#objectively the best possible clothing option
Photo
BITCH ASS MOTHERFUCKER!!!
oh yeah have i ever mentioned that buddy is an artist? and that its a pretty imoprtrant part of their character?? yeah sorry i kinda forgot to say anything about it
this is them like 5-6 years after ‘the black paladins’ btw. hes doing ok! definetly not stellar and its gonna take a lot more time for all of them to adjust to, yknow, not livng in a fuckin cave. theyre all staying on eenek’s dad’s ship for now. its a bit crowded but it could be worse!
my loser child who works at a space walmart or somewhere like that<3
#my art#my funky guys#HOW have i not said anything about buddy being an artist?????#yeah i forgot one of his core traits sorry#theyre very pround of themself!!!#he can make stuff?? with their own hands??? thats so sick!!!#my dude is discovering the joy of creating!#also something something 'pink is the color of grief in altean culture'#either that or he just likes pink. honestly same#but they have the confidence to actually wear it :/#kuron vld#vld kuron#clone shiro#vld#can you tell i have absolutely no idea how to make cool outfits? so i just gave em a basic ass hoodie#objectively the best possible clothing option#he really likes hot pink SPECIFICIALLY#do other people have those work-painting clothes that are cvered in paint and smiley faces you drew w/ your finger when you were bored?
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
why are printers so hated? it's simple:
computers are good at computering. they are not good at the real world.
the biggest problems in computers, the ones that have had to change the most over the time they've existed, are the parts that deal with the real world. The keyboard, the mouse, the screen. every computer needs these, but they involve interacting with the real world. that's a problem. that's why they get replaced so much.
now, printers: printers have some of the most complex real-world interaction. they need to deposit ink on paper in 2 dimensions, and that results in at least three ways it can go on right from the start. (this is why 3D printers are just 2D printers that can go wrong in another whole dimension)
scanners fall into many of the same problems printers have, but fewer people have scanners, and they're not as cost-optimized. But they are nearly as annoying.
This is also why you can make a printer better by cutting down on the number of moving elements: laser printers are better than inkjets, because they only need to move in one dimension, and their ink is a powder, not a liquid. and the best-behaved printers of all are thermal printers: no ink and the head doesn't move. That's why every receipt printer is a thermal printer, because they need that shit to work all the time so they can sell shit. And thermal is the most reliable way to do that.
But yeah, cost-optimization is also a big part of why printers are such finicky unreliable bastards: you don't want to pay much for them. Who is excited for all the printing they're gonna be doing? basically nobody. But people get forced to have a printer because they gotta print something, for school or work or the government or whatever. So they want the cheapest thing that'll work. They're not shopping on features and functionality and design, they want something that costs barely anything, and can fucking PRINT. anything else is an optional bonus.
And here's the thing: there's a fundamental limit of how much you can optimize an inkjet printer, and we got near to it in like the late 90s. Every printer since then has just been a tad smaller, a tad faster, and added some gimmicks like printing from WIFI or bluetooth instead of needing to plug in a cable.
And that's the worst place to be in, for a computer component. The "I don't care how fancy it is, just give me one that works" zone. This is why you can buy a keyboard for 20$ and a mouse for 10$ and they both work plenty fine for 90% of users. They're objectively shit compared to the ones in the 60-150$ range, but do they work? yep. So that's what people get.
Printers fell into that zone long, long ago, when people stopped getting excited about "desktop publishing". So with printers shoved into the "make them as cheap as possible" zone, they have gotten exponentially shittier. Can you cut costs by 5$ a printer by making them jam more often? good. make them only last a couple years to save a buck or two per unit? absolutely. Can you make the printer cost 10$ less and make that back on the proprietary ink cartridges? oh, they've been doing that since Billy Clinton was in office.
It's the same place floppy disks were in in about 2000. CD-burners were not yet cheap enough, USB flash drives didn't exist yet (but were coming), modems weren't fast enough yet to copy stuff over the internet, superfloppies hadn't taken over like some hoped, and memory cards were too expensive and not everyone had a drive for them. So we still needed floppy disks, but at the same time this was a technology that hadn't changed in nearly 20 years. So people were tired of paying out the nose for them... the only solution? cut corners. I have floppy disks from 1984 that read perfectly, but a shrinkwrapped box of disks from 1999 will have over half the disks failed. They cut corners on the material quality, the QA process, the cleaning cloth inside the disk, everything they could. And the disks were shit as a result.
So, printers are in that particular note of the death-spiral where they've reached the point of "no one likes or cares about this technology, but it's still required so it's gone to shit". That's why they are so annoying, so unreliable, so fucking crap.
So, here's the good news:
You can still buy a better printer, and it will work far better. Laser printers still exist, and LED printers work the same way but even cheaper. They're still more expensive than inkjets (especially if you need color), but if you have to print stuff, they're a godsend. Way more reliable.
This is not a stable equilibrium. Printers cannot limp along in this terrible state forever. You know why I brought up floppy disk there? (besides the fact I'm a giant floppy disk nerd)
because floppy disks GOT REPLACED. Have you used one this decade? CD-Rs and USB drives and internet sharing came along and ate the lunch of floppy disks, so much so that it's been over a decade since any more have been made.
The same will happen to (inkjet) printers, eventually. This kind of clearly-broken situation cannot hold. It'll push people to go paperless, for companies to build cheaper alternatives to take over from the inkjets, or someone will come up with a new, more reliable printer based on some new technology that's now cheap enough to use in printers.
Yeah, it sucks right now, but it can't last.
So, in conclusion: Printers suck, but this is both an innate problem caused by them having to deal with so much fucking Real World, and a local minimum of reliability that we're currently stuck in. Eventually we'll get out of this valley on the graph and printers will bother people a lot less.
Random fun facts about printing of the past and their local minimums:
in the hot metal type era, not only would the whole printing process expose you to lead, the most common method of printing text was the linotype, which could go wrong in a very fun way: if the next for a line wasn't properly justified (filling out the whole row), it could "squirt", and lead would escape through gaps in the type matrix. This would result in molten lead squirting out of the machine, possibly onto the operator. Anecdotally, linotype operators would sometimes recognize each other on the street because of the telltale spots on their forearms where they had white splotches where no hair grew, because they got bad lead burns. This type of printing remained in use until the 80s.
Another fun type of now-retired printers are drum printers, a type of line printer. These work something like a typewriter or dot-matrix printer, except the elements extend across the entire width of the paper. So instead of printing a character at time by smacking it into the paper, the whole line got smacked nearly at once. The problem is that if the paper jammed and the printer continued to try to print, that line of the paper would be repeatedly struck at high speed, creating a lot of heat. This worry created the now-infamous Linux error: "lp0 on fire". This was displayed when the error signals from a parallel printer didn't make sense... and it was a real worry. A high speed printer could definitely set the paper on fire, though this was rare.
So... one thing to be grateful about current shitty inkjet printers: they are very unlikely to burn anything, especially you.
(because before they could do that they'd have to work, at least a little, first, and that's very unlikely)
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader
read it on ao3.
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5)
Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB.
Word Count: ~11k.
Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could.
THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3
Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!
FIVE YEARS LATER
The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.
But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.
Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.
On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.
He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.
But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.
The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.
This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.
It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.
Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?
The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.
You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.
You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.
Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.
By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—
—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.
There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.
You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.
On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.
Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.
You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.
You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.
Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.
Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.
He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.
He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.
You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”
Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”
There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.
“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”
Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?
You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.
Your throat locks up with tears.
Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”
Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”
Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.
“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.
There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.
“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.
You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.
He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”
When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”
Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.
“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”
Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”
You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”
You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.
Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.
“You’re really not saying yes?”
Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.
Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.
“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”
You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.
Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.
After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.
“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”
This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.
He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”
This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.
“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”
You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”
Okay. Weird.
Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”
They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?
But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”
Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.
You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.
He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.
The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.
“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.
There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.
“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”
“Can I help?” Sam asks.
You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”
“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”
Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”
You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.
When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.
“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”
You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.
Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”
You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”
…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”
That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”
You squint at him. Liar.
“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”
A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.
Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”
“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”
Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”
Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.
It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.
You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!
There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.
“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”
Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.
You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”
Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”
The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.
Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.
You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—
—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.
In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”
Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.
The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.
He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.
The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.
It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.
Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.
Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—
You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.
“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”
You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?
He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”
You stop.
This is. This is new.
There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.
Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.
“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.
He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.
It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.
He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.
…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.
“Sammy,” you sob out.
“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”
He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.
“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.
Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.
“Take it off,” he rasps.
This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.
“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.
You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.
He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”
Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.
You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”
It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”
A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.
You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.
“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”
Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.
“Then don’t.” He begs.
If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.
You’ve never seen him take this way before.
He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.
You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.
“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.
You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.
You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”
Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”
The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.
You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”
“Yes, doctor,” you tease.
Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.
“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.
You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.
This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.
Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”
And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.
By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.
Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”
“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”
“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.
Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”
Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.
The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”
As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”
Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”
Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.
Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.
“God, I love you,” he moans.
Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.
…Wait.
“What?” You register, slow.
Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.
“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.
There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.
“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”
You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”
It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.
“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”
“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.
He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.
“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.
When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.
“Sammy!” You choke.
That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”
Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.
You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—
…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!
“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”
The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”
He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.
“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.
You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”
You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—
In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.
A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”
If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”
You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”
His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.
“Tell me you love me again.”
Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.
You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”
The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.
With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.
You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.
When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.
“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.
Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.
“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”
“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”
Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.
You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.
“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.
The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.
You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?
Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.
What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?
Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”
He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.
Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”
Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.
Lie to me, you’d begged him.
…And Sam had.
_
The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.
Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.
He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.
Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?
Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.
The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.
Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.
To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.
You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.
“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.
…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.
You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.
You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”
…That’s not what the note says.
You read it.
Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…
Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—
…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.
“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”
-
tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Sub!Choso x Reader
MDNI——collars leashes whip’s edging stomping humiliation blindfolds restraints gags overstimulation pegging taunting slapping blood play period sex {all mentioned}
Premise: Choso walked in on you and (bonus:) your date (sub!Nanami) and begs for his own collar.
Making it home after another morning shift, you’re stopped in front of your apartment door to punch in the numbers to the automated lock. You push your way in and thank your district manager finally let you have an opening shift. You swear people get dumber as the day goes on and by the end of the night your patience has worn thin.
You’re still a sweetheart though, everyone knows you as being the mediator. The person to come to to see both sides and even additionally your own view of it to let them think over their problems, or options. Either way, you’d always keep things light.
Any form of confrontation or conflict made you want to help fix it right away. But what do you do to help with the anger? Surely there was something else you’d do, like a hobby or something, to release the stress of harboring the most open mind, and basically know how it will go with the way you’d observe them silently.
Not many people would know about your fun pastime, not until choso walked in on you and you date one night.
He surely was still trying to understand what he saw. That wasn’t a dream? Because it would make more sense if it were a dream, he knew for a fact. But it was something he just couldn’t stop thinking about, it had his balls blue.
If he were to think about it he’d swell up immediately, the blood rushing to his cheeks and sadly but quickly creating a mess in his pants, he’d curse how much of a mess you now made of him.
His quiet and caring roommate looked so out of place, but it was their room… “(Y/n)’s a sadist?” Just having him walk in on you was torture on him enough. You two knew each others schedules, and Yuki’s too as she’s the third to share the large studio together. Their brother-sister relationship, and you and her friendship, and you and him just being caught up in her world, living together just made things easier. Really it saved gas.
It wasn’t like walking in on you while you were talking a no clothes shit. Or if you just got in the shower and the glass or mirror hasn’t steamed up yet. This was your best friends brother walking into your room, while you were dressed up in just pleather straps, having recognized that that was his youngest brother’s teacher, blindfolded and on his knees in front of you.
You wonder if he was still going to act weird about it. The best way to relieve yourself was just power play in general. You already knew it all, all possible ways situations can play out, you could tell what people will say, what their next action could be, it was already enough to make you so bored, or go crazy.
It wasn’t like you were feigning your consideration towards others, but it’s the fact when they don’t listen. You tell what the next moves are, by the patterns of things and taking chances on how some days just don’t go as planned. That there will always be an element of surprise just when you thought you got the pattern down.
You can talk and talk and talk, and explain finally what you mean, maybe you talked too much and it confused them… “That’s on them for not paying attention.” The supremacy you secretly held was upsetting. It was just fantasy, something that you had to figure out how to fix, “Maybe they just like to be hurt.” You thought one day, and that’s when it started.
You’ve secretly become a sadist, it just made sense. Trusting you to carry out their most wicked fantasies and you love to help, making the experience fruitful by learning how bodies react to certain things. As they taught you what they liked, you found yourself domineering the sessions, and most of the time they don’t object. (Half of them are gagged up anyway.)
