that you just called a man a moron.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t—-” You start to cough up badly. It seems you've crossed your limit for talking. Your head starts to feel hollow, vision starts to get blurry and your lungs and throat burn.

Both adults rush towards you. Louis picks you up and gently knocks on your chest and top of your head, hoping it would calm you down. Moran looks around, trying to find something that will help in the moment of panic. “Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of alcohol. “Moran, she is a child! Maybe you really are a Moron. Here sweetie drink this instead.” The blonde man hands you his cup of tea. You yank the cup and gulp down the tea. After some time, the coughing stops. You drop your head onto Louis’s chest and you breathe heavily for some time.

Later after that small recovery, you write ‘Thank you’ to the blonde man and ‘Sorry’ to Moran. “Don’t worry too much about it, I get that from kids a lot.” He shrugs.

“Y/n you already know Moran.” Louis clears his throat. “This is Mr James Bonde.” James smiles at you.

He has this sort of beauty to him, which is too much not to go unnoticed. His blue eyes remind you of an ever flowing river while his blonde hair makes you think about a paddy field. You could not resist your urge to comment on it.

‘You look so pretty Mr Bonde!’

Bonde squints and looks at your card. “ Aww thank you sweetie.”

Moran pushes James face to the side. “Hey! What about me?”

‘You look normal I guess.’ You show it with the same poker face he had. “Excuse you but many women have fallen in love with me just cus of my face and you’re saying my face looks just okay?” He points at you while stumbling a bit. Perhaps he too has reached his limit, looking at the fact that he is fighting with a child. “Alright Moran, you've drunk too much beer. Let’s get you to bed.” James leads Moran to his room.

“While they both do that, let me introduce you to Albert. He is our oldest brother and the head of this household.” Louis puts you down to the ground. It’s a little nerve wrecking, since you are going to meet the man who put your step parents in jail. But then again, in a sense he did you a favour.

In a few minutes, both of you stand in front of two huge doors. You take a deep breath in as he opens one of the doors, and step inside. There you see a brown haired man with green eyes.

The man looks at you and smiles “Ah you’re the child.” He gets up from his desk and walks towards you. He then crouches a little and stares at you, for quite some time. You can hear the ticking of the clock and you mentally note he has been staring at you for twenty one seconds.

When you finally pick a topic to write about, he pinches your cheeks, rubbing his fingers onto them. Why is he doing this, you don’t know and you’re too scared to ask him, so you remain as still as stone. His touch does feel pleasant but this is getting wayy too awkward so you sign Louis with your eyes for help.

“Brother you are annoying her.” Louis states. Albert immediately jolts back his hand and straightens his posture. “Sorry. That behaviour was quite unlike me.” He furrows his brows, smiling at the same time.”My name is Albert james Moriarty” You curtsy at his introduction and he bows a little. “Come sit.” He pushes a chair next to his inviting you to sit.

Albert continues to do his work while Louis helps him. And you honestly don’t understand a single word they are saying so you resort to daydreaming for entertainment. About half an hour later even daydreaming gets boring and your start to yawn. “Tired aren’t you?” Albert softly sighs. He looks at Louis. “Don’t worry this is boring for me too.” He leans back on his chair and orders “Louis can you bring the young lady some dessert?” You smile widely when he says that.

Louis runs to the kitchen and bring you a freshly made crepe in almost no time. Of course, you devour it in almost no time. Albert smiles at you, pleasantly surprised that his tactic on feeding you with food worked. But since you ate the food so quickly, some parts of it were splattered on your face.

“You have something on your face Y/n” Albert wipes the food on your face with his hand. He tries to find a handkerchief to wipe it with but you yank his hand to your side and proceed to lick it.

Louis freezes after seeing this. “OH GREAT HEAVENS WHAT ARE YOU DOING Y/N?!”

You look at him for a moment. Then you commence to chew Alberts finger to see how he would react to that. Louis’s head explodes. Albert tries to calm him down, explaining the fact that you were just a child. Louis tries to pull out Albert’s finger from your mouth which results in Albert yelling in pain for his brother to stop, as he felt his finger being torn apart by your teeth. Little did you three know, this entire scene was being spectated by William who just came home.

Naturally, he tries to control his laughter but miserably fails. Now all three of you are looking at him, frozen on the spot. When you three try to explain what was going on, He looses it and starts to roll on the floor (well technically just kneel down and laugh out loud).

Later after calming down, he says “It’s nice to see all three of you getting along like this. Oh Y/n I also got you something.” He takes out a stack of flashcards that seems as if they were cut individually from normal paper since they lacked uniformity in size.

He also handed you two gorgeous fountain pens. One had beautiful carvings with colourful enamel and the other had a silver base with a wooden top body. It’s also nice to see that both of them fit perfectly into your hands.

“I didn’t know what your taste was so I prepared both simple and intricate designs alike.” He replies. “Also the wood used to make the pen was extracted from the bookshelves of the library from the Quinn household.”

So that’s why they looked so similar to you.

“Think of this gift as a welcome gift since you’ve joined the family. I don’t want you to be scared of us or be ashamed that your previous family are criminals, alright? Be comfortable around us, don’t be afraid to tell us your worries and definitely do not be afraid to ask for help. Please treat us as if we are your actual family.” He pats your head.

You nod, smiling at the three brothers. “It’s dinner time now!” James barges into the room startling everyone. “Oh I’m sorry did I interrupt you? I just wanted to ask if dinner was ready.” He explains.

“In fact, yes, I already prepared before I met y/n. Let’s head into the dining room” Everyone walks with Louis towards the dining room.

Huh.

Fitting in with them wasn’t as surprisingly hard as you thought it would be. All the worry in you disappears as you see everyone chatting casually while entering the dining room.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #albert james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #william james moriarty #louis james moriarty #james bonde

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cosmictapestry · 11 months

Note

Greetings! I may or may not have read my way through the Morphienne masterpost in a single weekend without ever having read the ship before. I absolutely adored all of them! If you are still taking requests, might I ask for A40? Possibly including (nearly) getting caught? If it fits?

All the good vibes your way and thank you very, very kindly for introducing me to this lovely ship!

A40. exhibitionism

oooooooo we got another one folks 😤😤😤😤😤

if you'd like some context to The Arrangement + Actual Writing you might be interested in my fic series we, divinity :D

prompt list + fills here

Watching Lord Morpheus create new dreams is a rare joy for Lucienne. Usually she cannot spare the time to visit the Shores of Creation while he is there, and even if she can, he has asked to be left alone in recent millennia. His tolerance for company is as reduced as she remembers, but he makes exception for her, as he does in many things.

So today she lounges on the uncharacteristically sunny seashore, sprawled on a blanket on a low dune behind him. The sea is usually hostile and draws few visitors, likely by Lord Morpheus's own design. Today it is still and peaceful and the air is warm. He hasn't spoken or looked over his shoulder—he is quite engrossed in the gleaming blob of molten glass in front of him—but he manifested the blanket and a few pillows and even one of her favorite novels as soon as she arrived.

Lucienne watches his hair and robes shift with the gentle breeze, the sharp edge of his jaw drawn in concentration. His hands occasionally begin a flurry of activity, coaxing forward sand with broad beckoning gestures, inevitably tapering down to measured crooks of the finger that change the shape of the almost-being in front of him. His hands flex and caress the air, manipulating the raw dreamstuff, sinking into the heat of its burgeoning life, draw forth what could be a shudder from his newest creation.

"Lucienne," her lord growls. He glares over his shoulder at her. There is color to his cheeks, from the wind or the sun or her wandering mind. "Will you please behave."

Lucienne draws one knee up to her chest, rests her cheek on it and blinks up at him innocently. "I'm only watching."

"You are doing so salaciously," he retorts, and he turns back to his work with his shoulders drawn up close to his ears.

"Salaciously," Lucienne repeats, tongue curling over the syllables. "An excellent word, your grace."

This he does not dignify with a response. He resumes his earlier motions, the movement of his arms drawing Lucienne's attention to the long, lean lines of his back. She thinks of the scratches she left there last night and the shifting of lithe muscle under her hands.

No reaction from her lord. He crooks his finger delicately, swirls it through the air to carve into one gemlike facet of the molten glass creation. Lucienne thinks of the other day, when he pulled her off to some forgotten nook of the castle, placed his fingers in her mouth and had her suck, then slipped that hand down the front of her trousers.

A little flinch, the flex of his hand and sharp intake of breath, but this could just as easily be any other disturbance as it could be her. The idea is fairly frustrating. She glares at his back and she thinks very loudly about him, the curl of his tongue and the softness of his skin and the pitch of his voice on the edge of orgasm.

Still no apparent result. Lucienne sighs, and she begins to unbutton her waistcoat.

Lord Morpheus does react now, his posture stiffening, his head tilting, but he doesn't turn or say a word.

Lucienne pulls her coat off, folds it and lays it in the sand beside her spread blanket. She repeats the process with her shirt. Her eyes stay trained on his back as she undoes her trousers.

Finally, he speaks, annoyed and hoarse. "I won't hide you if someone passes by."

She grins and hums, unbothered.

"Of course you like that," he mutters, and he raises his hand to his face, presses thumb and pointer finger to his closed eyelids. The tips of his ears are pink. "Lucienne. What are you doing."

Lucienne just lifts her hips to shimmy her trousers down her legs, takes them off alongside her shoes to lay them beside her other garments. She's left in her brassiere and knickers, subtly different shades of purple. "Please, don't let me interrupt you, my lord."

Her lord groans. His jaw is tense with the effort it's taking him not to either send her back to the castle or—whatever else it is he'd like to do.

The sun is warm on Lucienne's skin. She turns her face up to the sky and stretches her arms up too. There was no sunlight or warmth in the time her lord was gone. She doesn't think she'll ever get enough of it now. With a luxuriant sigh she reaches behind her, unclasps her brassiere, shrugs it off and sets it to the side. She runs one hand up her belly, brings it to rest on her right breast, begins to knead it slowly.

Lord Morpheus makes a valiant effort to ignore her. His hands are shaking now as he draws them through the air.

Lucienne watches. Her breast is heavy in her hand, golden in the sunshine, nipple large and dark and beginning to pebble with her attention. She gives a breathy sigh, only a little performative. She wishes it was his mouth instead of her hand, suckling a little constellation of marks around her nipple, or his own big hands, cooler than hers.

She leans back, propped up on one hand, closing her eyes and feeling the plush give of the sand under her blanket, her own flesh spilling between her fingers, the heat of the sun and her body and his presence. The hand on her breast gives her nipple one last tweak and then slides down, over the swell of her belly, down past the hem of her knickers.

Her lord's shoulders lift and fall with a slow, measured breath. He crosses his arms over his chest to hide his hands now.

Lucienne pets over the hood of her clit, feeling the velvet softness nestled in her curls. She rubs in lazy circles, teasing the way he likes to. He likes to draw her pleasure out, make it build and last. She tries to emulate it now, the way his fingertips would dip into her folds, the heel of his palm firm on her clit and grinding there.

"Not so rough," Lord Morpheus murmurs. "There's no rush."

A victorious grin that she bites down on but can't quite keep out of her voice. "There is, if I hope to finish before I'm caught."

"I think that's a risk you're willing to take," he says, and she laughs. "If you insist on tormenting me you'd best make the most of it."

Lucienne coos sympathetically. "I'm not trying to torment you." She hooks her thumbs in the hem of her knickers and pulls them off, leaving her entirely bare. He still won't look at her. "You are the one ignoring me."

His resistance lasts for approximately five more seconds. Finally, with a weary sigh, he turns to face her, flushed but expressionless. His eyes stay trained on hers, not wandering over her chest or down between her legs—she spreads them wide to try and draw his attention, but no luck. She can't help but pout. "Am I truly bothering you?"

Lord Morpheus has the audacity to roll his eyes. He steps aside, revealing the molten glass of his creation, now slick-smooth and curvaceous, burning with a warm internal light, an uncurling flower between its legs. "Yes."

Lucienne laughs, and she gives her folds a wet pat, finally drawing his gaze down where she wants it. His nostrils flare as he watches her fingers circle over her swollen, slick flesh, vibrant as any flower. "More an inspiration than a bother, perhaps."

His tongue darts to wet his lips. "Perhaps."

She leans back on her hand, her chin tipped up, her knees up and spread far, half-desperate and half-satisfied. "I've made a mess," she murmurs, beckoning him with her shining fingers. "Help me clean up?"