And with all that time, sure you may have thought about it once or twice but knew it’d be rude to be the one to ask if Yuki could third wheel in her own house. “It couldn’t be me to ask, and I shouldn’t anyway.” Even though you two were close, you still held out consideration for them to not ruin the dynamic, but the sight in front of her older brother had stopped him in his tracks. Your small pleather get up was something he couldn’t even dream seeing on you.
Your leg was up in the bed, your date was kneeling, blindfolded and clothed but exposed. His dress shirt unbuttoned at the top with bites and hickies under his collar and his pants still on but his erection bouncing and begging for your touch. His mouth was open and waiting, tongue begging to taste you while you hold his blonde hair back, he silently thanks you for taunting him.
Choso and your eyes met, but you didn’t move. It was kinda hot, no, it was really hot seeing him blush immediately. With how red he got, you were hoping he be brave enough to join.
You weren’t embarrassed, that wouldn’t make sense of your dominating energy in the room. The mouth under you was panting into you, the heat hot on your other mouth, the wetness coming down your legs, you were enjoying the sudden intrusion so much that you pushed Nanami’s face into you. Not breaking eye contact with choso, his deer in the headlights look on his face while you were riding another man’s face just 10 feet away from him, it happened so fast get it took him forever gather himself to leave.
You could only chuckle as you know this was gonna be a weird talk later. Nanami was fucked stupid now. His rigid face was soft and teary. The rise and fall of his chest was so fast, not helping the oxygen going to his head. So drunk for you, mindless and trusting, he wanted it so bad but couldn’t take another whip or edging session. Though your dates were always bliss for him and you just loved your pets so dearly.
————
You were sitting on the couch and he comes up to the doorway. Not looking up, you stay sitting at the couch in the living room. Anytime you’d go into your room again, it was almost like choso was just trying to prove himself wrong with what he saw. He was like a puppy who saw their owner in a mask, got confused and scared, and now is wondering if “that person” is ever going to come back. You were just finally showing him that this was you; Your cool attitude about all this made choso realize you were always like this.
Competitive when the reward is high, loud and domineering in rooms when control is needed, usually calm and quiet like him but he thought, he thought you really were like him.
He wasn’t weak, but he didn’t like to call the shots, he didn’t care to unless it was for his family. But everyone grew up and he was already content, visiting them whenever they could and living with you and your friend, his “sister”, Yuki.
You’ve always wanted him under you like this he was such a boy failure literally clung to his sister at the hip, her being such a flirt to men but her girlfriends find it funny when she beats them up if they ever got mad, like hey they never asked her. To which she’ll make up silly things to taunt the poor fuck who thought they could fight her.
Choso though just always was the coolest. His piercings and new tattoos every other month were just so hot. But you weren’t gonna ruin him. That wasn’t your call, he didn’t know that about you but you could tell he was perfect. Whatever he thought of you is what has been holding him back from a world that was ready for him.
————————————————
“Please,” You let him suck on your fingers as you work and pulled away when he got too greedy. He stopped afraid you’d pull away and be not in the mood anymore. You just reposition yourself opening your legs which he knew to get in his knees.
He’s crying again and thanking you for finally letting him eat. He’s been waiting for so long, it's probably just been a week and since he saw you and his brothers teacher, and then it took him (almost) 48 hours before he was trying to ask you to do that with him. He just couldn’t flirt for the life of him.
His tears make his face so wet and sloppy and his hair is a mess. His make up, you applied it over every time he messed it up, even when you didn’t touch him but he’d always find a way to make a mess. His sobs had his cheeks glowing, crying while you laugh bc it tickles, “That feels so good.”
His cheeks were soaked that he could close his mouth and basically motorboat the inside of your thighs, his lips rubbing on every part of you, side to side, while his cheeks stimulated the side of your innerds, touching you everywhere, enhancing the whole body feeling.
His hands were around your hips to keep you from moving, which, he hopes you’ll punish him for later but he just needed it so bad. The needy whiny man was in front of you, just wanted a taste, and recieved the whole thing. Something tells you this would be the longest he’ll ever holdout for again.
“You’ve been so good Choso,” You lean forward to give him a kiss on his wet cheek. You make sure your hand is dry before lightly fixing his hair, your fingertips sending shocks throughout his starved form. “I wanna see you under me, get on the bed.”
He almost begs for another kiss before listening to you, going to lay in the middle of your bed, head on the pillow, but you look at him bored. You motion for him to sit up, as you cage him in on your knees, straddling the air.
Choso almost bucks his hips forward just to feel your soft skin, just the smallest touch to know he wasn’t dreaming, or better yet he wanted to squeeze his own thighs together to create some kind of contact. His aching erection wanted nothing more than you, but placing a hand on his chest, tracing it down and tickling him, he arches forward at your touch, to which you slap his thigh sharply.
“Hmm? Speak up baby, I can’t hear you.” You cooed. Now we’ve lost him, the man was babbling to himself, almost heaving and hyperventilating at the same time. His pants were long and drug out, and he couldn’t move. Subconsciously fearing you’d bring out the whip, like the one he’s seen on your bed, he freezes to just enjoy his situation a bit longer. “Come on, Choso,” Your fingers pinch his chin to face you. “Use your words.”
You can only look down at him, he’s still crying, he can’t even speak, you don’t let him. Grabbing greedily at his waist, pulling it towards you, lifting his legs and spreading him open was such a treat.
You knew to never have expectations of others bodies but his was better than you could have imagined. The muscle and tattoos on his upper thighs were so hot, you get a good read of his body, the number of tattoos just confirm his masochism.
You notice his face before he started to let loose. You grab at the sides of his throat and squeezed, cutting out his whimpers. It was amazing, those cute noises really ignited your hunger, you were surprisingly becoming satisfied.
You smear at and pick up his cum with your hand, using it to palm at his sensitive parts. He careened into your hand as you kept him hard and even rubbed under to get his balls. He gasps back and starts crying again. “Hey, pay attention.” He almost cums again as he watches you use the rest of his cum from your hand to wipe along your slit, to add to your wetness. You stare into his eyes. “Do you want to go first?” He uses this chance to flip you around. He hastily plunges into you and is so pathetic with his stroke game you laugh at him, he thanks you for letting him cum in you.
You push his face off of you, grabbing him by his messy space buns you spit in his face and smear everything around. He pants and is so pussy drunk he’s only staring at you longingly after you keep a grip on his cheeks, finding a few seconds before he could find and stay focused on your eyes. As he was coming back, you decide to dig your fingers into his arms, enough to draw blood. He pants as it added a bit to his dying orgasm. You grip him and think how was life going to be like after this?
Well that’s exactly what you asked him. He, being shy, and fucked silly was trying to regain the feeling in his face before remembering that this was just the beginning:
Sub!Choso waiting for you to come how everyday after work.
Sub! Choso who usually knocks on your door lightly but with a raging hard on that he really needs you to help him out with.
Sub Choso who stays in the straps and keeps the toys you share in or stimulating him until you come back home.
Sub! Choso melting at your touch and never letting you do anything around the house again.
Sub Chose who wants to have sleepovers and you two had to explain to Yuki that its just you two sleepover.
Sub choso begging for you to touch him after a week bc of the last hasty move he did the other day had you decided to hold off and lock him out of your room.
Completely abandoning him, bringing Nanami and another back to your room in front of him,
teasing him with wearing almost nothing around the house when yuki’s gone, you were going to ruin him,
that was the goal now If he just can’t hold back then you shouldn’t either.
You who pinches Sub!Choso’s sides and nose when he comes off too needy, he cries for you and you honestly don’t know what you got yourself into.
Sub choso who insists on doing everything with you, showering, being in the kitchen with you, and if you do allow him in your room, hell sit on the floor and wait to see if you want to use him.
Sub Chose who really likes to fuck you on your period bc that’s blood magic and he dabbles tf in that
Its basically a love spell, and he doesn’t care. He thinks it's a way to get closer to you without hurting you, not the way you’d claw at his skin or even lightly cut him sometimes just to lick up the wounds.
Sub Choso always lowering himself around you bc he’s used to looking up at you
Sub Choso who gets jealous and asks why isn’t he enough to which you didn’t know his feelings were that deep so you two talk about your other pets, and what rules and other stuff going forward
Sub Choso who decided to act out out one day, knowing that you would be holding off for a bit after how crazy the last session went, he was begging for your attention.
Sometimes you liked to see such a pathetic beautiful man beg for you at the end of a long day, but when you held off, he would become a mess. Not the kind to melt all over the floor, but he'd be more desperate for your touch, eyes always on you, almost like a stalker that you'd almost want to call Nanami back to show him what will happen if he keeps bothering you when you're trying to work.
That day he fucked up, you were on your way out to have some time to yourself. Maybe just sit at a cafe, or at a park, maybe even just find a high hill and watch the sky, but Choso was blocking your path
Sub Choso asking where you were going as it was your day off and you hadn't said anything to him about your plans for the day.
You tell him to be good and to let you have an hour or so to yourself. Hearing this he freaks out a little bit, his fists ball up and his voice was trying to leave his throat. "You're gonna go see him again aren't you? I don't like this game, that you can have as many and use them whenever."
I know you hate waiting Choso but its not like it's your turn and his turn. And by the way I'm not going to see him, but you could always find another mistress.
Sub Choso who refuses the very thought and walks towards you, grabbing at your hands desperately that it hurt, "No!" He turns his head to hide his face and holds onto you, not letting you leave.
You're very quiet, enough for him to finally look back at you and he realizes he cut you with his nails. The grip he had on you created semi purple blotches on your wrists, and you stood there not moving.
Sub Choso realizing what he just did and releasing your hands before falling down to your feet. He kneels as he watches your face, knowing what you do to him unprovoked already had him both excited and frightened, but this time he didn't even know how badly his body wanted you.
As he submits and shudders at what he's done, you make a rain check on that walk and drag him back to your room by his collar.
You had choso kneeling on the floor as you restrained his arms to his back, ignoring his pleads and sorry's. Your pets don't touch you like that. They don't do whatever they want without your approval, Choso knew that and acted accordingly, even if it got annoying sometimes. His dependency was so rich, it was like getting a new puppy.
In this case you were going to need the muzzle. This was no time for bargaining, he will learn what he did was wrong.
"I'm- (y/n), please, I'm sorry I just wanted you so bad I-" You slap him hard, fingers slapping against his cheekbone. He grunts as it stung, and continues his sorry's. "I really didn't mean to!"
You put the damn muzzle on him, having him bite down on the gag inside, you tighten the straps as Sub!Choso looks petrified, though still accepting his punishment.
There was nothing holding you back now, you were pissed. Your hands were your money makers, not to mention if one of /them/ start to overpower you, you could lose the title altogether. Like you were going to let a tantrum denounce you.
You have him strip and kneel again, whipping out his back and silently watching him wince and recoil at each thrash. You wanted his back red, this was just your warning.
Pointing his chin to look up at you, you place your foot down on his crotch and stepped forward. He hisses and throws his head around, his eyes finding your cold ones, pleading again with more than his usual frenzied state.
You draw your foot back and stomp on him this time. Tears formed and flowed, he sat there, still, taking it.
While his eyes were cringing to the horror happening to his privates, you take a fist full of his hair and yank his head forward, trying to make a judgement of what he deserved next.
You take your foot off his poor wood, but granting him no relief as you whipped at his chest and exposed thighs. The noises he made through his gag should have at least been enough to crack a smile out of you, but your wrists were still a little red, and when you get angry you're usually one to give them back what they dished out, and sometimes even more when you're feeling generous.
Easing your heel back onto him, having him hold his breath as he doesn't know if you were to stomp at any moment, torturing him with the anticipation as your head was somewhere else.
You havent tried this one thing, though you thought you would have by now. Stepping off again, you go to your closet and place a big enough leash on the poignant bastard and tugging him towards your bed.
You sit at the edge, bending him over your legs, you place a blindfold on him as well, not letting him know what you were about to do.
You grab the bullet, coating it with your spit before sliding it into his ass. The new sensation had him squirm, sensitive to how your fingertips traces the small of his back, he was getting a bit overwhelmed, not being able to see or yell out, much less move his arms still, you plunge the small machine further in him, "As long as its past his prostate." You thought. "I'll push it this time."
Sub!Choso is completely at your mercy, tied up, silences, bent over, whipped over and over, he was loving it. Scared at how quiet you were but this was the level of manhandled he would fantasize about.
It wasn't anything wrong with the way you did it before, but you still cared just a little bit, he felt your hesitation and wanted you to be as free as you wanted, proving right now that you're capable of leaving him bedridden for days.