Her lord does not hesitate now. He approaches her seat on the dune, drops to his knees in the black sand, takes her hand into his own, then brings it to his mouth. His red tongue curls hot over her fingers, cleans them in broad strokes, then in tiny kittenish licks. Done, he places that hand back on her breast, moves his own hands to grip her legs. "Play with yourself again," he murmurs. "I didn't get to see."

Lucienne giggles, and she does as he asks, teasing touches on her nipple while he watches. He keeps his eyes there while he kisses her raised knee and begins to work his way down her inner thigh in tiny, searing kisses. With the hand not holding her up quite busy, she can't tangle her fingers in his hair the way he likes, but she reckons that's probably fine, given how rapt his attention is on her.

Her lord holds her gaze until his tongue touches her heat. Then his eyes flutter shut, his brows drawing together in quiet ecstasy. His hands slide down her outer thighs, down to knead at her arse, up around her hips to grip her and draw her impossibly closer to his mouth, sealed hot over her clit.

He stays there, suckling at her, tonguing at her cunt like there's nowhere he'd rather be. Lucienne watches him, feels him, feels herself, and mentally marks the efficacy of bothering him while he is working to be quite high. "Oh, you are gorgeous," she whispers to him, and she does abandon her chest to pet back his hair, to feel him hum, sweet and pleased. "So good, love."

She feels him smile, his cheek soft where he nuzzles it against her leg, his hands petting up her sides, stroking plush flesh, waking all her body and blood. She leans back on her elbow, face tipped to the sun, the breeze soft on her skin, her king eager between her legs, and she thinks she's not been quite so content in a very, very long time.

"Matthew is on his way here," Lord Morpheus says quite suddenly, his breath a hot puff that makes her jolt.

Lucienne sits up. "What?!"

"Well, wait," he mutters, pulls her hips forward to get her back in position. "Let me finish you, first."

"My lord!" Lucienne squeals, but she can't deny the thrill of it, and she's laughing while he puts his mouth back on her, swatting at him gently while he laps at her and works her back into a rigid bow under the swipe of his tongue. "You're a menace," she wheezes, and he growls in agreement, kissing until she comes, shivering and grinding on his face.

When the white noise fades she hears wingbeats. She gasps and she rushes to cover his breasts with shaking, sweating arms, only to find them clothed again, all her garments back in perfect place. Lord Morpheus stands with his back to her, hands waving through the air, as though nothing at all had happened.

Matthew alights beside Lucienne on the blanket, prattling on about something or other that he thought probably warranted interrupting their king at work. Lucienne checks the bitterness of this line of thought with no small amount of amusement. She is content, now, too, watching her lord painstakingly edit a creation that still looks suspiciously like her.

#growling howling sobbing lucienne...... lucienne tiddies...................#these being from her perspective means i often don't get to focus on How Fucking Hot She Is. my life is so difficult #the sandman #lucienne the librarian #morphienne #dream of the endless #lucid dreaming #x #minors dni

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negative-speedforce · 3 months

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How would your OCs' significant others react to seeing them dressed up for the first time?

Siv (With Gina or Hailey): Literally speechless. Full useless lesbian mode. Can not believe that a creature this ethereal exists, or that they can call her theirs. Probably does the human equivalent of a screenshot.

Hailey: Is fairly stunned, but still competent enough to compliment the woman she loves. She's honestly surprised how good Siv looks when they're not dressed like a homeless man.

Gina: Was honestly surprised at how good Siv looks dressed up, since they almost never do that.

Jay: Literally squealed the first time he saw Cassandra in formalwear, because he already thinks that Cassandra is the most beautiful girl alive, but she somehow looks even more stunning all dolled up. Could not keep his hands off her all night.

Cassandra: Even though the reason for her and Jay dressing up were just for a mission, she was absolutely stunned by how handsome he looked. Needless to say, they ended up almost failing their mission because they spent too much time making out.

Max: Was surprised with how well Kyle looked in a rented suit, and how it made his broad linebacker shoulders look so strong, and how it just made him want to do unspeakable things to him.

Kyle: Thought Max looked nice, and was developing a tiny crush on him, but considering that they didn't really know each other yet, he didn't have any visceral reaction.

Eric: "Who is this gorgeous man and what did he do to my husband" lol. As an anthropologist, Jacob is often covered in dust and dirt from whatever dig site he was at last, so Eric was surprised to see him so cleaned up for once.

Jacob: Kinda felt sorry for Eric, since he looked quite uncomfortable in a dress, and Jacob had never seen him wear one (Neither Jacob or Eric himself knew he was trans yet).

Onnie: For once, they lost their charm and charisma, because she was not expecting Pippa to look so pretty in formalwear, after all, she's only seen her in her superhero getup or in casual wear, so seeing Pippa all dressed up was a pleasant surprise

Pippa: Technically the first time Pippa saw Onnie dressed up was on TV, on the news at one of her father's business events. Needless to say, Pippa didn't even know who Onnie was yet and she still thought that that mysterious girl was so hot-

Jessi: The SECOND she saw Hyun-Ki in a suit, she knew he could be her stylish publicity boytoy. While she never was really attracted to him, she could tell just how attractive he was, and how much attention he commanded.

Hyun-Ki: At the surface, he felt transfixed, as if enchanted by Jessi's beauty. However, underneath the surface, Hyun-Ki was disgusted, and he wanted nothing more than for someone to finally see through Jessi's good-girl persona.

Marie: (for Qiara) could not keep her eyes off her all night. Tried to ignore Qiara because they weren't dating yet, but it was impossible (for Liah) Wasn't expecting a 6'3 Cardassian to be so femme. Cheers to you, Liah.

Liah: (for Marie) was honestly pretty speechless the first time she saw Marie dressed up- after all, the fanciest thing Marie had ever worn was her dress uniform. (for Qiara) almost passed out, because Qiara actually looked like a goddess, and while Liah knew that Qiara was essentially one, it had never really processed for her.

Qiara: (for Liah) Literally squealed because Liah looked so pretty and Qiara had never seen her dressed up so cute. (for Marie) Absolutely flabbergasted. Did not know how to respond.

Athena: Her jaw dropped, and she immediately got to work trying to convince Laila to go sneak off and take off those fancy clothes because she looked so hot-

Laila: Forgot to breathe for approximately thirty seconds because her girlfriend looked so stunning (and almost passed out)

Reyna: Thought Iorhael looked hot, but also kinda silly, considering that he still had that stupid shaggy mullet from when his long hair got caught in some machinery and Reyna had to cut it loose before his head got sucked in. (they are the disaster couple of all time)

Iorhael (Reyna's boyfriend): Absolutely stunned. The one (and only) time he ever saw Reyna dressed in actual formalwear was her own coronation, following the execution of her stepmother, Queen Carmen. However, the rule of Queen Reyna was short-lived, as two days later, she left the throne to her niece, Camille, and skipped town.

Pyrrha: Didn't really notice how Castor looked for a good few minutes, since she was so busy being self-conscious about how she looked, since she had let her friends pressure her into wearing a dress that exposed her scars. When she noticed, however, she was super awkward and she stammered out a "Y-you look g-great."

Castor (Pyrrha's partner): Was extremely proud of Pyrrha, since she had been donning heavy layered clothes and gloves to hide her cybernetics, but thanks to a little confidence boost, decided to go confront the woman who tormented her in style, in a dress that specifically showed off her prosthetic arm and the scars with it.

Aldrich: Couldn't believe that this absolutely beautiful woman was about to marry him. If he was capable of tears, he would be crying, but unfortunately, vampires are not.

Samira: It was their wedding, so Samira was honestly too busy crying happy tears to notice how good Aldrich looked in his suit (after her kidnapping, however, the photos from that are all she really has from her family)

Matt: Was honestly more nervous about what Dolores would think of him, since Dolores already dresses fairly formal most of the time already

Dolores: Couldn't believe that Matt was capable of looking so classy, since he normally dresses like a 13-year-old boy mixed with a surfer dude and a hobo.

And! Also! What they were wearing!

Siv

Hailey

Gina

Jay (is such a manwhore)

Cassandra

Max

Kyle

Jacob

Eric

Onnie

Pippa

Jessi

Hyun-Ki

Marie

Liah

Qiara

Athena

Laila

Reyna

Iorhael

Pyrrha

Castor

Aldrich

Samira

Matt

Dolores

#i REALLY need to make bios for iorhael and castor #ask revan #oc shit #practically-an-x-man

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mercurygray · 8 months

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For the writing prompt, how about #8 absolute for everyone's favorite Red Devil Mike Stanley and a character of your choice.

Oh, this was fun. I love Mike so much - and he's here playing opposite my OC for All Creatures Great and Small, Isabel!

---

Heaven save her from the Darrowby housewife.

So polite, so well-meaning, so utterly proper - so absolutely afraid to trust her with anything that they would have asked her father for.

Isabel was just getting ready to close the surgery for a spot of lunch when yet another appeared, going-out coat and handbag appropriately matched, lingering in the waiting room to discreetly see which Corbett was running things today, ready to turn back if it wasn't the right one.

Too late -she'd been caught. "Oh, Miss Corbett, I was -"

"My father's out, I'm afraid, Mrs. Stanley," Isabel said, trying not to look hurt. "Was there something I could help you with?"

Mrs. Stanley dithered a moment. "Well, it's - my nephew's visiting, and he's gotten himself into a bit of a scrape, and I didn't like to leave it…"

"I'm sure it's nothing I can't manage, Mrs. Stanley," Isabel assured her, assuming the boy was standing in the waiting room out of sight. "We do a whole course on scrapes in medical school. I'm just washing my hands - have him pop up on the exam table in room two and we'll set him right in no time."

Mrs. Stanley didn't seem to know what to say to that, but she heard a few little agitated noises and the creak of the table, and Mrs. Stanley saying something that he was old enough to wait without her. Boys. Same the world over. It would be a bloody knee or an elbow and she'd still have time to step out for lunch.

She was just finishing drying her hands as she stepped into exam room two, thinking about antiseptics and wound debridement and the scrapes of 12 year old boys, and then came face to face with approximately 6 feet of broad-shouldered, sandy-haired, clean-jawed soldier, his red beret soft in his hands and a winged horse prominent on the shoulder of his jacket. He looked just a little out of place as he swung his legs over the side of the exam table, his head (and one very nasty looking cut) very nearly brushing the overhead light.

Isabel stopped dead. "Goodness."

He smiled - a rather disarming look. "Not what you were expecting, was it?"

Isabel could feel the blush clear through to her bones. "She said nephew and... I ....assumed - someone smaller."

The smile got wider. "And before I assume - Is it actually Miss Corbett, or Doctor?"

"Doctor, actually."

"Then it sounds like I'm in very safe hands." His head made another very near miss with the light. "Do I still need…"

"Oh, no, of course not." Isabel gestured for him to get off the table and sit down in the exam room's chair, and busied herself for a moment with preparing her tray, the alcohol swab and sticking plaster and forceps.

He made himself comfortable in the much lower chair and she pulled the tray closer so she could get a look at his head. He smelled different from her usual - aftershave rather than soap, wet canvas instead of wool. The cut on his head had already started scabbing, though it seemed fairly deep. "Should I ask?"

He smiled widely at that. "I can tell you anyway - there was a difference of opinions on the niceties of overseas service. You may see the other gentleman in later with a goose-egg on the back of his head and a black eye from where I laid him out."

Isabel nodded, dabbing expertly at the cut. It was reassuring, somehow, that even he shivered with the sting of the alcohol swab. "So, where were you, overseas?" she asked, just to be polite and make conversation. "It's the Paras, isn't it? Your beret."

He glanced up at her between her arms and the forceps she was using for the swab. "Doctor Corbett is very well informed. Did you serve?"

"Just here at home," she said, feeling very foolish about that answer. "Farmers with sprains and bad backs and hernias."

If he thought less of that, he didn't say anything, only nodded. "France, and Holland, and then Malaya. Only just got home a few weeks ago. Doing a tour 'round the relatives, see if we can scare something up for a job. There was a lead for a farm manager, and I thought I'd give the interview a go. Gave Aunt Mabel a turn last night, that's for sure. Still adjusting a little bit to civvy street, you might say."

"I think they'll think twice about disagreeing with you down at the Drovers'." She brushed his hair out of the way and carefully patted the bandage and plaster into place, neatly covering up the wound. "And Dales folk always like someone who speaks their mind," she added with a smile. "I think that's you sorted, then."