Sub!Choso who yelps and gurgles through his gag as you turn the vibrator on. You test it out, pulling at the string to slowly bring it closer and closer to his prostate. You sure were going to tease the fuck out of him this way before putting on the strap.
Sub!Choso who lays on you, hugging you as tight as he could while recovering from the beating you gave his contemptible hole.
Sub!Choso who whispers his thanks, his appreciation, his admiration, just loving babble as he slips from this to sleep.
You tell him to shut up as you hold him closer to you.
#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x you#x reader#dark jjk#tw#kamo choso#choso kamo#jjk choso#choso x reader#choso smut#jujutsu kaisen choso#yuki tsukumo#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami x reader#nanami smut#jujutsu nanami#kento nanami
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twice Interactive Story Part 1077-1087
Cry For Me (Nayeon)
Following Jihyo back into your life, your time becomes more insufficient. Your free time is now fully occupied by Mina, Jihyo, and Dahyun every night. Sometime, you sleep with them separately, sometime together. For weekends, you occasionally visit Momo, but mostly at the gym. A quick sex after workout is the thing that you two do the most now, you don't even have time to visit her home.
'Leaving already?' Momo says as she wiping her hair after the shower.
'Sorry, Momo. I want to stay with you longer. But my schedule is really tight these days.' You say as you start to wearing your clothes.
Momo sadly gives you a kiss and sends you out.
You are now rushing to a fitting out works company, as Jihyo is really planning to connect the two flats. You would not object to the idea, as your home can become bigger.
You check your phone while you are on your way. You are texting Nayeon, although Jeongyeon told you to stay away from their life, but you have no intention to do so. You want to get Nayeon back. If Jeongyeon blocks your way, you would also crash her away.
You saw her ig updated. She is in Seoul now.
You tell Jihyo you may late and ask her to discuss the design with the designer first, and you drive straight to her somewhere near her parent's home, guessing she would go there first.
'I heard you are back to the town, maybe we can have a coffee? Near your parent's home.'
'Not interested, Y/N. Take your time. I am not visiting my family now.'
You are frustrated by her cold response, and then you see her sister just entered the Cafe. Although her family knows you two have broken up, in a bad way, no one knows because you cheated. Getting Nayeon's sister's help maybe a good option.
Though I know it would help my cause, I just leave and go home. Not wanting to possibly reveal what happened to cause us to break up.
You give up on relying on Nayeon's sister. You turn around and leave. However, the one you wanted to see appears. It's Nayeon, she carries lots of shopping bags, it seems she is busy on shopping when you text her.
When Nayeon sees you, her smile disappears. 'What are you doing here?' You can feel Nayeon is a bit angry seeing you here.
'I just want to talk, Nayeon. But I don't get a chance.'
Nayeon takes a deep breath and says. 'I don't think there is anything we need to talk about. We are over.'
'Come to my car, Nayeon.' Nayeon glazes at you for a second, and she follows you to the car.
'I am sorry, I should not come to find you without your permission.' You open the door of her and get in the driver’s seat.
Nayeon gets on the car, and she keeps glazing forward rather than looking at you. Sitting on the passenger seat makes her remember the time when you two were dating. 'It's meaningless to say this.'
"Maybe, but I still have things to say, Nayeon, and I think you do too. After all, you could have rejected my texts. You could've gone straight inside without getting in my car. There are things we both want to say." I turn to her and see her looking forward. "At least look at me, Nayeon."
Nayeon' chest bouncing fiercely, she seems still angry. 'Looking you or not is my choice, it's none of your business.' Nayeon yells as she turns around to look at you. 'Now go ahead for your bullshit.'
I stare into Nayeon's eyes. "I'm sorry for everything. All the pain and anguish, everything. I was selfish and cheated on you. I lost the best thing I ever had that day, and right now, I'm struggling. I want you to go on and forget about me, to live a happy life with someone who'll treat you well. Someone who won't cheat on you, but at the same time, I still want to be the one standing by your side. I keep thinking of you when I've been with other people. I know I've got no right, and I stand no chance at that ever being the case, though. I guess, in a way, I just wanted to see you again. Even if you hate my guts."
'Do you need to hear what you are talking about?'
'After that dinner, I told myself we may be back together, I wanted to get back together, so I came home and waited for you, whole night long. Where have you been then? You just go to find another girl and hooked up all night long.'
'When you fucked that girl, did you think about me? Did you think about we can be back together?’
‘And the one who cheated is you! Why am I supposed to be the one that pushes us back together?’ Nayeon screams and starts crying.
I pat Nayeon’s back. “I know, I know. I’ve felt awful since then. I thought you’d never want to see me ever again, and I drank too much after that. I did some things I’m not proud of. But more than anything, I’m sorry I hurt you the way I did. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t do any of that. I’m sorry, Nayeon. I should’ve tried to work things out, to make things better between us. It’s all my fault.”
Nayeon keeps crying. You get a tissue and want to wipe away her tears. But she turns around and looks annoyed, not wanting you to touch her.
'I am here, if you have anything want to say, I am here.' You hold the tissue for her.
Nayeon instead uses her hands to wipe the tears. 'I can blame you for days if you want me to talk.'
'I know it's ridiculous for begging you to forgive me. You would not do that.'
The car becomes silence, Nayeon doesn't talk, all you can hear is her cry.
You stare at Nayeon. The way she cries triggered something in your heart, and you want to conquer her again.
'I stop Jeongyeon to slap you doesn't mean I forgive you, I loved you, that's why I am hurted.'
"I know. I remember. I...I love you too. I still love you." I stay quiet for a moment. "I'm still not sure about Jeongyeon. She's... something else, hating my guts but still wanting to have sex with me. It's a little funny when you think about it." I say trying to joke about it.
'What? What did Jeongyeon tell you last time? Or do you want to have sex with her, too? I am so disappointed in you.' Nayeon yells at you and leaves the car.
'Wait Nayeon!' You follow her immediately
'I haven't finished, don't leave yet!' You grab her hand from behind.
'Let me go, I don't wanna talk to you.' Nayeon shakes her hand, wanting to leave you control.
'What do you want?' Nayeon finally stops and turns to face you, but what she does next make you shock.
'Pak!' Nayeon doesn't even notice she slaps you in face, she shocked either.
You touch your cheek with another hand, it's hot and red. It is not easier than Jeongyeon's one.
"I didn't and don't want to have sex with Jeongyeon. I thought of you, of how it would hurt you if I did that. She's the one who tried to have sex with me. She explained how your relationship with her was fake and thought that I'd show her how a guy could make you feel better than she could. I was never going to have sex with her." I take a deep breath, "I never was and never will because I was thinking of you. Goodbye Nayeon." I let her go and start to get back into my car.
You back on your car and caress your cheek, it's hurts, especially is Nayeon, who slaps you. You look out of the window. She is still standing there, looking at your car.
Things haven't gone as you planned, although you can see a little progress. Looking at Nayeon, you are thinking should you come down to talk with her after she has calmed down.
I stare back at Nayeon, wanting to continue talking to her. So, I do as much waiting for her to calm down before trying to talk to her again.
You leave your car and walk back to her. You think she is calm, so you step closer to her.
'Don't get too close.' Nayeon takes one step backward. 'Anything you still want?'
"Are you alright?" I ask, worried as to why she had stood in place for so long. "I mean, you've been standing there for a long time."
'No, I am just making sure you are leaving and not waiting for me again.' Nayeon suddenly walks toward you, you are curious that she just tells you to stay away from her.
Nayeon comes and hugs you. You grab her in your arms, feeling her existence, and your heart is finally complete again.
"Nayeon?" I shut up at that moment and just hold her in my arms. Squeezing her as if never wanting to let her go again. I'll wait until I feel her pull away to let go.
You hold Nayeon tighter, afraid she will disappear at the next second. Nayeon squeezes you tighter too.
'Nayeon... Ah!!!' You moan painfully as you find Nayeon bites your shoulder. All the force is focused on her rabbit teeth, just like two drillers drilling on you. You only realize she hugs you so close is for she can bite you more easily.
Even though it hurts I continue to hold her tight, I smile and kiss the top of her head. "I still love you."
You hold Nayeon, let her bite you easier. Your feeling on your shoulder slowly fades out. You don't know if your shoulder still belongs to you.
You close your eyes and kiss her head. You know you deserve it. If you suffer this pain, then you can get her back. You are more than willing to do it.
Your hands go up to caress her neck, you know her body so well, and you reach for her sensitive spots. Nayeon releases a moan, and her body softens, 'Ummm...' Her teeth finally leave your shoulder. You feel you are sweating from the pain, you look at your shoulder, the blood is coloring your shirt.
Nayeon turns around to escape your glaze, her lips still have your blood. you can't contain your emotions, and you lean to kiss her. Nayeon tries to resist, she wants to bite your tongue, forcing you to withdraw. You already know what she would do.
You squeeze her cheek so she can't bite you. 'Ummm...' Slowly, Nayeon stops fighting anymore. She just lays on your arms and lets you kiss her.
You withdraw your tongue until you feel you can't breathe, Nayeon's face is totally red, her sight loss the focus, just leaning in your hug. The excited make out occupied her mind. Her mind is now full of your scent. Her brain can't even function properly because of that.
'Are you satisfied now?' Nayeon whispers. 'Let me go, please? Nayeon begs you. 'Give me some time to think about what we just talk alone.'
I hesitantly let her go. My hands travel down her arms until I hold her hands for a brief second before we completely separate. "Yeah. I guess I should go too." I pat her head before watching her walk away.
#minasaiyatis#twice smut#nayeon angst#nayeon smut#twice nayeon#twice imagines#female idol smut#girl group smut#kpop smut
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
A FUZZY FEELING
Pairing: Minho x Y/N
Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff fluff fluff (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
You found a small kitten during a rainy day, little did you know it would be the bond to your next romance…
Words: 5K
A.N: hi guys! im still trying to write more often huhu so here is a minho fluff! im not really used to write full fluff so your opinion truly matters to me (reblog and comments are very much appreciated). english not being my first language, i apologize for the possible mistakes… a big thank you to my friend maria and enjoy ;) — 230831
The rain was pouring outside. Why didn’t you bring a damn umbrella ? It’s not like you didn’t check the weather forecast on your phone before going out. Apparently, the 40% chances of downpour didn’t convince you and you didn’t want to clutter your small hand bag with such a big object… Now, you were looking awfully foolish.
Your clothes were getting wet, your hair were a mess, all of this only because of that stupid guy you met on an app and didn’t show up. Yes. It was a shitty day.
You were grumbling, each steps you took on the sidewalks soaking your sneakers. You needed to find a place to hide, at least for a bit. You would have preferred to go home quick, not wanting to show yourself to anyone looking like this, but you could feel your hands and feet getting cold.
The place you were at was thankfully crowded with different shops and one especially caught your eyes. It was a pretty small café, a little bit hidden behind some trees. Warm light was coming from it and you could see people happily seeping on their drinks, eating some delicacies and chatting. This would be perfect ! Hastily walking towards it, already thinking about the hot drink you would order, you put a halt to your run when you heard some muffled noises. They sounded familiar to you and you were wondering where they were coming from. Checking your surroundings, you couldn’t see anything. You were about to give up when you heard them again. Small meows. Following them, you almost stumbled over a little dirty plushie. At least, this is what you thought it was until you saw it trembling, small pointy ears dressed on its head, its tail enclosing its frail body. It was a kitten.
Its orange and white fur was sticking and it was crying out for help, probably looking for its mom, shivering against the pavement. Apparently, someone was having a rough day too… Moved by the small creature, you crouched down to analyze the situation.
« Hi little thing » you softly said. « Why are you here ? » you talked to the cat as if it was about to answer you any time. You scoffed at the thought of it. It didn’t seem to be hurt, there wasn’t any blood or weird swelling. However, rain wasn’t giving you a break and was getting heavier. Your muscles were getting stiff, you had to make a decision quickly. You weren’t sure if it was okay for you to pick it up like this. Its mom was probably going to be disturbed by the unknown scent on her baby, on the other hand, leaving it near the road wasn’t an option either.
Stretching the fabric of your jacket, you carefully grabbed the kitten, who didn’t show an ounce of resistance, too weak and cold to do so. It was literally fitting in the palm of your hand, the sight of it making your heart break a bit… You noticed a space between two shops which seemed to be dry enough for the little guy. It would be safe under those bushes until its mom would find it. You put it down delicately, dirt already staining its fur and gave a little pat between its ears to reassure it. « Here you go! I’m sure your mom will come back soon. Good luck little one ».
Saying you were feeling guilty was an understatement, even more after hearing it meowing again… You had to pull yourself together, you had made the best choice. You couldn’t just pick it up and bring it home in case its mom would come back. It was better to wait for few days. You just hoped that, if it was left alone, a kind soul would find it again and help. Giving it one last glanced, you waved at him and went back towards you first destination: the café.
As you opened the door, you were welcomed by the sound of small bells and warm brown eyes. The man behind the bar was cleaning some cups with a towel, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up, staring right at you. He put down his stuff and came to greet you.
« Welcome. For one person ? », he asked, a soft smile on his face. « Yes please », you answered. The barista gestured you to follow him to a table and handed you the menu for you to choose. You thanked him as he walked away to take care of the other customers. Unzipping your jacket, you put it on the back rest, hoping it would dry fast. Bringing your attention back to the menu, you were absent-mindedly looking at it. Your brain was fuzzing with questions and worries about the stray cat. Was it really ok to leave it like that ? Maybe you should go back and take it to the vet… But, if its mom was close it would be cruel to take her baby away.
Biting your nails and lost into your thoughts, you didn’t even notice that the auburn haired boy was back.
« Did you make your choice ? », he was holding a pen, unconsciously taping on a notebook, his cat like eyes questioning you, his head slightly tilted to the side. He was curiously looking at you, his brows slightly furrowed. Taken aback by his question, you vaguely answered. « Hmm… I will take a hot chocolate and… hmm… whatever cake you think would go along with it. Thank you. »
« Then I would recommend the pistachio and raspberry tart » he offered, waiting for your approval. « Perfect ! ». He nodded and grabbed the menu you were handing him before going back to the bar, not without a last glance to your table. After several minutes, the brown haired man came back with your order. You gladly took it and tried to enjoy it, however, your stomach was kind of tied with a knot at the memory of the frail wet cat. Despite your reluctance, the hot chocolate going down your throat felt like a relief. You could feel your entire system getting its energy back sip after sip and you thanked the heavens for putting this place on your path. You would have to come back in a less miserable state and not with a mind full of worries.
Time went by and you had to go home. You were still thinking of what you could do. Maybe you could come back the next day to check on the animal ? With your job schedules it might be a bit difficult but that would be better than nothing.
Looking out the window, the rain hadn’t stop at all… Never mind. One last run towards the bus stop wouldn’t be so bad. A soft voice startled you « Was everything fine ? », he asked while clearing your table and the fact that you barely touched the pie didn’t go unnoticed. « Oh! You didn’t like it ? I’m sorry, I should have recommended something more simple maybe… » You stopped him « No! Not at all! It was delicious! »
Visibly relieved by your statement, he continued « Then, would you like me to pack it for you to bring at home ? ». You accepted, thankful on how thoughtful the man was. Following him to the countertop to pay the bill, you thought about this word again: thoughtful. Maybe you could ask him to keep an eye on the cat ? It was a bit inappropriate to do so, after all, he had his job and probably a ton of things to do after that… Yet, the way he was patiently gazing at you, clumsily looking for your credit card, made you think it would be fine.
« Can I ask you something ? You, obviously can say no, I wouldn’t mind » you said sheepishly. The man was visibly curious. Were you going to ask for his number ? Was it why you seemed a bit embarrassed around him ? He was full of expectations but probably not that one. « Of course ! »
You were kind of fidgeting while paying the bill. « Well, I have came across a small kitten earlier and I’m really worried about it… Its mom wasn’t around and it was trembling. Do you mind looking for it ? I let it near your store, under the bushes so it could dry. » Visibly surprised by your request, he quickly tried to keep his composure and hide the slight deception. « Where exactly did you let it ? » he asked smiling as an even brighter smile was forming on your face. You started to describe the exact spot you let it and thanked the man a hundred times for his help. « No worries, I have three cats myself » he laughed.
You were about to leave when he noticed that he forgot to give you the tart. « Miss, wait! » he stopped you, gently grabbing your wrist. « You forgot this and please take this as well ». In his hand was the food bag and an umbrella. You tried to politely decline the offer but he insisted, saying the pie would go to waste otherwise. You blushed a little, profusely thanked him and went to catch the bus.
The umbrella was a blessing and you thought that, maybe, he was an angel who helped to make your day better. You would have to return it to him as soon as possible and ask him about the stray kitten. You didn’t even know his name…
Finally, the bus appeared and you jumped inside it. Sitting comfortably, you put your hands inside your jacket’s pockets when your fingers came across a paper that wasn’t there before. Intrigued, you pulled it out to see what it was. Handwritten on it was a phone number with a message: « Please call me so I can give you news of your furry friend — Minho Lee ». A weird little drawing was next to it, it looked like a strange face. You giggled. Lee Minho. Here was the name of your helper. Your heart felt warm at the idea of him taking care of the cat and got you happy the whole ride.
✧✧✧
« Where the hell are you running to ? » asked your coworker. « I have an appointment! » You half screamed while heading to the exit. It was the end of your schedule and one thing kept you going the whole day: you were going to see the kitten. You waved them goodbye, your bag in one hand, Minho’s umbrella in the other.
Last night, you did call him. It was kind of awkward at first and very polite, until you heard his cats meowing, asking for their food. Minho seemed a bit overwhelmed and couldn’t keep up with your small talk. He apologized and hang up. Few days passed and you had exchanged some messages with the café worker. He sent you a picture of a cardboard shelter he made, where you could see some old blankets, milk and food, then some messages to plan your meeting. He also reassured you saying that your friend wasn’t cold anymore but its mom hadn’t showed up. You were worriedly looking at your screen when you received another text from Minho.
| minho lee: fluffy boy is waiting for you!
A picture was attached to it. It was kinda blurry, the kitten was probably moving around, but you could see the orange and white fur of it which looked like a cotton ball. Asking for the man’s help had been the best idea. After 40 minutes, you finally arrived to destination. A panel with the word « closed » was hanging on the front door. Getting closer of the glass you used your hands as a shield to look inside. Minho was actively sweeping the floor but as soon as he turned around he gestured for you to come. You entered the café, once again welcomed by the bells’ symphony.
« Give me a second, I’m almost done » he asked, one finger up to emphasize his sentence.
« No problem, I’m sorry to bother at this moment of the day… »
« Yea, you’re right. You’ve been a bother from the start » he jokingly said. You looked at him and sticked your tongue out. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at your childish behavior but, deep inside, he could feel his heart beating a bit faster. It only had been less than a week since you met each other, however, he wanted to talk to you every day and felt strangely close to you. Things were still pretty formal but he could see that you were slowly opening up.
« Ok! I think everything is done! We can go. » he stated, both of his hands on his hips, looking around as a last check.
« Where are we going already ? » you gently asked, following him as you were leaving the place. « To Sondonri association. It’s where I let the kitten. Its mom didn’t show up and it was visibly loosing weight… » he closed the door and went to the parking behind the shop. « I would have kept it with me if I wasn’t so busy with work… » this last sentence was more of a murmur and you could see a wrinkle on his forehead. He had been worried.
You took place on the passenger seat while the brown haired boy was starting the car to drive you to destination. During the trip, you talked about your day and he also told you that the association you were going to was the same one where he adopted his three cats (or his sons as he liked to call them). Soon enough, you were in front of the association… which was closed.
« Wait ? What time is… Oh… », his mouth was forming a small cercle, letting his bunny teeth slightly showing. Minho was clearly dumbfounded as he looked at the hour on his watch. It was passed 7:30pm.
« Don’t tell me you didn’t check the opening hours ? » you looked at him, half laughing, half sarcastic but the man was remaining silent.
« It happens to the best of us, ok ? I was s-sure it was closing at 8! » he stuttered, hopelessly trying to defend himself. He frowned and his ears were turning red, embarrassed by the situation and you couldn’t help but laugh. You put a compassionate hand on his shoulder.
« Yea sure. » you rolled your eyes. « But I owe you one, so why don’t we go eat somewhere ? ». Your offer seemed to surprise him and the redness of his ears was spreading through his cheeks. You couldn’t really tell tho, the dusky light distorting his real skin tone. « Exactly, so be more respectful. » Minho scoffed and you gently pushed him with your shoulder. He flashed you a mischievous grin and you realized how handsome he was. Of course, you noticed that since day one. Still, the more you learnt to know him, the more you found him beautiful inside and out. You especially liked his funny and devoted personality, as well as his cat like eyes, his manly hands (they seemed really soft!) and his li-… Wait a minute. Your thoughts were running a bit too wild and your friend was looking at you, confused by your sudden change of emotion. You made him turn over to go back to the car, which he followed not without a hint of hesitation and asking on where you were going to have a diner. But honestly, you had no idea… You ended up going to the closest konbini, eating ramyeon at the store, drinking and enjoying the evening. You discovered that he had a sweet spot for pudding.
« Pudding ? Really ? »
« What ? Is it that weird for a man to like sweet things ? » he side eyed you, still eating his desert with a pout.
« I don’t know, you work at a café. I was expecting something else, I guess ».
« Maybe but sometimes simple things are the best » Minho stated with a proud face. And he was right. This evening was pretty simple. You both here, eating and talking about your lives, learning to know each other, talking about your furry friend. It truly was the best.
« Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home ? » he offered for the nth time.
« Yes, don’t worry. I’m not really far. » you reassured him even if he wasn’t completely ok with it.
« Mmh… Fine. But send me a text, you know, just to be sure you didn’t get into a weird situation or something. ». The brown haired man was intensely staring at you, as a warning. « I promise ».
As soon as you arrived, you kept your words.
| you: im still alive!
| minho: ugh, guess I will have to bear with you a bit longer then
| you: meanie…
| minho: :p
Removing, your jacket and putting your bag on the coffee table, you realized that you totally forgot to return his umbrella. Thankfully, you were seeing each other at the association tomorrow and, this time, you would be able to see the rescued cat.
| you: at which hour tomorrow ? and, please, dont mess it up this time
| minho: tch! you loved spending time with me!
His words made your heart flutter, it was true. You really enjoyed your time together.
| minho: let’s say around 11am, sounds good for you ?
| you: perfect! see you tomorrow then, good night!
| minho: g’night y/n
This night, you could barely sleep. Your head was filled with his face, his smile, his voice calling your name… Holding your pillow tight, you tossed it aside while facing the feeling, a sweet feeling blooming in your heart.
✧✧✧
You were awake at 7 this morning, too excited to keep sleeping. What was happening to you ? Getting over excited like a teenager. You were impatient to see the kitten, you hoped it was in a better shape than the last time you saw it. You were also impatient to see Minho. Where you having a crush ?… Uh. Definitely. The ringtone of your phone startled you.
| minho: yo y/n ! you up ?
You hastily took the phone and answered.
| you: yup! Slept well ?
| minho: woaaa, you answered faster than usual. can’t wait to see kitty cat ?
His comment made you blush a little. Thank god he wasn’t there or he would have teased you for that.
| you: yes :( it’s like my baby
| minho: i understand, felt the same for my sons. ok, let’s meet at the association then, see you
At 10am, you were more than ready to go and arrived even a bit in advance. Now that it was broad daylight, you could see many dogs behind the fences, enjoying their time outside. Some people were there to adopt some of the animals, others were probably caretakers. You were absorbed by the scenery, when you felt that weird feeling telling you someone was watching you. When you turned around, a smily Minho was there.
« You truly are impatient to see the cat » he said while walking up to you.
« What about it ? Are you jealous I don’t give you the same attention ? » you teased. « Hmm, maybe ». He passed next to you as you were stunned by his words. Quickly coming back to your senses you followed him inside.
You were welcomed by two women and one of them seemed to know the brown haired man pretty well.
« Minho! It’s good to see you! How is the café going ? Are your parents fine ? And your cats ? » she asked with a soothing voice. She was middle-aged and exhaled literal kindness, the type of perfect mom you see in series. « Everything is going great, thank you so much. I came with my friend to see the kitten I brought early this week ». He stepped aside so he could properly introduce you to the women. « Oh my! You’re the lady who saved this baby. Thank you for your help, I can’t imagine what would have happened to it if you didn’t help it… » she shook her head, picturing the worst. « Come, I will bring you to it » the woman gestured for you to go with her, which you did.
You entered a room which probably was a nursery. Lots of kitten were sleeping or playing together but, as soon as your eyes landed on its white and orange fur, you could tell that it was your cat. You gasped and repeatedly tapped on Minho’s arm. He sighed at your behavior but he was truly amused by it.
« Can I go see it ? » you politely ask to the worker. « Of course! Be careful of the other ones, they might want to climb on you » she prevented. And she was right. As soon as you crouched down, some of the cats hide behind the cat trees or boxes, while some others were really curious. They were sniffing your clothes, trying to climb on your legs and you decided to sit down so you could be more stable. Unfortunately, the rescued kitten seemed too scared to come close.