"And what do you like, Doctor Corbett?"

She looked down and realized his eyes were a rather startling shade of greeny-blue, and they were looking up at her with a frankness she hadn't seen in a long time - since London, really, and school. A look between equals - a look of interest. "It's Michael, by the by," he added, for effect. "Or Mike, if you like."

She stepped back and looked at him again, very carefully, the smile and his laughing eyes. "I like the pies down at the Queen's Arms," she said, choosing her words carefully. "I can take forty minutes for lunch. And I like being called Isabel, when it suits."

To judge by the smile, it suited Mike Stanley just fine.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #isabel corbett #mike stanley

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years

Text

I did one of these for all of season 11 and season 12, because those aired while I was blissfully doing a fairly easy work-from-home job and had time to make every Taskmaster episode take me several hours to watch. I actually also did it for season 4, just because it was my favourite season so as I re-watched it along with the podcast last year I wrote about it. I did it for most of season 13, but missed a few episodes because I was doing a month-long in-person co-op program, and it’s harder to do these when I have a limited number of hours of not being at work and I’m tired all the time. They do take a surprisingly long time, and when I’m actually going to work I have to make some choices about whether I want to make watching an episode of Taskmaster take 2-3 hours. Stopping the episode constantly to write things takes a surprisingly long time.

I didn’t do it for the first episode of season 14, since I’m doing a busy work program again now. However, right now I’m at the beginning of a long weekend (Canadian Thanksgiving), and have decided I miss these, because they’re fun to do! So I’m going to watch Taskmaster the slow way this time. Here are my thoughts on Taskmaster s14e02, written as I watch it:

- I might be wrong, but I think they’ve increased the amount of audio from the comedians that plays over the music during the theme tune this season (“What? No! Shut up!”). Possibly as a result of the popularity of Chris Ramsey’s “No way!” in last season’s theme tune. I don’t mind it.

- Last week I was impressed that they managed to find a new fairly broad prize task category, just “jaw-dropping thing”. This week, we’re back to the niches. Both sides of the prize task options are fun. I like this one, though. Immediately has me thinking about what I’d do; I think everyone has a bunch of things that they nearly throw away but can’t quite bring themselves to, and any prize category that’s relatable and makes you think that way is a good one.

- I love how fast Munya can go from one thing to the next in his comedy. From his own house plant to raising children to the royal marines. I’ve heard someone say before that a good measure of genuine intelligence, not memorization but the difficult-to-define (and maybe even not hugely ethical to define, or at least not hugely ethical to put too much stock in) concept of pure intelligence, is the ability to make connections quickly (I mean that doesn’t really apply there specifically in a pre-written joke, but I think it’s a skill he has in general). Munya is going to be good at this game.

- I’m not quite sure what’s going on with Dara, but he has a lot of jokes about how bits of his body are just�� there are too many of them and they have to be moved around. I think humans aren’t really meant to be that tall.

- Fern’s prize is horrifying and also does not fit the remit, because she clearly has no problem throwing it away. And rightly so. I will forgive the prize that doesn’t quite meet requirements on the grounds that it’s worth it to not live with that thing anymore.

- “Do you think, tonally, you’ve got this wrong?” – Greg Davies, to John Kearns, and I knew almost nothing about John Kearns before this season and it’s only episode two now, but I’m already guessing that will be a good summary of Kearns on this show in general, and I like it

- Greg Davies: Maybe you could clear a little room and let that be [your husband’s] special room [in which he keeps the horrifying zombie doll].

Sarah Millican: It is in a special room.

Munya Chawawa: Well, I was not expecting to spend today sitting next to Sarah Millican and learning that Gary Delaney likes to fuck Halloween decorations, but I guess that’s happened.

- John Kearns’ book was a pretty good prize, and Greg committing hard to the bit of pretending it wasn’t has shades of his treatment of Hugh Dennis. Which was completely unfair but also great fun, I am fine with it if he wants to do the Dennis thing again this season. Dara seems like the obvious person to get a Hugh Dennis treatment, but sure, let’s go another way.

- Greg empathizes with the fact that humans aren’t made to be that tall, and gives Dara five points. Dara should play that card more often.

- Alex Horne: Well, Greg, it’s only the king of all stationary items.

Me:

Greg and Alex:

I love the running laminator joke. It’s spanned half of Taskmaster’s run now, as it started in season 7.

- So that airport thing was real then, I didn’t just dream it last week. They actually got a commercial airport for the location tasks. Awesome.

- Season 1: Tim Key picked out a special tracksuit to wear to all the tasks, that’s a fun gimmick.

Season 14: Three of the five contestants had personalized onesies made for their tasks, and the other two still have quite a distinctive signature outfit. The bar has been raised.

This is the first time I’ve noticed Dara O’Briain’s outfit says “DOB” on it - I’ve never heard that one, can’t say it has the same ring as his Irish contemporary DO’D, but it’s never too late to get a nickname going. Maybe he’s rebranding post-Mock the Week. Though it might be good to go with one that isn’t already known for meaning “date of birth”.

- Oh God, I’ve just noticed for the first time that Fern’s says “Taskmistress” on it. Don’t... don’t do that, Fern. You don’t want to get mixed up in that.

- I love that this first task is basically just: “Figure out how the fuck a printer works, your time starts now.” Hell of a challenge in 2022.

- Fern seems to be the only one of the first three who’s understood the assignment - John Kearns and Dara O’Briain messing around with fonts is quite funny, but it’s slowing them down when they’re supposed to make the most signs. Come on, people! Go faster! It’s very important that everyone tries really hard to win Taskmaster because if they don’t then we’ll have to think about other things!

Having said that, the task didn’t specify the criteria for how to win, so I’m almost sure there will be a Part Two to this task. But I’m not sure any of them picked up on that in the moment, and even if they did there would be no way to be sure that’s the case, so the smart thing to do is to try to win the “most signs” task in case that really is the whole thing.

- Alex has just started handing out the second set of tasks and while they haven’t been opened yet, I’ve just realized they’re going to be “Follow your instructions.” That should have been obvious, and if the contestants were really smart and genre-savvy, they’d have realized it before making the signs and kept it mind while setting the instructions. But to be fair, I only just realized it now and I’m sitting at home; in that situation and under pressure I doubt I’d have guessed in time.

- I don’t want to be too pedantic, but most of Dara’s signs are not instructions. And I think none of John’s are. Fern, however, is all over this task. Warm your bum. Leave your husband. Run. Eat more fibre. Poop your pants. Clear and simple.

- Alex covering his mouth and John looking sheepish for a brief moment after John Kearns nearly broke a laptop - that comes off as a quick little character breaking moment from both of them, and it’s so funny. At first I thought John had tried to do something fancy, like when Russell Howard tried to look cool in season six by tossing up an egg but then he just dropped and broke it - only with a fucking a laptop - but I re-watched it and Kearns didn’t do anything like that. He just... picked up a laptop, and that was enough to almost drop it. Such an awkward man.

- Wait, are there no points for most signs, and no penalty for Dara or John for breaking the “all your signs must have a different instruction” rule? Actually Fern broke that too, because some had the same instruction. I call for a video review.

- Is whatever Taskmaster writer does the links into breaks doing okay at home? This is the second season in a row of many of them being based on the idea that you’re watching this with a partner with whom things are not going well. It is funny to watch Greg read those out as they get increasingly bleak.

- Jesus fucking Christ, Munya. Is this some sort of lesson about how the youths who are all whiz kids of social media can’t use physical technology (for the record he’s only two years younger than me, but I feel like we’re world’s apart because I don’t have Instagram)? Stuff that isn’t even ancient, it’s electronic but just not digital? Are they going to keep throwing slightly old technology at Munya in all of these tasks to try to slightly counteract the massive advantage he has by being a brilliantly fast creative social media type? Because that would be funny.

- Millican’s delight at getting the second task is lovely. She is not thinking five moves ahead, she’s just enjoying the ride. And she gets a pass for that because it’s how I want Sarah Millican to be. The others may need to step of their game, competitively.

- Little thing, but credit to Munya for writing “Alex stinks - agree” instead of just “Alex stinks”. “Agree” is an instruction, so that is a better effort than the others put into following the task. Probably because Munya can think fast enough to keep all the details of the task in his head, while Dara had forgotten everything but “make a sign” by the time he’d figured out how the printer worked.

- I love that most of Sarah’s instructions are variations on “go away”, or children’s game-style instructions like “turn around”.

- Munya Chawawa: I know to you guys a laminator’s like a PS5, but for me, I’m used to the more... you know, the nippy stuff.

Sarah Millican: Can I ask a question? What’s a PS5?

Greg Davies: PlayStation.

Sarah Millican: Oh. For children. Yep.

I think this exchange might encapsulate the Millican/Chawawa dynamic, and pairing them for team tasks is such a great idea. Lovely combination. It’s like... it would be a “clash” of different personalities/styles, and sort of fun vitriolic, except that Sarah’s too delightful to have things like clashes or vitriol, so instead of it’s like... last week I said aunt/nephew, but I’m now thinking it’s more like her daughter’s cool boyfriend is showing her what the kids get up to these days.

- It’s funny that both women got penalized for having a modicum of decency - Fern for not pooping her pants, and Sarah for not taking her underwear off on television.

- Okay good, I’m glad they get points based on number of signs as well as percentage obeyed. That’s much fairer.

- This one’s much less subjective than the prize task, and John still comes last twice in a row. Legitimately bumbling and makes silly mistakes in a lot of the tasks, then on top of that Greg decides it’s funny to capitalize on it and penalize him extra when he gets the chance - yeah, these are Hugh Dennis vibes (see Munaya, I can use young language too). I know Nish Kumar said he thought Kearns would be Kumar-like, and that prediction is turning out to be surprisingly accurate, but I still think the closest comparison is Hugh Dennis.

- Ooh, I haven’t seen the inside of the garage in a while. That’s a fun location. Some weird shit’s happened in that garage over the years.

- Oh I like this task. Making it about keeping flour on the plate and not just moving the grapes. I also like the different ways they had of opening the task. I always like it when contestants read directly into the letter of the law (which I noticed the writers guarded against by putting “wear the flippers as gloves”, so they can’t just wear them on their feet). There have been multiple tasks in previous seasons when Alex put a blindfold on them, but the task never said they had to keep the blindfold on, and it bothers me that no one tried taking it off because there’s no rule to prevent that. I like that in this one, several of them figured out that no one said they had to keep the flippers on before opening the task.

- I thought for a moment that Sarah had a good strategy, though it turned out she wasn’t going the way I thought. Surely the way to do this is just to put the flour into your other flipper and then try to transfer it back to the plate, right?

- Munya had a variation of that, tipping the table onto the plate. I feel like there’s a smarter way to do that if you plan it before you start, but I’m not sure what it is and I’m not sure anyone can come up with it in five minutes under pressure.

- I use this word in the most gender-neutral, stripped of all problematic gendered connotations possible, but when they went for the garage door and found the grapes in it, I did say the words. “You fucking bitch” out loud, to Alex. I find it hilarious that he got tired of hiding these tricks only for no one to find them so he can’t show them off without just clunkily mentioning it in the studio (ie. the Goosebumps books being in the caravan during that season 12 task, the answer to a good speech being under the table in season 13), so in this one, he contrived a way that forced the contestants to find them after the task was over. By making them try to open the garage door by themselves. You bitch, Alex.

- Fern and John next, so they’re saving Dara for last. I wonder if that means he’ll find the door grapes.

- Hey, John Kearns is using the strategy I mentioned earlier of saving flour on the flipper, good for him! I’m less impressed with this strategy of trying to move grapes with his mouth, given that eating raw flour can kill you. Though when I think about it, I’m not sure how to move the grapes with only one flippered hand. It’s possible that this wasn’t as good a plan as I’d thought.

- No idea what Fern is talking about with the surgery metaphor, but I’m enjoying how her mind works.

- Well, I think John Kearns showed that my plan could sort of work, if you don’t mind dying of flour-based diseases. But Munya’s plan of tipping the table onto it is probably better.

- Grapes falling almost on Fern’s head as she leaves the garage is a hilarious bittersweet image.

- Fern Brady explaining that sometimes she got through tasks by pretending accomplishing it would help someone... I mean I know she’s at least half joking, but that actually makes sense. I do that when I’m exhausted but want to finish a workout or some other task, I imagine that doing that will in some way help the athletes I coach or something. I apologize for saying it made no sense, I actually see her logic.