Your friend joined you and tried to lure the cat with a toy. Moving it close to it, the colored feathers of the stick seemed to catch its attention. You could see its pupils getting rounder, its small body ready to jump and lightly wiggling. It attacked the toy and did it again.
« What are you doing ? » you asked when Minho started to move the feathers closer to you. « Shh, just trust me ». You weren’t so sure of his tactics until it paid off. The cotton ball was happily playing with the toy on your legs, biting its feathers and trying to catch it with its claws. You heart melted at the view of it. It had gained weight since the last time you saw it, you could tell that it was happy and healthy. « It truly worked! ». Your friend looked at you with a smug face and leaned towards you. You felt his fingers brushing over yours, chill going down your spine and it created an eye contact. You were both staring at each other, Minho’s gaze trailing along your face features until he quickly removed his hand. « S-sorry, I didn’t realize we were that closed » he apologized with a sheepish look. « It’s fine! » you almost squeaked that sentence and swore in your mind for being so easy to read. The brown haired boy acted as if nothing happened, still playing with the kitten. However, his ears betrayed him once again because of their bright red color.
You kept playing a bit more with the cats before you had to go back home.
You both thanked the workers and told them you would come back soon.
Once outside, you stretched and sighed in content. « Fuzzy seems happy ! Did you see how playful it is ? It was adorable ! » you were toddling gently and humming.
« Fuzzy ? » you friend raised an eyebrow. « Yes, the kitten. » you replied. « That’s plain as fuck. » he deadpanned. « Did I ask ? » you turned around to face him with challenging eyes. « Maybe you should have ».
Your faces were now so close that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. Heart racing, palms getting moist and you still couldn’t look away, totally captivated by his gaze. Oh, you looked gorgeous to him and the contact you made earlier this day made his stomach tingle in the most delicious way. Too busy looking at Fuzzy, you didn’t even notice how Minho gave you all his attention, how he loved seeing all your facial expressions, how he loved your laugh, your face, your curves. He was getting greedy. Greedy to be part of your life and be able to be just as close as you were right now or even more.
You gulped and created a diversion. « Here. Your umbrella ! I forgot to give it back to you last time ».
Minho looked at it and took it, brushing your hand in the process. The shivers were back. « Thanks Y/N, glad it helped you. But you still owe me. »
« What ? I paid for last time dinner ! » you protested, crossing your arms in front of your chest. A mischievous smile was adorning the man’s face. « A bit weak for someone who saved your kitten and gave you his umbrella. ». He was expecting and, gullible, you fell into his trap.
« Hmph. What do you want from me Lee Minho ? » you asked, suspicious. « I’m going to think about it. » he then headed towards the bus stop you previously used. Running after him, you called his name but he wasn’t answering. He didn’t want to break the game he was putting in place.
✧✧✧
Days went by and you still didn’t know what he wanted. He teased you a lot about it, saying you had to be kind and obedient until he would find out. Except, that you weren’t.
You grew to know each other more deeply, you crush for him getting stronger and often came to visit him to spend time together such as: visiting your furry friend or just wondering around the city after work. This evening was no exception to the rule as you were walking along the river.
« I’m still waiting for my penalty ».
« A penalty ? » he sneered « You mean the price of your debt, right ? ». You sticked your tongue out and nudged him. « Come on. There must be something. »
Minho stopped and you bumped into him. « What the… »
« There is something. » he announced. You rubbed your lightly bruised nose and asked « Spill it! Why are you being so secretive ? ».
« You would grant me anything ? » his face was totally serious and you didn’t know if you had to laugh or be scared right now. « If by granting, you mean being your servant for the rest of my life, that’s an absolute no ». He broke into a smile before answering « No, silly. It’s something else. »
« Just say it, Minho ! » you sighed. « Is a kiss too much ? », his voice was soft and he tried to keep his composure despite his heart beating so hard he was afraid you could hear it. You felt your blood rushing to your cheeks. Did you hear that well ? You were used to his jokes and you could tell when he wasn’t playing. And he wasn’t. Too startled to speak, you simply nodded, holding your breath in anticipation. Minho stepped closer, a brand new glow shining in his beautiful eyes. His hand traveled to cup your face, his gaze glued to your lips. « I need an answer, Y/N. Is a kiss too much ? ». You whined. Why was he like this ? « Kiss me already, Lee Minho. » He tenderly smirked and closed the gap between you. He first kissed your cheeks as you were putting your arms around his waist. He then went to the corner of your mouth, teasing you till the last second before you could fully feel his lips on yours. It felt warm and soft, just like taking a nap in a sunny room or savoring the sweetest delicacy.
You pushed your body against his and deepened your kiss. You would never get tired of this and you could feel the emotions, that you diligently took care of, were fully blooming into your stomach. You both stopped to catch your breath, Minho still cupping your face, his forehead resting against yours. You felt at peace with him. « You’re a good kisser Y/N Y/L/N» he stated, brushing his nose with yours. « What made you even doubt of it ? ». He laughed and laced his fingers with yours. « Let’s head home ».
During the way back, you both couldn’t stop looking at each other, smiling like idiots and kissing from time to time. You loved it, feeling like you were falling in love for the first time again.
« Here we are », Minho had walked you home and was about to part way when you held him back, grabbing his jacket. « Do you want to s-sleep here ? » you offered. His eyes widened a bit but his actions spoke for himself when he entered your apartment, a tender smile on his face.
✧✧✧
The next day, your eyes were welcomed by a sleepy Minho next to you. You caressed his bare back before preparing breakfast. You didn’t have much at your house and tried to make it as good as possible. When he woke up, his hair were all messy and he was walking with his eyes half-closed. « Morning » he said with a raspy voice. « Hi ». Wow. How did you manage to pull a man like him and be able to call him yours ? Wait. Was he even yours ? You didn’t clearly talk about your feelings or what you wanted to do next. Realization made you a bit gloomy but it was soon soothed by Minho’s kiss on the top of your head.
« Are we going to see Fuzzy today ? » he asked.
« Yes and… You know what ? I’m going to adopt it. » you were determined. After all, you had created a special bond with this cat since day one and it was thank to that very same cat that you met this amazing boy. « It’s about time ! » he sarcastically answered.
« But, before we go, I will have to go home and change. » the brown haired man stood up and started to pack his things. « I can accompany you, if you want » you were about to follow him when he stopped you. « No take your time and meet me to Sondonri when you’re ready » another kiss, « Thank you for the breakfast. » and he left.
Two hours later, you were in front of the association and your boyfriend (?) was nowhere to be seen.
| you: where r u ?
| minho ♡: come inside
When you entered, Minho was talking to one of the worker at the front desk. He gently grabbed your hand before inviting you to tell your request.
« Good morning, I would like to adopt a kitten. »
« I guess it’s for the little male you kept visiting ? » the man asked, « One second please ». He was looking through the files of his computer when he started to frown. « I’m so sorry miss but it seems that it has been adopted earlier… ». You felt your heart sinking. « What ? Are you su-… ». You couldn’t finish your sentence that Minho let go your hand to join the middle-aged women you had seen multiple times. She was handing him a little ball of white and orange fur. Fuzzy ! You almost ran up to him, your vision getting blurry because of your tears. « Is… Is it the right cat ? » your throat was tight, waiting. « Yes and it’s all yours. I made the necessary steps before you arrived » he said, visibly satisfied by your reaction. Happy tears were rolling down your cheeks as you were patting the kitten’s head. Minho bowed a little and whispered « I like you, Y/N ». Half giggling, half crying, all you could say was « I thought you would never say it. ». He chuckled and softly hugged you, not to crush the small fluffy boy.
You could tell the the kitten had found his new home, just as you found one in Minho.
#stray kids#skz#lee know#minho#stray kids lee know#stray kids x reader#stray kids fanfic#stray kids oneshot#stray kids scenarios#stray kids fluff#stray kids au#strangers to lovers#fanfic#fanfiction#fluff#kpop#Kpop imagines#skz scenarios#skz fanfic#non idol au#lee minho#bangchan#changbin#hyunjin#han#felix#seungmin#i.n#stray kids smut
162 notes
·
View notes
Text
The most insulting part about Satine is that there's stuff that COULD have been interesting about her if they just hadn't chosen to focus on her terrible romance with Obi-Wan.
Satine being someone who brought peace to a war-torn Mandalore as a teenager is incredibly fascinating! The mechanics and logistics of how Satine managed to take a group of people who hated each other so much they were willing to destroy their own planet in order to destroy each other and brought them into a twenty year peace are RIPE for exploration! And yet, no one cares. Nobody actually writing any of these stories CARES about how she did that.
And Satine's relationship with the Jedi could've been great, too. She's in a unique position to have spent a really elongated amount of time with two of them in a way very few people ever could have. They could've so easily had Satine sort-of LEARN how to bring peace to her planet FROM THE JEDI. By being able to witness Qui-Gon teaching Obi-Wan about negotiation and mediation and diplomacy, she can learn plenty of it, too. She can solidify her stance on violence through trying to understand and incorporate Jedi ideals and philosophies into her own worldview. Understanding how to balance keeping her people's traditions that matter without allowing them to continue to focus on nothing but violence could come FROM THE JEDI in some ways. She interprets it her own way and has to enforce it differently, but they could've absolutely had Satine come to understand the Jedi in a way almost nobody else does.
So then when Obi-Wan shows up during the Clone War, she can bring a perspective we've never seen before: understanding why the Jedi are doing what they're doing. Satine could've been the ONE PERSON who doesn't blame the Jedi for "starting" the war or for participating in it. She understands that the Jedi never would've started a war and wouldn't have WANTED to be generals in it at all, but that they're fighting because there are people in danger and peace just isn't an option. She knows that the Jedi WOULD'VE tried more peaceful options if it were available, she knows the Jedi would've preferred to just avoid war entirely. She's smart enough and familiar enough with how wars work to see certain patterns that others perhaps do not. She's maybe one of the ONLY PEOPLE who is actually sympathetic to the Jedi's plight at this moment in time and recognizes the Jedi are doing their best to protect as many people as possible against an enemy that refuses to stand down. This is a woman who literally exiled a bunch of people because they refused to stand down and change their ways, so she GETS having to make the hard choice to be an immovable object when faced with an unstoppable force.
Satine could've been one of the VERY few people who was a genuinely competent politician who has managed to turn a war-like people into a peaceful one by utilizing Jedi philosophies and ideals, and a vehicle through which the audience got to truly understand why the Jedi are fighting in this war at all. Instead, she's disrespectful of the Jedi and incompetent in the extreme and stuck being a terrible love interest for a beloved character. She could've been great, and instead she just sucks because she became a Jedi critical mouthpiece in faux feminist clothing.
#star wars#satine kryze#satine critical#satine kryze critical#anti satine#anti satine kryze#anti obitine#obitine critical#pro jedi
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hollow knight bugs & real world species
basically this is just a place for me to dump my thoughts about the species of Hollow knight characters. Let’s start with the easy ones.
Divine & Leg Eater: These two are very obviously a termite king and queen, Divine literally can’t be anything else.
Ogrim: The biggest shitter, dung beetle obvi.
Cornifer & Iselda: Weevils, aka the best bugs. Look at their proboscis’
Mantis lords: Mantids, probably based mostly on the Chinese Giant Mantis specifically.
Flukes: They’re just flukes, disgusting.
Unn: Objectively the best goddess, big slug
Quirrel: So it seems likely to me that Quirrel is a isopod of some sort, most likely an armidilidium species, I think it’s something about his hunched/slightly curled posture and body segmentation.
Radiance: A silkmoth, her wings look to be in proportion with the species and everything else screams silkmoth.
Grimm: it’s a common theory, but his resemblance to a vampire moth is striking.
Mask maker: Bro is very obviously a whip scorpion, the arms are what really seals the deal, but living among other predators with ease(ie deepnest) and twitchy motions are staples of whip scorpions irl.
Cloth: a Cicada nymph, hence her whole burrowing thing and the sounds she makes. Plus this is actually confirmed.
God Tamer: She’s an ant, but not a queen. She’s probably a worker who got separated from the colony. Her antenna are fairly distinctive in Hollownest and are very ant like. Plus she tames other species, something ant colonies effectively do by treating aphids like livestock
Ze’mer: So there’s two equally good guesses for what she is. The first is that she’s a silverfish, this would support her outsiderness given silverfish are a truly strange and primitive branch of bugs. The second possibility is that she’s a glow worm beetle, the adult stage of glow worm. This is also super plausible because of the antenna those beetles have lining up nicely with her fluff and drooping antenna. I think either one is a great interpretation.
now the harder ones.
Sly: So his size is notable, as is his eyes being very visibly compound, that combined with his mobility in the air and the sort of buzzing yoda type sound his voice has makes me think he’s a fly of some sort. Plus it rhymes.
Herrah: she’s most likely a horned baboon tarantula, the colors and size line up with what we see compared to the weavers and devout. Plus the horn on those tarantula line up shapewise fairly well with hers.
Pale King: This man to me has two different possibilities, either he’s a leg less lizard of some sort or more probably he’s some sort of really fucked up crustacean. We know Wyrms molt so that almost certainly rules out option one. My thought is that Wyrms have the same issues lobsters run into where they get bigger with every molt, so their exoskeleton gets heavier, thicker, and harder to break out of. Eventually they die, crushed under their own weight and unable to molt(this is when Wyrms generally abandon their larger form to make kingdoms). Verdict: something terribly cursed.
Bardoon: Bardoon, Bardoon, Bardoon, why must you be so difficult? So at first Bardoon really looks like a silkworm, the color is right, even the face of the two look super similar. But Bardoon is demonstrably longer than a silkworm has any right being, and his little nub/tail that you can hit distinctly resembles the “horn” all hornworms have. Despite that I’m nominally going to say he’s a silkworm until I find better evidence. Verdict: Concerning implications.
Gubs and Grubfather: Parasitic wasps maybe? The charm is called Grubberflys elegy, but their behavior mimics the way some wasps lay eggs inside of hosts so their young can eat their way out. Verdict: wasp things probably.
Tiso: So Tiso and Sharpe both look remarkably similar and from the very, very limited amount we’ve seen from both move similarly. In that vein they both look vaguely like assassin bugs, specifically assassin bug nymphs.
Vessels: Something even more fucked than the Pale King, they’re like mostly plant though I think? Like their masks look like his but are actually made of the White ladys bark/wood and grow constantly, their horns look a lot like her branches too. I imagine that their bodies have the same crustacean exoskeleton thing going on their dad has, so they’re probably incorporating heavy metals into their chitin. In all likelihood their mother being a plant and the light absorption the void displays means they’re photosynthetic in some way, it might explain how they grow too. The dangling bottom parts of the shades also look sorta like roots honestly, this also meshes well with how thorns of agony appears as void tendrils when activated. Verdict: Who tf knows, they’re definitely photosynthetic though.
The Shade Lord: So obviously this big chonker is literally just void, but their form distinctly resembles a dragonfly nymph, with four main arms/legs being used, and a distinctly predatory head shape. Plus we don’t see their bottom half, so I imagine it’s either a mass of roots like their mother, or something vaguely wormy. Verdict: Dragonfly thing
Isma: She is super fucking weird tbh, her head is shaped a lot like Vespas. Obviously however she’s some sort of pant being given the way we find her. My theory here is that she’s actually some other sort of bee, there’s a ton of bees that are solitary species. Based on that I’d say she was a bee— probably a white-banded digger bee— who became a devotee or worshipper of Unn. This may explain how the Pale king was allowed to build in green path. Unn let him build in her land and in return she got a loyal and powerful spy/pair of eyes in the Pale court.
73 notes
·
View notes
Text
To seek freedom
ectoberhaunt2023
day 10- occultism
TW- mind control
summary- The Justice League is trying everything they can to free Danny.
ao3
ectoberhaunt2023 masterlist
Part 2 of ITR
The Red is like a river. Sometimes it is gentle, lulling; other times it is rushes by underwater currents dragging him under to drown.
Sometimes it feels like there is someone on the shore shouting at him, but then the water fills his ears and his head dips under its currents.
Only faint echoes breach the Red around his mind. Feeling, thoughts, sometimes pain it all becomes muddled and if Danny spends too long trying to puzzle it out the Red becomes violent pulling him under to drown.
It’s best to let him lull him to sleep. To be a memory in his own body. It’s safer that way
It had been two weeks and the Justice League was finding out that they are unprepared to face down whatever Danny was. The cultist had claimed he was a ghost, but Danny’s medical file showed he had the signs of a living human. Of course, there was always the possibility that it was faked. But Deadman, the ghost who worked for the JLD, was invisible and intangible. Danny wasn’t.
When Batman had questioned Constantine the man had shrugged and said all he knew was that Danny came from a long line of occultists and that he wasn’t supposed to be this powerful.
Did the artifact give him the power? But if so, why didn’t the occultist use it on himself?
Batman went over his file again and had to clench his teeth at the lack of information. He’d have to give the JLD another presentation about proper background checks.
Name: Daniel Nightingale
Family: UnknownPrevious employment: Nasty Burger cashier
Magical ability: can sense spirits and magical artifacts, can see some mid-level spirits
Batman frowned.
He’d already tried looking into what Danny could have meant by ‘Manson.’ But there were no conclusive answers on that front either. It was most likely a person, but it could also be a place or an object.
He’d already looked up the name Manson and there were a lot of results. And without more information on Danny it was impossible to tell if he had any connection with any of them. And when Bruce searched for any mention of Danny in the information he’d compiled about the most likely Manson he also came up blank.
He was about to run the search again, or at least try and narrow down the list of options when his communicator rang.
Danny had been spotted robbing a bank.
---------------------
Batman, Superman, Flash and Green Lantern made it first with Constaninte saying he was on his way.
Bruce arrived just in time to see Superman crash onto the street. Danny floated above the street, his eyes glowing red. His clothes were ragged and his face was gaunt.
It was obvious the cultist hadn’t allowed him to eat or rest. If they didn’t capture him soon, Danny might die.
At least he had proven himself resilient in past fights, taking hits that would have knocked Superman down.
“Green Lantern” Bruce spoke into his comm, “distract him until you can get him cornered, then Superman, I need you to try and knock him out.” According to their past interactions, Danny struggled to go intangible through Hal’s constructs but it should hold him for a while. If they could distract him long enough then knock him out, they might be able to end this quickly without hurting Danny too much.
They all gave confirmation and Hal flew up and swung a giant bat at Danny who ducked down. This continued as Hal attacked with several different constructs.
Hal had just made contact and trapped Danny in a cage. Danny had started to try to push through when Hall suddenly dropped it and Superman rushed forward and landed a punch that slammed Danny into the ground.
They had almost reached him when Danny’s eyes opened and for a moment they were blue before they flickered back to red. Bruce threw a tracker in his direction, but Danny went intangible and sunk through the ground.
#ectoberhaunt23#ectoberhaunt#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#bruce wayne#clark kent#superman#green lantern#hal jordan#day 10#eh magic#occultism#dp x dc#dp x dc fanfic#cult#mind control#in the red
108 notes
·
View notes
Text
Keep a water nearby, because this latest section of Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic is sure to give you cottonmouth and make you thirsty!
Warnings for this section: Cannabis (weed), sexual themes
-
Absolute Smokeshow (Part 14 of ?): Take Charge
“Oh wow,” you breathe, tissue paper surrounding you, a box and a bag at your feet, “Is this-?”
You weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting Rhea’s present for you to be. Maybe jewelry, or wrestling merch; you could see her getting you a “she’s my Mami” shirt and smirking about it. But once you took the tissue paper out of the gift bag, the box inside had no logo, no writing - not a single indication of what you were about to open. There was no need to put a shirt in a box AND a bag, and the volume of the box didn’t speak to jewelry. Carefully pulling out the opening flap of the box, you let the objects inside - each in its own cloth drawstring bag - slide out and fall onto the table.
“Because there wasn’t enough packaging already?” you mutter, opening the smallest one first: a charging cable. After raising an eyebrow at Rhea, you continue to the next bag: a small remote, no words written on it, and very vague arrow symbols on the buttons. At this point, you were worried the rest of the gift would be one other seemingly random thing you had no idea what to do with. Finally turning your attention to the largest, heaviest bag, you open it and pull out-
“A vibrator?” you blush, holding the oddly-shaped pink toy.
“Not just a vibrator,” Rhea insisted, “a remote-controlled vibrator, with thrust options, and” - she pulled out her phone, tapped a few things, and showed you the screen - “I can control it on an app no matter where I am, or where you are.”
“Fuck that’s hot,” you say, making her laugh. Thrust and vibrate? Controlled by Rhea? You ached with want at the possibilities.
“Thought it might help when I’m on the road,” she explained, “We can do a video call and I can watch you come under my control.”
The thought sent shivers through your body, making you bite your lip.
“Thank you so much, Mami,” you say, setting down the items and pulling Rhea’s face into a kiss.
“Of course,” she smiles, “only the best for my good girl. Now let’s let that charge, hm?”
Nodding - turned on and thrilled at being called hers - you plug the charger into an outlet and connect it to the vibrator. A light at the base flashes, letting you know it was charging. It couldn’t charge fast enough, you thought to yourself.
As eager as you were to try out the toy, the overall feeling underneath the lust was relief; Rhea still wanted you, even when you were apart. This gift also let you know that whatever the two of you were, it wasn’t coming to an end anytime soon. She must care about you to some degree, right?
Placing the box and tissue paper back in the gift bag, you sit back down on the couch.
Looking down the neck of the bong, you see the ice cube hasn’t melted much. Then you get an idea.
“You know, now that you can take hits of your own, we could play a game to get us really baked,” you suggest.
“You need a game for that?” Rhea joked, “Being a stoner is a lot more work than I thought!”
After sticking your tongue out at her, you continue, “We could play “Never Have I Ever,” but with weed instead of drinks.”
She considered this for a moment, grimacing for a second at what was no doubt a memory of playing the same game, but with too much alcohol.
“Sure,” she finally agreed, “that’s got to be better than doing it with drinks. Go ahead and start us off.”
You were prepared.
“Never have I ever beat someone up,” you look at Rhea pointedly as she gives you a look.
“Too easy!” she protests.
“Hey, if you’re worried I’m gonna win…” you tease.
Rhea huffs in a somewhat exaggerated way before taking a hit.
“My turn,” she says, exhaling smoke, “Never have I ever… had sex with more than one woman my entire life.”
You weren’t expecting that one. You were the only woman she’d slept with? None before or since? It was difficult not to feel flattered, not to mention lucky. You take the hit smoothly, a satisfied grin on your face.
“Never have I ever,” you continue, “…had my face on a t-shirt.”
“Those shirts sell really well!” Rhea said, feigning defensiveness before smiling and taking a hit. She coughed it out, taking a sip of water before she kept going.
“Never have I ever… begged to be allowed to come,” she said, the seductive tinge in her voice affecting you immediately.
You could feel the want in your breasts, radiating through your body, longing for her touch as you remembered sitting on the counter with her mouth on you. Her eyes never left you as you took the hit. You glanced over at the flashing light of the vibrator. It couldn’t charge anywhere near quickly enough.
[end part fourteen of ?]
Part 15: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/724674001363959808/absolute-smokeshow-part-15-of-toy-with-me
-
Tag List (thank you!)
@cherryberryshine , @littlemiss-fanficlover , @elisewithak
#wwe fanfiction#the judgement day#rhea ripley#rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley x dominik mysterio#lady!reader#weed#stoner themes#specialinterestshows presents#absolute smokeshow#if you’re reading this it’s HYDRATE
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
I want playful omo. A game where we challenge and tease each other. We both hydrate and drink a set starting amount, or did one of us drink an extra 100ml?
“Aw, can't handle a little more?” you goad me on.
Is it a ploy? Are we really drinking more?
“You know I can,” I shoot back.
We both know we’re going to do it, because we love the feeling and it’s so much more fun when there’s two of us. (Three or four, even?)
Errands to run? We better keep sipping. Be subtle in public now and don’t stop sending details. Ah, it’s getting bad? Then the one who didn’t have to go out needs to drink another glass or two to compensate, wouldn’t you agree? A diuretic, you say? Okay!
You’re at a 7?
I should be too.
You can’t stop squirming? You’re so desperate you need to hold yourself?
Well, I best catch up. Neither of us stop updating each other. I really hope you’re not toying with me and leaving me bursting. I want you there with me.
“How about another 500ml?”
What a strained voice, but oh so eager. We’re both grinning, blushing. We’re getting what we want.
“I’ll stop when you do.”
Such a pretty gasp and groan. The water feels good going down, steadily forcing more liquid into our swollen bladders. I want to know how bloated and stretched you are. I want to hear the whine in your text. You’ll get the same in return, I promise. Let’s keep teasing each other. But it’s all good-natured. I want us to have a fun time.
Listen to rain. Watch water vids or GIFs. Take a drink every time one of us reacts to them.