- Holy hell Dara’s attempt was an experience. A “journey”, as Greg put it. I said he might be saved for last because he found the door grapes, but what he actually did was so much funnier. He was right next to them. Amazing. That one’s going down in Taskmaster history as one of the worst near misses with success. Smart lateral thinking, but just barely missed the obvious. Smart lateral thinking but still nearly fucked it up anyway. Nearly fucked it all up but then got it with under ten seconds left. What a journey. What a man.

- Jesus. What on Earth have you people done?

- Oh this task is fun. A bit reminiscent of a few live tasks they’ve had over the years, but this time with a full contraption and none of the studio’s limits. A test of physical skill and psychological strategy. Great.

- Well, Fern and John are both very bad at this. I’m enjoying John Kearns complaining about rubber ducks being too small.

- Surely the right move is to hold your bucket up and ready to catch, then stand as close to the end as possible while still being able to reach the beginning, then drop it and immediately, run, right? Rather than just... dropping it and watching it fall like Fern and John are doing?

- I like to think I’d have the sense to look in the bath if I were there, but it’s entirely possible that I’d miss it too.

- Where did Fern find that crown?

- I lost my breath laughing at the further discussion of tiny ducks in the studio. I like the humour style of just pretending something makes total sense when it doesn’t, and I am quickly finding that I like John Kearns.

- They’re saving Dara for last again, and he’s won every task so far, including winning both parts of hte two-part task. It’s a damn good day to be Dara O’Briain.

- Sarah and Munya finding the ducks and socks immediately gives me more confidence that they’re not that hard to spot and I’d probably have found them too. Then again, I do have an autism-based tendency to miss the very obvious at times, and there may have been at play in Fern missing them as well, so just to be safe I won’t try to claim any high ground of saying, “How could Fern have missed that?” I can’t be confident that I’d do better in her shoes. Also, Dara missed the grapes without having an excuse like autism, so sometimes people just miss the obvious.

- Damn, Munya. I actually said, “Oh shit you’re playing with fire” out loud when he put all those ducks on the treadmill at once (my roommate’s been gone for several weeks now and I’m gotten quite comfortable with being able to talk to my laptop out loud, it’ll be disappointing when he gets back next weekend and I have to stop), but then he caught almost all of them. Impressive.

- Love the discomfort in Alex’s voice when responding to Sarah explaining that she can’t see her pockets because of her tits. I hope she plays that card a lot too this season, just being able to fuck with Alex by doing what she does all the time, which is casually mention when her large breasts get in the way of every day life. I’m remembering a WILTY moment with tea and coffee and one of those falling on Lee Mack’s head, which was the first time I learned how much Sarah Millican enjoys using those as comedy props, and it’s great.

- Catching all the ducks at once was nice... the attempt to replicate that with socks went less well.

- I feel like it would be smart to move the sock bucket as far as it will and hold it in front of him, if he’s having trouble catching behind him.

- I said last week that Munya’s stories remind me of athletes I coach who grew up in the Middle East and tell me stories of what it was like where I can’t tell if they’re serious or if they’re messing with me because they think it’s funny to see what white people will believe. Like with them, I am often unclear about whether I believe Munya. But I am almost sure that he did not really make footballs out of socks in Zimbabwe. Putting all the socks inside each other seems like a good plan, though.

- Oh God! More speaking out loud to my laptop - I said “No!” quite loudly when Munya fell into the bathtub at the end and dropped his ducks. He was doing so well. I don’t think I could bring myself to pick of a favourite out of the wonderful season 14 contestants, but I think I’ve just realized that without consulting me, my brain decided sometime earlier in this episode that we’re cheering for Munya to win. And yes, I did just refer to my self and my brain with a plural pronoun. I’m doing great.

- God damn, Dara. He’s on fire. Some editor just said, “Let’s take all Dara’s best tasks and put them together to see if we can get him to the record of most points earned on one episode.” That, or he just had a slow start but is actually the greatest Taskmaster player ever and will keep this streak up and win the whole season overwhelmingly.

That was good strategy (putting the items in bags), and good physical reactions (actually holding the sock basket in front of him, instead of leaving it behind him like Munya did). That’s a few times that Dara’s shown lateral thinking in this episode; I hope he keeps that up all season whether or not it continues to work so well every time, because it’s always fun to watch people try to find loopholes.

- Holy hell, I forgot about the bonus points. Dara may actually get the one episode point total record here, at least if you don’t count the time Katherine Ryan got like fifteen rabbits in her hat.

- Well, I started watching that studio task and it was so fucking good that I got caught up in it and stopped updating this post until it was done. Fuck that was funny. I’m sitting here now with tears at the corners of my eyes from how hard I laughed. I think the funniest part of all was Dara’s sheer frustration at his teammates fucking him over every turn for, as far as I can tell, no reason. I don’t get it. Were they just tired of him running away with this episode and wanted him to not win the final task even if it meant sacrificing themselves? There was no benefit to them using such incomprehensible words, they just decided to fuck with Dara, and and it was so funny. And then they won anyway.

Oh God, all of it was hilarious. Munya and Sarah losing their minds behind Greg’s back as he debated between overalls and dungarees. This is one of those tasks that makes me sorry they never repeat tasks, because I’d happily watch this get played every episode.

- Holy shit. Dara O’Briain not only beat all the one-episode point totals of everyone except Katherine Ryan, he tied her record. That is a big deal, since she set that record by doing the very controversial live task that is said to still keep Jon Richardson awake at night, in which there were a huge number of points available if you just kept throwing rabbits in a hat. Dara just became the first person to equal that record, and he did it in a regular episode. He did get two bonus points, but those were offset by the only getting three points in the live task (not through any error of his own, there were just only three available for the winning team). Obviously he was helped by one being a two-part task, but still. Lots of people have played in episodes with at least one extra opportunity to win five points, no one’s ever come away from them with thirty points worth of success. God damn, Dara. Great job.

That was such a good episode. Definitely better than the first one, even though it started strong. I did not specifically sign up to support Munya Chawawa like he’s a sports team throughout this season, but I think that has started happening anyway. I love all these people.

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ultrahpfan5blog · 2 years

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Retrospective Review: Jurassic World (2015)

This is a movie that I remember watching very clearly. In an absolutely full theater, I watched this in an IMAX screening on its opening Saturday. I was so excited to have a new Jurassic movie after 14 years, with Chris Pratt being hot off GOTG, where he was great, and a concept which was something I always wanted to see, which is a functioning park with Dinosaurs in it. I thoroughly enjoyed the film in its release and clearly a lot of people did too, given the massive success it had. I have watched it many times, and though people have started to put down the film in recent years, I think its the 2nd best of the series, just ahead of TLW. An opinion that reaffirmed rewatching the film last night.

This is a genuinely well made, well paced film, which gave me what I wanted. No, its not as good as the first Jurassic Park film and its certainly doesn't delve into the questions of the science in the type of ways the original did, but it is absolutely fun. The film has an excellent intro, with the birth of the Indominus Rex. It really pulls you into the idea that this creature is unnatural right from the very beginning. The film introduces the two JW kids, in Zach and Gray. Its smart how the film introduces the park through the eyes of the kids, and we certainly see some of the awe through Gray, and it also sets up that the world has gotten used to Dinosaurs, through the reaction of Zach. The film then introduces us to Claire and the grown I-Rex, and subsequently Owen and the pack of Raptors. The film does a neat job showing a functioning Dinosaur park. The parallels to Universal Studios and Sea World are very obvious. The park feels like it could exist. I got a good chuckle out of little touches, like the Jaws reference with the Mosasaurus, and the exhausted and disinterested park employee overseeing the line for the ride. It all rang very true.

I think the film does a good job introducing the I-Rex as a terrifying beast and they expand on the Velociraptor mythology by emphasizing on the intelligence. The bond between Owen and the Raptors, particularly Blue, is well depicted. The film spends the first half hour or so setting up the various characters and their dynamics and the central Dinosaurs, before the Indominus finally breaks out. The breakout sequence is fairly chilling. Trevorrow also does a fairly good job of not showing the Indominus in its full until a little later. There is a sense of mystery surrounding the creature. I also really like the design of the Indominus. It looks distinctive and feels actually like a mix of the T-Rex and a Velociraptor, which are the main Dinosaurs of the series. I think the I-Rex works really well as the villain for the movie because there is a genuine threat level throughout the movie with it rampaging through the Park. The film also has got a bright visual palette and so its a very inviting film in that way. The SFX are also much better so we are able to see the Dinosaurs in broad daylight. The film has a constant momentum to it after the I-Rex breakout. Also, I liked that they managed to talk about how the Dinosaurs in JW aren't exactly how they would have actually looked like. The gradual progression in paleontology since the first JP has led to many new discoveries about Dinosaurs and the film cleverly uses the genetic splicing idea as a way to fill the hole as to why the Dinosaurs as we have seen, don't hold up to what science says about them. I honestly felt it was quite realistic that the film leant into the gene splicing and species hybrids. It just felt like the next logical step in the evolution of the science. They also do a pretty good job showing the commercialization of the Dinosaurs and the Parks.

The action sequences are terrific. The Birdcage sequence, the Raptor attack sequence, all the I-rex attack sequences are excellent, but the climax is what makes me giddy as a school boy. Watching the I-Rex square off against the T-Rex, Velociraptor, and eventually the Mosasaurus is something I never knew I wanted. Its dumb, but glorious in the best way possible. I like to think that all these felt that that the I-Rex was something truly unnatural and didn't belong in the ecosystem. That really made the movie for me and I remember the audience in the theater absolutely loved it.

Now, the film definitely isn't perfect. The Raptor as weapons storyline has always struck me as something that is a bit too unrealistic and goofy even for this series. I just don't buy the idea that the military would want to use carnivorous creatures that can turn on you, as weapons. To the film's credit, Owen and Omar Sy's character seem to find the idea just as ridiculous as I did. The human villains in this movie are weak. The film doesn't really use Vincent D'Onofrio to his full potential. Its never really clear what level of authority he has in the Park and who he really works under. Its all handled in pretty vague terms. There are also some other characters, like Masrani, who feel like they are underused. There feels like there could have been more potential to the character but he's killed off rather abruptly. The two kids are also a little rough in the first 40 mins or so, but once they are forced into survival mode, they actually proved to be pretty good. There is also a somewhat oddly violent death of Katie McGrath's Zara. Its a scene that stands out as something almost a little meanspirited as to how drawn out that death scene was, almost to point of being comical.

The performances are solid. Pratt and Howard aren't exactly being stretched that much but they both have screen presence. Pratt uses his innate likability to good effect. He has a few fun touches in his role, like how he smirks while riding through the jungle with the Raptors, as even he is realizing how awesome this is. Howard's character is truly the protagonist of this film as she has the most clearly defined arc in this film, going from a detached businesslike park runner, to someone who embraces a maternal instinct towards her nephews and learns to appreciate the Dinosaurs as animals. Jake Johnson adds some fun humor to the proceedings as a control room employee. Ty Simpkins and Nick Robinson are solid as Gray and Zach. Irrfan Khan makes the most out of his screentime as Masrani. He shares some good scenes with BD Wong, who returned to the franchise with this film. Vincent D'Onofrio also does the best with what he's got. Omar Sy, Katie McGrath, and Judy Greer round out the cast effectively.

All in all, I am a die hard defender of this movie. No, this is not a JP classic but its a lot of fun. Trevorrow nails the tone and the pacing of the film. It doesn't go on for too long. Michael Giacchino's music is also memorable. Overall, this movie is an 8.5/10 for me.

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soulofgenocide · 2 months

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Cano-appearence

So, Genocide was never supposed to be this stick ripped guy, I mean he quite literally played football in high school and had a body sturdy enough to survive an IED. However, I love the Mikoto Suoh face claim and will be continuing to use it, but I'm going to place it down here in writing what exactly Genocide looks like in his human form.

Below the cut is photos & description

Genocide's human form (Richard) has a body type similar to the current Kratos from God of War, except Genocide is a lil bit more 'swol' especially around the arms as his Greatsword is insanely heavy.

Pretty decently large difference between Mikoto and Kratos, like how Mikoto has negative body fat, but quite simply just place Mikoto's head on Kratos body and you've got what he actually looks like. I'd do a cursed edit, but I don't really want to experience that either.

Description:

Richard stands are a towering 7'4", starting from his fluffy blood red hair with a little horn and cracked base of one inside to his amber eyes, and a seemingly permeant five o'clock shadow around his jaw. It's all resting on an angled face with a somewhat pale flesh around it, as the poor guy barely sees the sun. Just below are a pair of broad shoulders, with typically a fur collared coat and a red t-shirt hiding his torso, though on a good stretch one could see the muscular body beneath. Rather than a ripped body builder physique he has one of a fighter, muscle and that little bit of fat to help take the blows, wide enough he could grip anyone in a hug and crush them. A nice pair of black jeans are directly below, covering fairly muscular legs which reach obscene lengths for a human. When Richard speaks it is a deep, but clear voice and only being changed if he were to be flustered in which his 'natural' accent comes out and he speaks more in line with a Brit. (His British mother is the one who taught him speaking, writing, so he just copied her. )

Basically, just imagine this face but with Kratos bod.

#ooc #canon stuff

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ask-the-achs · 1 year

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🔑 Kaziman Bokuji

Report 'Tortle'

A 430 foot tall, 610 foot long bipedal turtle-like kaiju. He has a thirty foot long neck, an eight foot long head and a 322 foot long body. His legs are 80 feet long not adding in his feet, his arms are 90 feet long, not adding in his hands. He has plantigrade legs. His shell is designed to allow him to be rather flexible, and his carapace is very thick and leathery, with a broad bony base that is fused to his spine and ribs (ive seen enough X-rays of turtles to know theres something diffrent but I haven't seen it yet.). He has five fingers on each hand and four toes on each foot. His fingers are rather short and have large sharp claws. The claws on his thumbs and pinky fingers are shorter than the claws on the rest of his fingers, and his pinky fingers are smaller than the rest of his digits. His toes and feet are rather wide, and his toes are slightly longer than his fingers and they are partially webbed. The claws on his fingers are fairly curved, while the claws on his toes are straightened. He has a 180 foot long tail that is rather thick and has a thin rounded tip. His neck and tail are covered in several rows of very small, tough osteoderms that are similar in shape to the osteoderms on a crocodile's back. He has large shingle-like scales on the outer edges of his forearms. These scales are rather thick and point towards his hands. His jaws are rather short and similar in shape to the beak of an adult Eastern Box Turtle (got bit by one once. Not fun.) but he has sharp semi-conical teeth in the front of his mouth and shearing molars in the back of his mouth that resemble the slicing teeth of a cat. He also has four fairly large semi-conical tusks on his lower jaw. His first pair of tusks are near the end of his lower jaw, while his second pair of tusks are near the middle of his lower jaw. His first pair of tusks are twice as long as his second pair of tusks. His teeth are covered with lips while his tusks are fully exposed. The ends of his jaws are keratinous and beak-like. His eyes are fairly large and dark blue with white sclera. He has hairless human-like eyelids and eyebrows. He has small, spiky scales on the top and back of his head. His skin is a deep sea blue color with small white white spots on his back and sides. His scales fade from dark blue to a medium blue color. He has very dark blue symmetrical splotches on most of his body. His plastron and the underside of the base of his tail are a light beige color with large, symmetrical pale beige splotches on the top of his plastron. (Accidentally fished up a turtle with those colors once...if memory serves correctly they like fish. Mostly salmon.-Private)

He is rather intelligent, and he speaks English. He can also make various noises, including roars, hisses, grunts and growls. He is a very fast swimmer, a fast runner and a rather good climber. He is a very powerful fighter. He is an omnivore, and he eats smaller kaiju, whales and seaweed. He can bite with enough force to shatter concrete. Although he is fairly antisocial, Kaziman is actually rather friendly when he is in a good mood. His roar is extremely loud. Although he cannot breathe underwater, he can hold his breath for several days at a time (cant tell if its increased lung capacity or a super charged pair of lungs.) He can spit bright orange fireballs from his mouth to defend himself. (Reminds me of Gamera.)

Dr.Sunblood

Threat level:HARMLESS I think. At most DANGER in some situations.

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haldenlith · 2 years

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Random Crow-bservations

I know, terrible pun.

In doing little doodles of Crow and such, and staring at way too many references (including the high quality CGI stills of Uldren from Forsaken), I’ve come to notice a few things. It all could be my addled swiss cheese brain, though.

Homeboy has some broad shoulders and chest.

He also has some fuckin’ killer calves, which tracks, honestly, with how I imagine Uldren was. IE Always on his feet, always running around doing something, because those are some runner’s gams right there.

With those two items, I honestly think he probably leans more from “twink”, as everyone likes to call him, to “lean twunk,” (I’m thinkin more like a swimmer’s or runner’s build or something like that -- definitely muscle there, but not bulk, but also not lanky af) and it’s all just well hidden under a layers and layers of clothes/armor.

There are some fairly deep lines in that face, and as I said before (and snickered about, because puns and stuff), he’s got crow’s feet at the corners of those orange eyes. Uldren was definitely starting to show his age. To think we were probably only a century off from having DILF Uldren/Crow.

Why does Crow have what looks like shotgun shells on his belt? He’s wielding a hand cannon (I assume Hawkmoon -- I like to imagine he wields the Ashen Wings Hawkmoon, even if it’s not true, it fits his theme). The shells have no purpose. I just... WHY? EDIT : I keep forgetting to edit this in, but apparently he does use a shotgun as well, it’s just not pictured, which is... an odd choice to show the shells but not the shotgun. It’s also come to my attention that Duality might actually be his shotgun.

I always want to imagine him as a bit shorter, buuuuut I’ve noticed in cutscenes and generally even when the Guardian runs up to him when he’s just “around” in the HELM that he’s decently tall. He’s no Saladin, but he doesn’t seem to be short, either. Like when Saladin steps in front of him, it looks like he’s only maybe 3ish inches shorter than Saladin, and I imagine everyone’s favourite grumpy Iron Lord to be 6′3 or 6′4.

I’ve also noticed that it seems like Crow slouches. Bad Crow. That’s bad for your back. (It may be him sulking 90% of the time, though. We haven’t had a lot of chances to see Crow in a good mood. We’ve only gotten to hear it.)

Okay, this isn’t a visual thing, but a random lore thing: Crow seems to really like using Solar.

And then on a very unrelated note to Crow specifically, but related to his VA: ... I am sometimes surprised when I put the voice to a face. That voice of Crow’s is fairly smooth and kinda young-ish sounding. I was not expecting an older gent that reminds me of a semi-scruffy version of Jeff Bridges. He seems like a really cool dude, though.

Edit: I forgot something else: Gods Crow/Uldren has the strongest damn jaw and chin. Almost young Bruce Campbell (like early ‘90s) levels. It feels weird for me since I generally draw characters with a softer jawline, but my lords. In short, he’s hella masculine, but oh, he’s still so pretty. He’s what I call “man pretty.”

#haldie rambles #destiny crow #guardian Crow #uldren sov #random babbling #I could be wrong #but these are all the conclusions I've come to #from staring at the boy for way too long while drawing #or thinking on what to draw

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looooooooomis · 3 years

Text

F I N A L G I R L | S E V E N

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t s e v e n | b l o o d

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: s m u t (18 +!!!!!) lets just say this gif is a teaser as to what takes place in this chapter. major blood kink in this chapter. period play?? lmao sorry about it.

There was a shift after that weekend at Billy’s cabin, and you knew he felt it too.

It was never really that casual between you and Billy, that much you knew, but there was something that changed when the two of you got back to Woodsboro. There was something to be said about being able to openly show affection to the person you loved, to hold them and kiss them in public and you’d gotten that treatment in that little lakeside town. You felt like Billy’s actual girlfriend, not his plaything, not the bitch who was backstabbing her own best friend for a fucking boy, you were it.

And while Billy had always said that you were his girl, you hadn’t truly felt like you were until now.

Which was precisely what made tonight so fucking awkward.

Not only had you been coerced into going to the movies with the gang but, unbeknownst to you, Sid had taken it upon herself to fix you up on a blind date with one of Randy’s annoying friends from the video store.

Why had you agreed to this? You were a cold, calculating bitch behind the scenes when it came to fucking your best friend boyfriend and yet saying ‘no thanks, I’m not up for it tonight’ was beyond you? Were you just plain stupid or a closet masochist that thrived on dicey situations?

Either way, you’d never wanted to throw yourself into oncoming traffic more than you did tonight because not only were you trapped into an uncomfortable blind date with a guy you were fairly sure was frothing at the mouth at the idea of getting you alone in the car after all of this was said and done but you just so happened to be seated directly next to Billy.

You were smack dab in the middle of hell. Between a man you were fucking, a man you were disgustingly in love with and had just spent a weekend away with and a man you’d just met today but couldn’t stop playing handsy on your lap whenever he thought the others weren’t looking.

But Billy was always looking.

You knew that better than anyone. He had this innate sense of finding you in a crowded room. You could feel the weight of his brown eyes on you nearly every second of the day, soaking you up, taking every inch of you in, no matter who was around and tonight, as your ‘date’ smacked on his popcorn all the while feeling your thigh up any chance he could, Billy’s dept stare was tuned in and you knew it.

This had to have been karma. Karma for going away and having a beautiful weekend away with the guy you loved so wholly. The one whose girlfriend was on the other side of him with her pretty head on his stupid shoulder as you suffered in silence at just how fucking laughable this entire situation was.

“See that actress?” Your date, Anthony, whispered into your hear. He smelled like movie theatre butter. You wanted to scream. “Have you seen any of her other stuff?”

You were watching The Crucible and the actress in question was Winona Ryder. Everyone and their left nut had seen Winona Ryder in at least a dozen movies. Frowning, you blinked across at the man and blinked. “Yeah. I’m familiar with her work.”

Focusing ahead on the movie, you tried your damnedest to focus on what was going on but when you felt his slithery palm slide up your thigh, you were this close to pouring your Coke on his lap. Why the fuck had you agreed to this?

Pushing the man’s hand away as subtly as you could to avoid any unwanted attention from your friends, you bit down on the side of your mouth and heaved a quiet sigh. You deserved this. This was your punishment.

“She’s hot.” Your lovely date quipped, squeezing the area of your thigh just above your knee. “In that goth-girl next door kind of way.”

Was he getting off to Winona Ryder all the while coming on to you? Was he picturing Winona as he squeezed your thigh? You truly didn’t want to find out. Once again, you pushed his hand away and, this time, crossed your legs and leaned into the arm rest you were sharing with Billy.

The move was subtle, and you were barely even touching Billy but you needed to create a distance between yourself and Butter Fingers if it was the last thing you did.

With a subtle nudge to your arm, Billy’s eyes flickered towards you as his brows furrowed in question. The muscle in his jaw was pulsing in his cheek, that you could see even in the darkness of the movie theatre, and there was murder in his eyes as he sized up the man just over your shoulder. It was as though you could feel his blood pressure spike just looking at the guy and, as you held your breath, silently pleading with him not to make a scene that would undoubtedly give the two of you up, those brown eyes slowly found yours.

There was anger in his eyes, a palpable rage, but it was the look of pure despondency in his stare that made your own heart break. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be holding hands with Sid and you weren’t meant to be dealing with the idiot to your right.

How it felt up at the cabin, the freedom of loving each other and holding each other and kissing each other in broad daylight was how it was supposed to be. How love was supposed to feel.

Not this.

You were both hiding in plain sight. Putting on a façade to your friends, to each other whilst in public, and it was in that moment, in the middle of a crowded theatre, looking at each other knowing there wasn’t a damn thing either of you could do about it, that you felt that pain so intensely that it was hard to breathe.

Tears burned behind your eyes and you hated yourself for it.

You weren’t going to cry. You refused to cry over a situation you were willingly putting yourself in. This entire thing could have been avoided had you had a stronger backbone here. You weren’t the victim in this scenario. That was Sid. Sid was the one completely getting fucked over in this situation, not you. You had no damn right to feel this shitty because you were doing it to yourself.

This was just the high of the weekend wearing off and reality settling in. Until circumstances changed, this was your norm.

Swallowing back your nerves, it was all you could do to give Billy a small, barely-there smile before focusing ahead on the movie.

“I’m going to grab us another Coke,” you heard Billy say to Sidney. “Anyone want anything?”

“More popcorn,” Stu waggled his empty bag. “Maybe some Milk Duds, man.”

“Candy.” Tatum mumbled, not taking her eyes off of the screen. “Surprise me, I don’t care what kind.”

Billy nodded and took Stu’s money before he gently nudged you. “You want anything?”