Someone inevitably spurts. Maybe we both do. Maybe you’re leaking on purpose or is it me? The pressure has to be enormous. We drank so much in so little time or have been holding all day. What did those hot droplets dribbling out feel like? Whose wet patch is bigger? I hope we’re in private.
You’re so full it hurts? Wait, it’s me? I don’t want you to hurt unless you want to. Why don’t we let a short stream out into a cup or towel (whatever we desire, really)? Pee for a set amount of seconds. Take the aching edge off so we can hit 10 together.
Describe how desperate you are--I will right along with you--how your bladder can’t take much more, how you’re shivering and whimpering and clutching yourself. Are you exaggerating just to make me piss myself? Make me leak over and over until I give in and gush. I’ll describe the streams running down my legs if you do. Are you measuring? Did you pee into something else?
We have so many options.
Should there be a prize? If one of us loses it first, does the winner get to use the toilet? Are we trying to fill to bursting and wet as many times as possible? Hmm, maybe it’s better to change clothes and keep going…
The possibilities are endless. Add more challenges, obstacles, or objectives. I’m game.
Want to play?
#omorashi#omorashi game#bladder control#full bladder#pee holding#I don't want hard D/s omo or control at the moment I want this#two people desperate to pee and having fun with it#raine-omo-original
181 notes
·
View notes
Text
In search of compostable clothing closures
Making clothes that are 97% biodegradable is surprisingly easy. Pick a natural fibre fabric, buy some 100% cotton or linen thread, and you're there. (You can even get 100% cotton overlocker thread - though you have to go searching for it.)
Those last few percent, though? That can be tough. One of the biggest offenders is closures. While there are plenty of clothes that don't need something to hold them shut, I confess I like having the option. Below is a round-up of various closures, and their compostability.
Note: for the purpose of this article, I'm treating metal closures as "compostable", in the sense that they're 1) easy to remove before you compost the rest of the object, and 2) infinitely reusable on other things, unless they break - at which point they're usually recyclable using our current commercial systems. And remember, re-using things that already exist is always preferable to buying new, "better" items.
Buckles/Rings
While less common than other closure methods, I find buckles, D-rings and O-rings are great when used in the right context. They're usually metal or plastic, neither of which are compostable - but metal will last practically forever, if it's good quality. Plastic tends to degrade over time, especially if exposed to the sun.
I find rings especially quick and easy to use, and a set of D-rings can give a very fine-tuned amount of tightening. My favourite belt uses two square D-rings instead of a buckle closure.
Buttons
The humble button, while ubiquitous now, took a while to catch on. Buttons as a common method of closure didn't become popular in Europe* until about the early 1300s, around the same time that the tailoring revolution[^] happened.
Nowadays, plastic is by far the most common material that buttons are made from. It's cheap and sturdy, but obviously it doesn't compost. So what are some alternatives?
Liz Haywood, a pattern maker who focuses on zero-waste designs, has thought a bit about this conundrum here. There's photos of several different DIY compostable and recycled buttons in her post.
For a completely compostable garment, wood, leather, horn, fabric, and thread buttons are your best bet. If, like most sensible people, you remove the buttons from something that's about to be worm food before you ditch it, the options expand considerably - metal, clay, recycled bottle caps, even glass buttons are all possible. You can have a lot of fun with making your own buttons - to match an outfit, or contrast with it, or maybe you'd like a different button for every buttonhole...
Another, related option is cufflinks - 18th century shirts often used cufflinks on the sleeves and one or two small thread buttons on the collar. That way one set of cufflinks could be used on multiple shirts, showing off a bit of wealth, while saving them from the (admittedly harsh) laundry practices of the day.
[*]: I have no doubt that buttons became popular in other parts of the world, too, but unfortunately I don't know much about it. Europe in the 14-15th century is my main area of study, mostly due to the fact that the historical re-enactment group that I'm a part of operates in that time period.
[^]: The tailoring revolution refers to the period where garments for the higher classes underwent a dramatic change in the way they were cut out. The very short version is, fashion garments shifted from primarily rectangular construction to more form-fitting, using the precursors of many standard cutting practices used today.
Elastic
While elastic isn't technically a closure, it's used that way in many different objects. Most elastic nowadays is made from polyester and synthetic rubber. No composting there.
But, all is not lost! You can now find elastics made of natural rubber and cotton! (I was quite impressed by this, to be honest. I thought I'd have to give up elastic for good.)
The downside, as is usual when you actually give a crap about the planet, is cost. You'll mostly only find it for sale online (Etsy has several options), and it can be more expensive (especially factoring in shipping). Prices on the compostable elastics I found were comparable to a mid-range polyester elastic at Spotlight (before shipping). I think that's actually pretty good, all things considered. (I don't trust the cheapest elastic, it loses its stretch ridiculously fast. A fact I discovered to my sorrow only after buying a 20m roll of it.)
As a bonus, supposedly natural rubber elastic lasts longer than synthetic elastics - this has been my experience with many natural vs synthetic things, but I haven't tested natural elastic specifically to know for sure.
The biggest downside here is the rubber - if you're dealing with a latex allergy, this is not the solution for you.
Hooks and Eyes
While these have fallen out of favour over the years, they do have their uses in a compostable closet. They're easy to buy, and easy to make if you can get hold of the wire - all you need is a set of needle-nose pliers.
Being metal, the hook/eye can be re-used until it breaks - which takes a while. Like buttons, they're easy to take off a garment and move to another one. Unlike buttons, they don't need a buttonhole - you can move both the hook and eye almost anywhere on a garment, really refining the fit of an item.
They are, however, somewhat limited in that application - hooks and eyes work best if they're under a small but constant amount of tension, pulling in opposite directions. I once tried to use hooks and eyes on a loose-fitting medieval tunic, and it just didn't work.
Laces and Ties
Before buttons became The Big Thing in medieval Europe (and for quite a few centuries after), laces and ties were the closure method du jour. Why did they stick around so long? The same reason pyjama pants often have a drawstring in them - they add adjustability to garments in a simple and easy to use (and create!) way. Stays and corsets are one of the most recognisable examples of this concept in action.
Lacing does work better on some things than others, but just about anywhere that you'd put elastic nowadays can likely use a drawstring instead. And there are some patterns (YouTube link) for adjustable garments that use lacing as an integral part of the design.
The main downside for me? They can be slow to use, and awkward, if you have difficulty with fine motor control. Mine is variable enough that I'll usually opt for a different closure, unless lacing or ties really is the best or only option.
Snaps
Confession: I adore snaps. They're fast and easy to use when my hands don't want to co-operate, and they can be wonderfully decorative as well as functional.
There are two general types - those you sew into place like you sew on hooks and eyes, and ones that are applied to the fabric using a press. The former takes more time to install, but can be replaced relatively easily if they stop working. The latter can technically be replaced, but it's a LOT harder and you risk damaging the fabric behind it while you try. They're also more likely to rip out of the fabric in the first place.
As for material, it's pretty much just metal and plastic (sometimes a combination). From a sustainability standpoint, metal is the better option - as long as you recycle it at the end of its life.
Zips
Zips are everywhere nowadays. They're easy to use, but can be hard to replace when they break. Putting them in correctly isn't always a cake-walk either. And in terms of compostability, the answer is definitely "no".
The vast majority of zippers on the market use a polyester or poly-cotton tape, with plastic or metal teeth set into it, and plastic or metal tabs and pulls. Because of the mix of materials, and the size of a typical zip, most municipal waste streams can't take them for recycling. However, textile recyclers` such as Upparel usually take zips (and the things they're attached to!).
I also found a couple of different manufacturers creating zips out of post-consumer recycled materials - a pleasant surprise, and a strong move towards closing waste streams.
[`]: Clothing retailers are increasingly taking responsibility for their part in reducing waste by offering recycling programs through their stores. Recycling Near You and Frankie list some of the major programs in Australia, though it's worth noting that most of those listed only want whole textiles or large pieces - to my knowledge, Upparel is the only place that will take scraps, broken textiles, and related.
If I've missed a closure type, or you know of places selling compostable or truly recyclable versions of any of the above, I would love to hear about it. While I'm (currently) a far less prolific sewist than the blog name implies, I want to be deliberate and thoughtful in my sewing choices going forward.
Also, as a last random thought, I wonder if anyone has started making bioplastic versions of any of the above? *Wanders off to do some research...*
Originally published at my blog: https://garaksapprentice.blogspot.com/2023/09/in-search-of-compostable-closures.html
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Safeshiptember Day 2: Masquerade
Title: The night the Deer wished for a kiss from the Sun
Characters: Claude von Riegan, Helios (S/I)
Words: 1.9k
AO3 link: hehe I'm the link
Summary:
The mission was simple: if your possible future enemies invited you to a masquerade, you shall not go alone and only try your best at making it a useful night. War would start at any moment, that was a fact the monastery had witnessed already. So with perfect masks and Claude's plan, both Helios and him would play the nobles' game to try get some secret cards for the Golder Deer.
Without, of course, getting too caught up in intense feelings, right...?
“Are you sure you don’t want to choose someone else for this?” Helios asked, a bit hesitant to follow the plan. Yes, maybe wearing a suit was a rare yet gratifying sight but, to a masquerade full of nobles in disguise? That certainly sounded a bit too out of reach for someone who had grown up in the forests of Ordelia territory. Still, as they always did with their mischievous leader, they trusted his decisions. And they really wanted to continue doing so, but seeing Claude approaching them with a special mask made for the occasion… Oh, feeling out of place never seemed so probable. “Lorenz knows more about ballroom dancing, doesn’t he?”
“Do you want me to risk being scolded during the whole masquerade?” Claude joked and chuckled at his own words. He was wearing a gold deer mask already, its prominent horns reminding Helios of the strongest trees. “You are my greatest option, trust me. Plus, it’ll be fun,” he winked under his elegant disguise. “Let me help you with this.”
Helios only nodded. They had noticed the yellow mask Claude was holding so they waited in silence for him to do as he planned. When he got close enough, his fingers hid Helios’ long bangs behind their ears, right where the pink part of their darkish short hair started. And he gifted himself some time there; fixing some hairs that didn’t need to be fixed, quietly putting the mask in its place as if the littlest bit of rush could make the object break apart. It’s not like Helios noticed how he used it as an excuse to stand closer either way: they were too absorbed analyzing Claude’s clothing to even consider it.
Compared to their suit, Claude’s formal attire didn’t even seem from Fódlan. Did he secretly change it and didn’t wish for Lorenz to go because of that? The differences between their jackets, his thicker belt around his waist…
Well, it’s not like Helios knew much about nobility etiquette and stuff like that. Perhaps what they would call gracious would be a crime against fashion in Hilda’s eyes. With that thought in mind, they refrained from speaking a word about it and only then noticed the weight of the mask covering their features.
“How is it?” As soon as Helios asked, Caude’s hands went back to himself in a swift movement. “To be honest, I didn’t even check what the mask is of.”
Claude gladly answered with a gesture. He held their shoulders to turn Helios around, who had to blink twice at the new view. Out of the blue, only a deer and a sun existed in that room of light candles. Night was already embracing them, yet the sun design of Helios’ mask looked as bright as the star itself. Especially in Claude’s eyes.
Helios’ mouth opened in surprise. Maybe it was then, seeing their reflections on that mirror, that they realized Claude really wanted them for this mission. And Helios would do anything for their leader’s decisions.
“See? It’s perfect for you,” he spoke, his warm hands still holding Helios. However, their eyes went somewhere else for a second. They couldn’t afford to fluster when they needed to focus on the plan ahead.
“Aren’t we supposed to hide under these, though? Why did you choose a golden deer mask? That’s quite….”
“Obvious?” he guessed the word, at which Helios hummed in affirmation. “That’s what they’ll also think. And sometimes, my dear Sun, becoming an easy target can be the crucial step to get the information we need.”
The unexpected nickname had an effect on Helios’ heartbeat. No, it was both that and the reflection on the mirror. Claude had gotten closer and closer as he spoke, his head menacing to rest on theirs now. They could follow the silhouette of his curls behind the mask and those green eyes that could shine though any ornament. A sigh escaped from their lips before Claude’s voice filled their heart with determination once more:
“Let’s go, Helios.”
Garreg Mach was as destroyed as ever. That may not have been the most accurate description as it came from someone who had barely spent two months there, but Claude could agree on it. The prediction of an inexorable war was written all over its broken windows and falling walls. Nevertheless, even in the middle of the political and material chaos, nobles had decided to hold a masquerade in the center of Fódlan. As if it were a goodbye letter to peace, a last opportunity to see others before circumstances obliged you to finish them off in the battlefield. Helios would never understand them, but they were smart enough to play along.