You opened your mouth to speak but was cut off but Anthony. “You mind keeping it down, buddy?” He popped another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “We’re at the movies, not here for snacks.”

It was as though Billy’s wrath was physical as his dark eyes scraped over Anthony’s face. His mouth was pulled into a thin, hard line as Anthony’s pompousness sank in. Why couldn’t it be Randy beside you? Why had that dipshit agreed to take this asshole’s shift in order for you to go on a blind date with him? This entire fiasco could have been avoided had it been Randy.

“Yeah, I could use a drink.” You slinked out of your seat. “I’ll help you carry everything back.”

You didn’t wait for Billy as you marched down the aisle but, as you walked down the stairs and out of the theatre, you weren’t at all surprised to see him broody and annoyed as he followed you out.

“If anyone should be looking like that, it’s me,” you groused, falling in to step beside him as you made your way to the snack bar. “I’m stuck on a date with that asshole.”

“Don’t get me started on that,” he grumbled, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. “I told Sid to leave well enough alone, but she insisted.”

You hummed and lined up at the concession. “Lucky me.”

Again, you felt his stare before you actually lulled your head to the side to face him. Intense, searching eyes sweeping over your features in both concern and possible envy. “One word,” he muttered, stepping closer towards you. Too close. Not because you didn’t want him that close but because you were in public. Sid and Tatum and Stu and fucking Anthony were a stone’s throw away. “One word from you, baby, and I’ll take you home. Fuck that guy.”

You glowered across at him as though he’d grown a second head. “While I appreciate the sentiment, shit for brains, we’re in public right now. Your girlfriend could walk out any second and see or hear you.”

He seemed to mull over your words for a second but didn’t bother moving away from you. “Maybe I don’t care.”

“You do,” you rhymed off, shuffling closer to the front of the snack bar.

He ignored that. “Also, you’re my girlfriend. Stop calling her that.”

This was not a conversation the two of you should have been having in the middle of a fucking movie theatre. Looking across at him, you raised your brows and blew out a puff of air through your lips. Trying to keep up with Billy’s rationale of staying with Sid to ensure he doesn’t hurt her any further after her mother’s death all the while being with you was giving you whiplash. You knew he loved you and, begrudgingly, you loved him right back. And, a part of you knew, that he was struggling with being back in the real world just as much as you were since coming home from the cabin.

But this was not how he should have been handling it. Not out in the open like this. Especially while you were on a triple date with your friends in a theatre down the hall.

“Billy,” you muttered quietly, ensuring no one was listening in, “please let’s talk about this later. Not here. Not now. Let’s just get the fucking concessions and go, okay?”

He licked his lips and you watched his brown eyes flitter down your face before briefly looking at your own lips. He wanted to kiss you and fuck, did you want to be kissed by him.

But that wasn’t the deal.

So, instead, you watched as he took a hesitant step away from you before nodding his head once. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at his shoes. “Tonight.”

“Sure,” you smirked, “I mean, if I’m not with Anthony, that is.” You almost laughed at how wide his eyes got as you uttered those words. But, when he saw the playfulness in your stare, he visibly relaxed and rolled his eyes as you continued. “The way he’s been mowing down on his popcorn all night has me wet as hell, so I might be busy with him later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled with a shake of his head. Then, he turned to you and gave you a crooked smile. One that almost made this horrific ordeal worth it. “You’re a real bitch when you want to be, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I’ve been told.”

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

True to his word, Billy slipped in through your unlocked window a little after midnight that evening with a bag of stale licorice and a drink he’d swiped from the gas station on the way over to your house.

“We didn’t get our movie date.” Was his explanation as he popped The Lost Boys into your VCR and all but hopped in bed beside you. When you’d remained standing by your dresser, eyeing him with both curiosity and sheer happiness radiating off of your face, all you got was a confused look out of Billy before he patted your mattress. “You going to get that ass over here or what?”

So, naturally, you’d joined him.

And it took all of thirty-two minutes of watching the film for the two of you to end up pawing at one another as the tension of the day slowly peeled off of you with every layer of clothing the two of you tore off one another.

In no time, you were both stark naked on your bed as The Lost Boys played on without an audience. All Billy cared about watching was you. Watching you writhe and moan. He could watch you do just about anything, but it was that dreamy look you got on your face whenever he touched you that he had imprinted into his skull. It didn’t even have to be sexual. You just had a certain look whenever the two of you connected, one that he felt but managed to keep stowed away inside of him, but one you expressed. It was happiness.

Pure, unadulterated, bliss.

He knew you. Knew your body in and out, knew how to get you to come undone, knew what made you tick, what made you squirm.

You were muscle memory to him, at this point.

He knew you better than he knew himself.

Which is why, when you subtly stopped him from slipping his fingers inside of you, that Billy’s focus went to your ass. The only time you pushed his hand away after he’d spent minutes sucking and biting and focusing on those perfect tits, was when you were on your period.

So, he didn’t push it.

The two of you had fucked a few times whilst you were on it but you were deadest on limiting that to the lighter days. The very beginning or the end. Never in the middle. But god, did he want to experience the middle days.

You were so fucking horny when you were on your period and why you thought he’d give a shit about how much blood came out of you as the two of you fucked was beyond him.

So, he’d focus on your ass. Something that drove you to the brink of insanity and something that made him harder than anything.

But tonight, it wasn’t enough.

He needed all of you.

Ever since the cabin, he’d needed more of you in his life. It had become nearly impossible for him to show any iota of affection for Sid now that he’d had a taste of what life felt like with you at his side. You were his Final Girl. His everything, if he was being completely honest. And, while he knew he couldn’t open himself up to you to that extent, not yet, he needed you to feel that raging darkness inside of him. Not too much of it, but just enough to gauge your reaction.

If you could handle a shred of it, maybe he could share more of himself with you.

The darker parts.

His hands stilled as they trailed down your body and, as he hovered over you, he bit his lip and slowly drew tiny circles into your hips. “You’re on your period, right?”

You nodded, your lips swollen from the amount of kissing having gone on since popping the movie in. “Yeah, but it’s not a light day.”

He nodded in understanding as he bit his lip. “You think we could try it, anyway?”

Your eyebrows raised in mild amusement. “By not a light day, I mean its kind of heavy, Billy. It’d look like a crime scene in here.”

Billy made sure to keep his face stoic, but the idea of the two of you fucking whilst covered in blood was nearly enough to make him come on the spot.

“Aren’t you curious?” He asked, dipping his head down to lick your painfully hard nipple. “It’s got to feel so fucking good, right?”

You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed in contentment when he began to suck your tit again. “It’s messy, though.”

“Lucky for you,” he released your nipple and kissed the sensitive flesh of your breast. “I like messy.”

Your head flopped back against the pillow as you thought over his request. I did feel good, but did you want Billy to have to witness you cleaning up a fucking homicide scene once he was through with you?

Blowing out a quiet raspberry, you eyed him with mock suspicion before he gave you those goddamn puppy dog eyes. “Ugh,” you groaned with a laugh, “fine. Let me take this fucking tampon out and I’ll grab a towel to put underneath me because it is heavy, and you will be grossed out.”

Billy’s cock twitched as he watched you roll out of bed before disappearing in the bathroom. Within a few moments, he heard the toilet flush and the sink run before you re-emerged with a towel in hand.

He could watch you parade around like that all day. Naked, eyes hooded from desire, nipples and lips red from where his mouth had staked its claim.

You were perfect.

A vision.

You were fucking everything.

“I’ve been wanting to try this with you for a while.” He admitted, watching you carefully roll the towel onto the bed before perching your ass directly on top of it so as to avoid any potential leakage onto your sheets.

“I wish I could say I was shocked.” You teased, laying back down. Spreading your legs, he watched you slip a finger through your folds to tease your clit.

He swallowed as he watched you finger yourself. But then your words sank in and a panic settled in his chest as he swept his eyes up your body to meet your amused stare. “What’s that mean?”

You shrugged so casually as you continued the tirade on your own pussy. “All the scary movies we watch and stuff. You get hard as a rock if there’s a scene with a pretty girl and some blood.”

Billy froze. This was only supposed to be a peek inside of his darkness, not a full-blown window. But you didn’t seem all too fazed by it either, which confused him endlessly.

Rather than deny it, Billy hesitantly reached for your cunt to replace your fingers with his own. He didn’t delve inside of your pussy just yet, just circled your clit the way you’d been doing seconds prior. “And that doesn’t bother you?” He whispered, placing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Nah,” you hummed, “we’ve all got our kinks, I guess.”

You released a quiet moan as he pinched your clit, but his eyes never left your face. He knew you were talking about blood in respect to the movies, but your casual tone still caught him off guard. There was no shame in it, no doubt. Just an honest to god shrug as he circled your clit with his middle finger.

Testing the waters, Billy slipped his fingers down your pussy so that his thumb coaxed your clit as he slipped two fingers inside of you. At first, it simply felt like you were soaked on account of all of the teasing and, maybe you were, but as he glanced down at the base of his fingers as he pulled them out of you, Billy nearly moaned.

Blood.

Your blood.

All over his fingers, pooling along the top of his palm.

Billy was fascinated. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt blood between his fingers, but not like this. When he’d killed Maureen Prescott, there was so much fucking blood that he’d been sick afterwards. He hadn’t expected that level of destruction but, after puking a few blocks away, he didn’t exactly shy away from it. He thought about it often, thought of the carnage that had surrounded him once he’d finished with Sidney’s mother, thought of the way the blood felt between his fingers, splayed and smattered across every inch of his body.

But this was euphoric.

Because he didn’t have to hurt anybody to feel that warmth on his palm. In fact, as he slowly slipped his fingers inside of your hot cunt, he was doing anything but. You were gyrating into his hand, unknowingly spreading your blood further and it was killing him. He was so fucking hard, too fucking hard, but he didn’t want to rush a damned thing.

He’d thought about this far too often for it to be over so soon.

“Fuck,” he whispered, slipping his hand out of your pussy just long enough to slowly spread your blood down your inner thigh. It left a fine red trail that he had every intention of lapping up in a few seconds if you were to allow it. “You feel so good, baby.”

He’d half expected you to make a comment about making a bigger mess than what your piddly little towel would allow but, as he slowly found your hooded eyes through the dim light of your bedroom, only hunger marred your pretty face.

Desire.

Intrigue.

Leaning in, Billy placed a small kiss to the apple of your cheek as his fingers continued to fuck you. “Does this feel good?”

“So good,” you rasped out, leaning your forehead against his as you bit your lip to swallow back a moan. Between your arousal and the blood, the natural lubrication that coated your pussy as he slowly pumped his fingers inside of you all the while rubbing your clit was killing you. “So fucking good, Billy.”

He smirked and quickened his pace on your clit just enough to drive you to madness as he bit down on your earlobe. His breath was hot against your cheek. “I want to taste you tonight.”

Though the promise of his tongue replacing his thumb enticed you, the fact that you were on day two and a half of your period was not a good plan. So why were you intrigued? A part of you wanted to see if he’d put his money where his mouth was but a much larger part of you wanted to see how feral Billy could get where you were concerned.

Torn, you pulled back and searched his eyes. “It’s going to be…messy, Billy.”

His dark chuckle was velvet against your skin. “I already told you,” he curled his fingers inside of you and admired the way your entire body twitched. “I like messy.”

He began to kiss his way down your body. You tried not to get lost in the feeling of his tongue swirling across every inch of your skin on his way down or the way his teeth nipped and bit at your stomach and hips as he positioned himself between your thighs. But mainly, you tried not to focus on how fucking bloody it was between your thighs because you knew that Billy wouldn’t be down there long on account of it.

“You don’t have to do this tonight, Billy,” you tried to reason, chest heaving in anticipation as he settled between your legs.

Something flashed across his face as he held your stare. For a second, you were almost sure he was going to back out and leave well enough alone, but then you watched as the bastard leaned into your pussy and raked his tongue from the base of your pussy right up to your bloodied mound.

He held your stare the entire time.

“I want you like this,” he assured you, yanking you further down the bed so that you were right at the edge. His voice was hoarse and breathy and as you chanced a look down at him through a pair of hooded, drowsy eyes, you watched him pump his cock with his free hand as he licked his lips. “I love you like this.”

You opened your mouth to respond but the words died in your throat when he buried his face between your thighs. You gasped at the contact but didn’t shy away from his touch for a single second as he slowly lapped at your core. With the one hand still gripping your hips, holding you firmly against his tongue, you knew there would be bruises where his fingers carved into your flesh, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was desperate to get you closer into his face and you were desperate to feel that perfect fucking tongue on your pussy.

It was as though he’d been possessed in those few moments. Billy couldn’t get enough of you on a good day but tasting you like this was enough to make Billy wild. Your pussy, the blood mixed with your slick, tasted so fucking good on his tongue. Burying his face further into your folds, he nuzzled at your clit and, now forgetting about his own pulsing cock, pulled you even closer.

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, Billy moaned into your pussy and bit down on your clit just enough to entice a moan that was probably a little too loud for your parents being home. But, he didn’t care. He refused to care in that instance.

All he wanted, all he cared about, was tasting as much of you as humanly possible before making you come on his tongue.

His name tore out of your throat as you gripped his hair between your fingers and pulled. You were being rougher than normal, and he fucking loved it. You were pulling on his hair and bucking into his mouth with such hunger that he could barely breathe but fuck he didn’t care. If this was how he was taken out, so be it.

“Baby,” you whined, voice low. “Fuck, I’m going to come.”

Your grip on his hair was vice-like as the veins in your neck swelled. With wild, laboured breaths, you found yourself bucking into his mouth as a white-hot orgasm rippled through your entire body. You moaned and groaned and cursed into the bed, but Billy’s mouth was relentless.

It wasn’t until he was absolutely sure you couldn’t take another second of torture, that he pulled away and allowed you to collapse back onto the bed. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were parted as you attempted to catch your breath. With a quiet chuckle, he kissed his way up your body, grinning against your skin as your legs continued to twitch.

He could feel your blood all over his chin and nose and as he licked it off, using his fingers to swipe at the areas his tongue couldn’t quite reach, Billy was coasting on a high that only you could provide.

“Oh, god,” you buried your face into the pillow with a quiet laugh as you moved to get off the bed. “Hang on, I’ll grab you a towel for your face.”

“No,” Billy shook his head and grabbed for your wrist. “I want to see it.”

You blinked and scraped your eyes along his bloodied face. Your nipples were still rock hard and your cunt was still pulsing on account of his tongue, but it was the look of pure ecstasy on his face that made you clench.

He was being serious.

“Come with me,” he hummed, slipping off of the bed to head towards the small bathroom attached to your room. His fingers threaded through yours as you both walked across your bedroom before flicking the light on.

The vision that he was met with made his cock twitch.

Your blood coated almost everything from his nose down his chin and as you stood beside him, looking at him through the mirror, still fully naked and still housing bloody handprints left behind from his busy hands coating the lower half of your body, Billy had never wanted to bury himself inside of you any more than he did right then and there.

He found your curious stare through the mirror. Your pretty eyes swept over the mess of blood left behind on account of you and as you turned to face him, he found himself hypnotized as you reached out to sweep his hair back and away from his forehead.

“Blood suits you,” you teased with a small smile. “Horrifically enough.”

He said nothing as those brown eyes soaked you in but as he stepped into you, cornering you against the sink counter, the look on his face said everything. He didn’t kiss you though. He seemed to hesitate, as though gauging if you’d kiss him whilst covered in your own menstrual blood. “Is this okay?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted almost sheepishly.

He nuzzled your neck and slipped his knee between your thighs to allow himself better access to your pussy. With his hand wrapped securely around his cock, he slipped the head of his dick along your folds and swallowed hard as he watched your blood coat the head of it. “Fuck,” he whispered as his forehead fell against your own. “You’re going to make me come before I’m even inside of you.”

You were watching his face as he once again slipped the head of his cock through your folds so it teased your clit. His eyes were so dark and there was so much desire in those warm eyes that it almost caught you off guard.

“You’re really into this,” you remarked quietly. When his eyes found yours, you could see blind panic cross over his face as he instinctually took a step away from you. You stopped him before he could think of stopping himself. “Hey,” you cooed, reaching out for his face. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, relax.”

You felt the tension in his shoulders disperse as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re too good for me,” he muttered, cradling your face. “You know that?”

“Oh, yeah,” you goaded with a smile. “I know.”

He barked out a quiet laugh and ground his hips into yours. “A smartass, too.”

You hummed as his hands slid down your body to hold you against the counter. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” Billy nipped at your neck.

You leaned back to allow him full access to your neck. “How did I taste?” Your words seemed to make him still as he slowly pulled back to search your eyes. “With the blood. How did it taste?”

The look on Billy’s face was primal as his grip on your hips tightened. Leaning in, he nudged your nose so that your lips were perfectly aligned with his. “Kiss me and find out.”

You weren’t sure at first, but as he closed the distance between you, you found yourself leaning into the kiss both curious and slightly mortified by the taste of your blood on his lips. It was strange and you weren’t sure if you liked it at first, if you were being honest. It was coppery and a little sticky and yet as he walked the two of you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed, you found yourself hungry for more.

With your fingers tangled through his hair you gave it a tug, garnering a low growl that rumbled in his throat as he continued on with the bruising kiss. When the back of his knees hit your bed, the two of you fell into a jumbled mess on your mattress, never once breaking for air as your tongues battled for dominance.

Expertly, knowing the way your body moved better than anyone, Billy moved you in such a way that he was sitting up in the middle of your bed as you straddled his lap. And as you lowered yourself onto his pulsing cock, the gruff low moan that tore out of his lips was enough to kill you.

His large hands splayed out across your back, guiding you further into his hungry mouth as your bleeding cunt teased him beyond belief. You were so wet and with every twist of your hips and every gentle moan, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything else besides just how fucking good you felt.

Digging your nails into his shoulders, blood slowly pooled in the wake of your crescent moon shaped nail markings. He hissed at the sensation and squeezed your tits rather roughly as he tried to stop himself from coming right then and there.

But then you lowered your lips onto his shoulders and he felt your hot tongue trace over every last cut and he almost lost it. There you were, with dried blood all over your chin and parts of your cheeks from having kissed him after going down on you, licking the blood that gathered along his shoulders.

He was in a state of euphoria.

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He pushed out, revelling in the feel of how warm and wet your pussy felt.

Rather than say a word, all you did was bite down on the reddened area of his shoulder as you quickened your pace on his dick.

Drawing more blood.

Licking up more of his blood.

Something in him snapped to life in that instance. An almost ancient need bubbled to the surface as he held you there against him. Your tits bounced as you writhed on top of him and as he began to meet you halfway with violent, earth shattering thrusts, the outside world ceased to exist.

The sound of his balls hitting your sopping pussy combined with the sound of your wetness, both slick and blood, squelching all around the two of you was all that surrounded you as you whined out his name. You could barely breathe as he pounded into you, barely function.

“Billy, fuck, I—”

His mouth buried your words with another hungry kiss. You were both breathless and desperate to be as close to the other as humanly possible as you sat on your bed, fucking each other raw. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, gently tugging at it as his forehead fell against your own.

There was a shift after the cabin that you’d both felt inside of you, but there was a shift in the air tonight, as well. An unspoken trust, of sorts, that went beyond anything the two of you were prepared for.

His hips bucked into yours one final time before he came undone inside of you. A flood of warmth settled in your belly as he came and as his thumb continued to circle your clit, rubbing and pinching at it every step of the way, you soon followed suit.

With one last shaky pump, Billy held you there as he slowly pulled out of you. He kissed your lips, your cheek, down your neck, and along your shoulder before his eyes found yours once again.

His thumb skirted across the apple of your cheek. “You’re my girl,” he whispered, revelling in just how fucking gorgeous you looked in that instance. “You know that?”

“I do,” you affirmed, kissing him softly. “You’re helping me clean my fucking bedsheets in the morning,” you muttered, “do you know that?”

Despite everything, Billy found himself smiling across at you before glancing down at the bloody mess of your sheets. “Yeah,” he chuckled, “I do.”

“Good,” you gently smacked his cheek and crawled off of your bed towards the bathroom.

“Where you going?” He asked, watching your naked body pad out of the room.

“Shower,” you merely said before popping your head around the corner. “Care to join me?”

Billy was at your side within the blink of an eye.

hehehehehehehe let me know if yall like it

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

Note

I got Javier Peña and size kink. I can’t wait… also… can we somehow tie this into the universe of my Frankie request from before… 🤪

OMG girl, I don’t know how to work this into the Frankie fic, but only because I feel like if you had this good of a time with Javier, why would you have ever left him?? LOL… Forgive me for failing on that front, but I do hope you enjoy this little drabble/headcanon about Javier Peña’s size kink!

Update: Oh, hey, there's a Part 2 now!

Word Count: 1280

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (petite cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature and vulgar language; a smattering of cop/suspect roleplay; some dom/sub elements; SIZE KINK; one instance of Javier restraining your hands with his hands; one instance of a ripped dress; vaginal fingering; mentions of blow jobs and throat fucking; mention of P/V sex; Javier has a FILTHY mouth; this is pretty much just Javier talking dirty about his huge penis and how tiny you are (sorry/not sorry)

“You like that?” Javier hisses into your ear from behind as he presses you up against the wall of his hallway, one massive hand gripping your hip through your thin summer dress. “You feel that huge cock in my jeans? That’s all for you, baby.”

He grinds once more against your ass so that there’s no mistaking what you do to him, and it punches the air out of your lungs. You feel like you’re drowning with desire.

“Put your little hands up on the wall for me, sweetheart. Can’t have you trying to get away right after I got you just where I want you.” He emphasizes his command with a hot lick to the curve of your ear, and you feel your knees start to give out.

Javier’s fingers dig harder into your hip as he brings his free hand down to grab your wrist. You let him pull your hand up above your head, palm flat against the wall, and you bring your other hand up to join it.

Javier wraps his fingers around both of your wrists, pinning you to the wall as he grinds his hips against you one more time. You rest your forehead against the smooth, cool painted surface, grateful for the contrast against your heated brow.

Before you can collect yourself, Javier bends his knee and pushes it up between your legs, shoving it hard to one side. “Legs apart, open up for me. This is going to be a very thorough pat-down, honey.”

You suck in a massive gasp of air and revel in the feeling of Javier taking control. You love this game, and you trust the man to play it well and to play it fairly with you. He always gives you what you want and he’s never once come close to hurting you. But that’s the fun part, isn’t it? The hint of danger? The possibility that he could, at any time, just pick you up and have his way with you?

You love the fact that Javier has so much bulk and strength outmeasuring you. He’s more than a head taller, a good forty or fifty pounds heavier, and lots of it is ropy muscle honed from years of a physical job. Just the fact that he could very well pin you down for hours without breaking a sweat… it makes you moan.

“You hot for me already, baby? I haven’t even touched you yet.” His hand leaves your hip and you feel him skim it up to your breast, cupping it and squeezing before roaming to the other one.

Javier’s fingers drift back to the center of your sternum. He fumbles with the small buttons there for a moment before hooking his fingers into the openings between them and dragging the fabric hard to one side. You gasp and bite your lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood, but close. You hear the tiny pearl buttons clatter to the floor, but all he’s managed to do is pop off two or three.

“Keep your hands right there for me.” Javier growls into your ear. “Don't. You. Move.” And then he releases his grip on your wrists.

Even though you can guess what’s about to happen, you still go reeling when he actually does it. Javier hooks both hands into the opening he’s created at the bodice of your dress, and there’s the briefest moment of hesitation before you feel the pull of the fabric, the sound of more buttons hitting the floor, the cool air hitting your cleavage. You feel faint with desire, fighting the urge to slump down to the floor, let go of the wall, the only thing holding you in place.

You clench your jaw and try to remember how to breathe as Javier brings both of his hands up to cup your breasts through the lace of your bra. He bends his head down to nuzzle the back of your neck and you nearly faint right there.

Just when you think you can’t possibly take any more, Javier drops one hand down. You feel his fingers trail up the front of your thigh. He skims his fingertips up and under the hem of your dress until he reaches the edge of your panties.

In the blink of an eye his fingers dip between your leg and the lacy fabric, swiping up through your folds, straight to the source of your heat and your slick. He brings his face down to rest alongside your cheek, breathing hot and hard over your skin. You fight the urge to grind down against his hand, knowing that if you do he’ll make you wait even longer for the rest of your pleasure.

“I like your tiny, tight little pussy,” Javier whispers against your cheek. You roll your forehead to the side and let his hot words fan across your lips. The hand on your breast moves down to encircle your ribcage, pulling you tight against him to feel his erection again. “I love feeling you squeeze me… the way my fingers look so big when they’re inside of you.”

Javier’s fingers are sure and quick. Two of them tucked deep inside of you feel almost like four of your own. They are thick, one of your favorite things about him, along with the way his wide chest cages you against the wall where you stand, the way his strong arms encircle you when you have your head tucked against his front.

“Are you going to come like this? I’m not finished with you yet, but I’ll let you come on my fingers first if you promise to be good later.”

The words choke out from you in a whisper. “... if I’m good?”

Javier digs harder inside of you, reaching for the spot he knows makes you quiver, and he brings his broad thumb into play, pressing and circling your clit. You whine and bite your lip again, and this time there’s the metallic sting of blood against your tongue.

“If you let me put my dick in your mouth, slip it between those plump little lips of yours, suck all of it down for me... I’ll let you come. I’ll make you come.” You moan, a low, keening sound full of need and want, and Javier knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

“If you’re good, if you can fit all of me this time, I might even let you come twice.”

“Yes!” Your voice is foreign to your own ears, high and ragged. “Yes, Javi, I want you. I want you to stick your huge dick down my throat. Please.”

“And then? After you’re done taking me down your throat, I’m going to fuck you hard. Watch my massive cock disappear into that tight little cunt of yours. You want that?”

“Yesss,” you hiss, and your head is completely filled with the feeling of Javier stretching you open, the way that he fills you up... the way that he fucked you last week when you straddled him and he grabbed your hips and bounced you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing.

“Oh god, Javi, I’m close.” His thumb rubs your clit twice more and he flexes his fingers inside of you, sending you over the edge. You keep your hands on the wall and promise yourself that you’ll be good for him, knowing that he’ll be good to you in return.

“That’s my girl.” Javier chews your earlobe and you finally slump, letting him turn you and pick you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you to his bedroom to finish the job.

---

Javier Peña character masterlist

JHFTM Main Masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

(don’t) take this the wrong way (7) (END)

final chapter of dtttww :) i had a lot of fun with this verse so i may take requests set in it in the future, and this might receive some more copy editing later, but for now this is the epilogue!

warnings: mild injury, mild hypnosis, for once no miscommunication :)

[Several months later…]

Sunlight trickled down through the water in wavy bands, illuminating the shallows and growing fainter and fainter as the distance from the surface increased.

Virgil didn’t spend much time in the shallows, too wary of being without escape, being made vulnerable to human vessels or poachers. Despite his dark and gloomy aesthetic, he couldn’t go too far into the depths either, simply because his fragile fish bones weren't built for it. His eyes weren’t built for it either, and down there where anything could be lurking, he would need more than speed to avoid danger.

So, on an average, sunny day like this, he could be found miles offshore, in waters that were easily too deep for unsuited humans to reach, but still well-illuminated by the light above.

There were a few old wrecks scattered about the ocean floor here, and though they’d probably been stripped by a pod in the past, he figured he’d go through them and check for anything that was left behind. Things that weren’t useful to a pod could certainly be things that were useful to him, after all.

He’d been poking through the undercarriage of one of the larger ships for an hour or two, relaxed as he ever got. He could take his time. The only creatures around to judge him were the shoals of fish and layers of barnacles built up amidst the metal, wood, and rust.

Actually… Virgil paused in his inspection of an old cutlery set to glance around.

What had happened to the fish?

Through a hole in the ship’s hull, he watched as a broad shadow passed over the ground and ships alike, large enough to belong to a whale.

There hadn’t been a single shred of whalesong above.

Virgil edged further back from the hole, eyeing the outside warily as the shadow receded, leaving behind only wavering sunlight on sand as though it had never been there at all.

There was nothing here that was worth sticking around.

He carefully made his way back to one of the other exits, in the opposite direction of where he’d seen the shadow head, the strokes of his fin cutting through the water with barely a whisper. The porthole was easily wide enough for him, and the ocean stretched out blue and vast before him, a promise of safety if he just moved fast enough.

A moment’s pause, to make sure he didn’t hear or see anything out of place, and then he was out, flitting from rock outcropping to bone reef and scanning the seas above. Not for the first time, he wished his scales were a little less distinctive in the day.

Behind him, an ominous creak.

He froze, and watched with mounting apprehension as a shadow spilled over him, looming closer and darker than before. The silhouette of an arm stretched out, heading towards him…

“Virgil, you must help,” a huge voice pleaded, “I’ve been had.”

He twisted around just in time to see a huge arm flop down onto the floor next to him, kicking up a cloud of sand and panicked burrower fish in the process.

It was wrapped in heavy wire netting from fingertips to forearm, and behind it, a giant mer was pouting at him with the best seal pup eyes he could manage, which, considering who his best friend was, were fairly potent.

Roman was huge, and he was a shark, with teeth and claws designed to shred and tear, and hands that could enclose him entirely-- but his elbows were braced against the ground with delicate balance so he wouldn’t crush anything, and he’d never grabbed for Virgil past that first disastrous encounter, and even now, his brow was furrowing with worry.

“Pufferfish status?” he asked, voice lowered from the dramatic plea of before.

Virgil’s mouth pulled up at the corners without his permission.

Roman was huge, yes, but he was also theatrical and eager and witty, full of sharp return quips for every barb Virgil had to offer.

He could hurt him, but he wouldn’t. Virgil believed that much.

“Prickly for a second, but I’m smooth now,” he answered, shrugging away the last of the tension. “Try not to sneak up on me without a warning click?”

“You have my word,” Roman replied, and if someone had told him months ago that he’d dare to ask anything of a giant mer, he’d have laughed in their faces. Now, Virgil knew that just like all the other requests, Roman would do his best to heed it.

“But really, my fingers are starting to feel numb. Help?” he entreated with a tilt of his head, shifting his net-wrapped hand a little closer.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t go away, though it tilted more towards amused now. He darted forward, twisting in a spiral around Roman’s hand to try and see the extent of the damage.

“How’d you even manage this? At least I had the excuse of being caught up in a storm,” he snarked, picking at a loose section with his claws. Roman’s fingers twitched a little, and he shot him an apologetic glance.

“I was… perhaps… trying to get a glimpse of those sailors that Logan mentioned patrolled the coast?” Roman offered, more than a little sheepish.

Virgil’s gaze turned sharp in a heartbeat. “Did they spot you?”

Logan had warned both Patton and Roman several times that not many humans would take as kindly to their long-term existence near human settlements as Logan himself had.

“No!” Roman assured, “I was very stealthy, truly, I was just… so focused on being stealthy that I missed the other vessel and the nets it had dragging along behind it. It could have happened to anyone!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Virgil replied dryly. He’d snapped a few of the looser wires with his teeth, but already his jaw was beginning to ache with the strain. “Well, you get to explain this to Specs, ‘cause we’re going to need his expertise in detangling for this one.”

Roman groaned in answer, dropping his head to plonk against the ground.

---

Logan carefully set one foot in front of the other, all of his focus on the thin strip of rock below him.

If he switched his gaze to even a few inches to either side, he’d be faced with the sight of a vertigo-inducing drop to the waves below, one that would have all but the most experienced tightrope walkers dizzy with panic.

His gaze didn’t move, though, unerringly focused on the ground beneath him, and on his own body. There was no need to look at anything but the ledge, a soft presence confirmed in the back of his mind, because he wasn’t going to fall.

Another part of him was skeptical, seeing as he wasn’t known for a lack of clumsiness by most. There was just so much to get distracted by, and it was so easy to look away and miss a curb or accidentally trip over his own feet--

But not now. Now, he was focused on just this one task, a gentle voice dragging his attention back whenever it began to stray. He was hyper aware of where each of his limbs were and where he needed to put them to continue forward, step by careful step.

Only a little farther…

“Logan!”

The harsh call snapped him right out of the trance, and he was abruptly made very aware of both the distance he could fall and the effects that sudden instinctual terror had on his sense of balance.

“Newton’s fucking Cradle,” he swore, and then wobbled again, precariously close to falling over.

There was the sound of water crashing against rock, and in the next moment, two giant hands had curled up on either side of him like the shells of an oyster. They provided him some much needed stability to lean his weight against, and he struggled to steady his breathing as relief swept through him.

“It’s okay, Virgil, I won’t let him fall! No cliffs, ands, or buts about it,” Patton’s voice was muffled, but not enough to miss the pun.

Logan sighed loudly, but he also shifted to let his full weight rest against the curl of Patton’s left palm, tapping twice to let him know it was alright for him to move.

His stomach still swooped slightly as Patton slowly shifted his hands away from the thin rock ledge, but there were some things that one had to adapt to when living with two very affectionate, grabby sea giants, and being toted around was one of those things.

Before long, he was level with the flattest segment of rock that made up their meeting place, which could be called an island if one was feeling gracious, but was really more of a collection of rocky spires and bridges that stuck out of the ocean.

Logan was barely able to sit up before Virgil pulled himself up at the edge of Patton’s palm, expression thunderous but his hands gentle as he carefully checked him over for scrapes or injuries.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack,” he grumbled, a phrase that he used much more frequently around Logan for some reason. Logan had already been reassured that it was an exaggeration and Virgil had no heart problems he knew of, so instead of worrying, he bore his friend’s fussing with good grace. “Did we or did we not agree that you need a spotter if you want to play around with bullshit sirensong magic?”

The mer paused. “No offense, Pat.”

“None taken!” Patton replied from where he had sunk further into the water to put himself closer to eye-level.

“I figured you would be along shortly,” Logan defended, and then perked up at the reminder of his most recent experiment. “Besides, one of the things tested in this trial was if the siren song could overshadow significant fear or even terror, and I wouldn’t have been nearly as afraid if you’d been there with me.”

“Aw,” Roman cooed, curling his tail up and leaning against one of the larger rock outcroppings, his posture slightly off.

Virgil dragged a hand over his face with a sigh, and then flapped a ‘go on’ gesture at Logan, distracting him. “So, what’d you figure out this time?”

Logan needed no further encouragement.

“Even the lightest application of a siren’s song can overwhelm other emotions,” he started, recalling the utter honed focus he had experienced. “While in the past I’ve felt distant or removed from my body while under its effects, this time I had Patton focus on requesting a very specific task, and due to the intense concentration it took, I was very present in the moment while fulfilling that task.”

“You didn’t snap out of it until I called for you,” Virgil interjected, more curious than wary. “Was it harder than normal to use the grounding tactics?”

One of the first things Logan had investigated was what it took for him to resist and even break free from Patton’s song, a task that Virgil had demanded in order to let him run any experiments with the siren’s magic. Back then, Virgil hadn’t expected Patton to agree, and he’d outright sulked for weeks to cover up the nerves he felt whenever the siren thralled Logan.

“It was,” Logan said, his excitement growing as he considered the new information. “Without significant outside stimulus, all of my attention was focused on the task, and so I couldn’t pull away mentally to do my normal grounding techniques!”

“I’ve never heard someone so excited about being hypnotized better,” Roman commented wryly.

“He should get a hypnoprize,” Patton added, and Virgil grinned, because he was a traitor who enabled Patton’s wordplay habits.

“Is there an award for smart people doing dumb things?” Virgil mused teasingly. “Logan could be voted ‘most likely to throw himself into danger in the pursuit of knowledge.’”

“That’s why he has us, Finding Emo,” Roman countered, gesturing extravagantly with one hand. “We would never abandon him to the cruel clutches of his own nerdiness.”

Logan couldn’t help but feel a thrill of pride at the casual way that Virgil ducked beneath one of Roman’s sweeping gestures, no trace of the blatant fear or suspicion that had been present as recently as a month ago.

They’d really come a long way from the misunderstandings of that first encounter, all of them.

A glint of light at the edge of the shark mer’s submerged forearm caught Logan’s eye, and he frowned. “Roman, what’s happened to your arm?”

Roman’s prideful grin dropped into sheepishness immediately. “Well, about that…”

“Princey here was abandoned to the cruel clutches of his own reckless dumbassery,” Virgil informed him, ignoring Roman’s trill of offense to drift back and shove at the hand in question until Roman finally lifted it, displaying the impressive collection of netting that he’d managed to get tangled in.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Patton clucked sympathetically, and Roman soaked in the attention like a very dramatic sponge. Virgil rolled his eyes even as he sawed at a few of the looser wires, and Logan sighed in fond exasperation as he reached for his pocket knife.

Perhaps some things would never change.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #mermaid au #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #dtttww #dont take this the wrong way #my writing #writing #mermaid #giant mermaid

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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