When the ballroom opened in front of them, Helios unconsciously straightened their back. By their side, Claude gave a quick look to everyone around them before deciding where to head first. There were quite a lot of guests, yet very few of them had chosen to leave their guards down and enjoy the music in what could be considered the dance floor. Helios followed Claude’s fast steps towards one of the tables. The food displayed on it seemed to have caught his attention, but just a moment later he was found analyzing the space again. There were masks Helios couldn’t decipher, just like Claude’s intentions.
They nudged him and Claude couldn’t help but smile when he saw the arm he was being offered.
“What? Want me all for yourself?” he whispered, his lips teasing in a smirk.
“I just don’t want you to disappear on me.”
“Even in the rare situation that something were to happen, I’m strong to get through it, you know?”
“Yeah, and we were asked to come unarmed while witnessing the start of a war with strangers whose skirts can hide plenty of dagues,” Helios replied, gazing upon the small groups of two or three people around the room. Everyone avoided being alone. “I have my reasons to worry, Deer.”
That sole argument seemed to have been enough: Claude’s mouth was shut once more. However, right when the musicians started to play a new song, he pulled his companion’s arm to bring them to the dance floor.
“Those blue and grey masks,” he pointed out in a whisper, declaring the action had just started.
The person behind the grey mask was taller than their dance partner. Although both face masks looked pretty bland, the blue one had some splashes of paint that could try to simulate explosions. Their sudden presence on the dance floor could have been a warning. When Claude held Helios’ hand to guide their steps, they returned the gesture by holding his a bit tighter.
They had talked about this phase before: prying could be considered one of Claude’s strong points while Helios’ main focus would be to maintain safety and not to attract too much attention. An enviable duo, but others would have their own strategies, too. They had barely looked at each other when the targets started to walk towards one of the balconies.
No words were needed to adapt to this. Helios was suddenly going along with the spins Claude began as they slowly stepped out of the dance floor. While he guided them, Helios kept staring at the floor in an attempt to make sure they wouldn’t mess things up at this point. That’s why they didn’t see it coming when Claude pinned them against a wall.
“Clau–”
“Shh,” he hushed, eyes looking behind them. The access to the balcony was by their left, but he could also see those two dancers through the window by their right. Not Helios, though. Their peripheral vision was blocked by Claude’s arm. He hoped the broken glass of that huge window would help him get the gist of the others’ conversation.
So Helios just stayed there. Quietly, standing as calm as they could with Claude’s arm brushing their cheek and the shadow of his mask’s horns crowning their head.
They swallowed saliva. The mission had not ended yet.
Thus they tried to focus on their security again. That was Helios’ main priority, after all. All their attention went to other people’s gazes and movements, leaving none for whatever the targets were up to. They trusted Claude to take care of that.
Even though the only candelabra lamp light’s didn’t reach them as well in comparison to the rest of the ballroom, two figures suddenly put their attention on them and started to walk their way. Caude’s chin was up as the gears in his brain worked to confirm his hypothesis. Helios had to act quickly and on their own.
Without giving it a second thought, they grabbed Claude by the waist and pulled him towards them with one hand. They heard a low gasp coming from him as they pried over his shoulder. The possible intruders had decided to walk somewhere else and Claude’s warmth was so, so close.
Minutes went by and Helios did not loosen their grip.
“Claude? Did you find out anything useful?” they softly whispered, still in place. No answer was heard. They waited a bit in case the targets’ conversation was still going. “Claude…?” they repeated after a moment of silence, lowering even more the volume of their voice.
Still no answer. So Helios decided to move back a little, the little they could in that position between the wall and their leader's body. When they looked up at Claude, they found his green eyes staring back at them. He quickly looked back to the balcony, yet Helios stared a bit longer with confusion on their face. Both golden deers’ cheeks were getting warmer.
“Yes, uhm,” Claude rushed to speak again. “I don’t think the Kingdom will refuse to cooperate with us. Sounds like I can make a good use of some of their interests to convince them to work towards a common goal.”
“Good.” Interpreting those words as the mission ending, their hand left Claude’s waist and their shoulders relaxed a bit. However, he did not move an inch. He actually complained on the spot.
“Don’t–”, his voice went down when he continued. “Don’t let go just yet…”
“Huh?” the sound left Helios’ mouth in a breathe. And their hand, guided more by their heart than by their brain, slowly went its way up to Claude’s waist once more. They started to doubt if they had heard correctly. Was it, for some reason, another decision for the greater good of the whole masquerade plan? Or was it something he longed for behind the mission’s facade?
The feeling of Claude’s head on theirs dissipated Helios’ questions. The Sun bearer heard him sigh as his body melted a little on top of theirs. His big mask seemed to be no obstacle when he wanted to rest like that so badly.
“Are… Are you feeling alright?” they genuinely asked, trying their best to contain the fluttering feeling that refused to go away.
“Yes, I am.” Claude could feel words piling up in his throat until none of them could get out of that cave. Just as if there was no space for all those feelings inside of him, because they could not escape from his head and much less from his mouth. Music was still playing but his thoughts couldn’t dance to it right now. There was only one sentence his labyrinth of a heart managed to get out: “I’ve never been better.”
#aAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YOU CANT IMAGINE HOW EMBARRASSED I AM OF THIS ONE#but I have enjoyed this so much#f/o community#self ship community#self shipping#self ship#f/o#selfship#all i write is about you#safeshiptember#safeshiptember 2023#the brainrot is real guys#self shipping blog#self insert#words from me to you
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Took long enough but I finally made Usagi!!
Couldn’t decide what kinda clothing would look better in this version, so I did more than one
He also got those cool mystic swords but unfortunately they are broken, ops
Okay, so, headcanons ahead:
Since rise is really creative with it’s characters, I wanted a new creative introduction for Usagi this time, maybe more of a backstory when compared to his 2003/2012 self.
I also wanted to do something he would hate for conflict dksalfjsa
So here it goes
Born a Yokai to a important family that serves the Council of Heads for centuries
Is expected that he, too, would be one of their agents or guards
But Usagi was kind of a rebel and didn’t like that
He followed the rules just enough to not get in trouble, but it didn’t take long for his attitude to put him in a tight spot
Maybe he was caught doing things he shouldn’t, or maybe he was framed for things he didn’t do. Probably both but don’t know what he did exactly
The Council was furious. He was convicted as a criminal and later, one of the city's most wanted fugitives
Part of his punishment was being used as a test subjct with an experimental liquid the Council was making
Usagi wasn’t told what that liquid would, or could do, nor about the intentions the Council had in using it
The result: He was cursed to transform into... a rabbit. A normal one.
Yes I just did that just for plot and because I think he would hate it more than an actual felony sentence lol
Only the same liquid could turn him back, and he would never have the chance, as the other part of his sentence was: perpetual imprisonment. Yay!
Shenanigans happens, he manages to escape
But he’s still a bunny and still a fugitive
While he was being chased, he managed to flee as far away as possible, to the least unlikely place they would look for him, the surface.
Of course they wouldn't risk it, right?
Wrong
With guards disguised with cloaking broches looking for him at all times, he was accidentally found by a human child, who found him ‘far too cute' and so he was kidnapped adopted
A Lilo & Stitch situation ensues, where he takes the opportunity to escape his pursuers
At first, only using the child for his benefit, little by little he realizes that the chances of him returning to his old life are almost none, he starts to get used to the life of a pet, regrettably, of course.
Years later, still having the habit of running away and doing anything he feels like doing, Usagi senses the familiar aura of mystical objects. Weapons, powerful ones
He discovers four strange turtles, neither yokai nor humans
Thinks it has something to do with the liquid they used on him, or "ooze" as they called it
Sooner or later he would accidentally attract their attention, and his owner, who always goes after him when he runs away would too come to find him adn the turtles. After some akward first meeting and finding out more about them and about mutants, he thinks that the best option for him is to stay close to these beings, as strange as they are.
With a friendship forming between the turtles and his owner, it didn’t take long for them to become one of the oozequito’s victims.
Thankfully, Usagi bravely saves them from becoming a mutant by... eating... the... insect
Half an hour later, there's a mutant/rabbit yokai in Donnie's lab, and a lot of explaining to do.
Maybe I’ll post more about his personality, but later, now I tired kdsak
Also will soon post about his ‘’owner’’ who is my recently revamped oc!! Yes I sorry if you think that’s cringe but I still doing it lol
it’s the only way I found to connect some plot points I sorry but bear with me I’ll explain it in the future promise
#rottmnt#tmnt#rise of the tmnt#save rottmnt#rottmnt fanart#rottmnt headcanons#tmnt usagi#rottmnt usagi#continuing my plans for a fan season 3#didnt do as many drawings for him like with jenny#ops sorry#my art
96 notes
·
View notes
Text
The WaterFireGod
Hi y'all!,
welcome to the second story of the "10-Things-Challenge".
First I´ll show you my hunt again, for them 10 new things. I basicly post here the notes I took while looking for prey, so you guys can have an idea about my decession-making (just leave out unnecessary stuff). I did that search a few days ago, on 28th march.
This time I started at tumblr, again picking a tag: #4to3 conversion.
Then tumblr wanted to show me "The best blogs about 4to3 conversion", why not.
First entry is from the creator Ilvan, haven´t been on this site before. A lot of outdoor-stuff again, like yesterday, I love outdoor-stuff!:
1) Fountain Objects, from Ilvan on MTS
That Animations of them water-walls look really awsome.
Not sure yet if the next scenery will be outdoor, it´s still possible that I will do something like yesterday and put outdoor-stuff inside a room.
Next thing in my timeline:
2) Monkey Bars, also from Ilvan
So that settles it, the next 10 things will be put in the garden. I´ll take the monkey-bar-version that has some ivy / vine on it, they are a lovely idea!
Next station is the site of azzazz03
There are some reblogs - and I´m lucky again, this table will just look great in the garden:
3) Coffeetable "cold stone", from @bast-sims .
That table is part of this awsome glam-vintage-set that I already downloaded months ago, but was not able to use yet, because all I did the whole winter was - right, sorting mods, I mentioned that already, I know…
Meanwhile I´m already back in July 2023 within my timeline, all the older entrys are familiar to me already, so again I follow some recommendation from tumblr:
rooshroom
https://rooshroomttv.tumblr.com
has rebloged the set
4) "Nostalgia Living", from @bioniczombie
It includes
HiFiSystem,
TV + TV Remote,
VHS Tape,
Wall Outlet (Steckdose) + Powerstrip (Mehrfachsteckerleiste),
Cablebox (Kabeldose - ich denke für TV?),
VCR - Video Cassette Recording,
StandingFan + TableFan,
Vintage Rug
(Sometimes I write down some words in my mothertongue in breaks, you can just ignore that.)
So, since I´m in the garden this time, this Wall Outlet + Powerstrip are very helpfull, in order to "use" electronics outside ;-) . And it makes no sense to put some fans outside, there is already some air in the garden ;-). Also a carpet doesn´t fit, if there´s any textiles on the ground, it might be towels or something like that. That leaves the electronics from this set.
*Counting-time*: Until now, I have
1-3 fountain objects
1 sport-object
1 table
1 Wall Outlet AND/OR 1 Powerstrip, not sure yet
1 (or) more electronic item
That makes 5-8 objects, so I have to continue searching - good, I´m not ready yet to quit the hunt, it´s to much fun!
Why not stay at bioniczombie ?, there are the options
Sims 3 Downloads,
and
Sims4to3-Downloads
that I can pick from.
My starting-tag today was #4to3 conversion, so why not stick to that - I pick "Sims4to3-Downloads".
Oh, that is sortet by the Sims 4 packs. Thats awsome, cause I never played that game and have no Idea about the content - why not just click on the first entry?, thats an
5) Expansion Pack, called "Get To Work"
I don´t believe this!, that is PLANTS!! It could not fit better with this garden-things of todays challenge!
Because of the name of the set I expected something work-relatet, like a boring-looking-briefcase (Aktenkoffer), a very-important-looking business-outfit, or some very-serious-looking-glasses, stuff like that. What I get instead is ALIEN plants, thats pretty much the opposite of boring-real-life-stuff!
But - I could have used work-relatet stuff too, for a story:
By littering the ground with it, plus a garden-chair (canvas chair?, Liegestuhl) and some clothes laying on the ground.
(always keep in mind the 5 "wild objects" I add at the end).
STORY-ALERT
So for example a guy just came home from work at the office and gets rid of everything he´s carrying, just drops it right there in the garden, and jumps in the watertub.
Yes… I could use this idea in any case, actually. This way the TV of the nostalgica-set would fit in just nice:
He´s sitting in the watertub and watching -
OK, what is he actually watching? Some pron, or stock prices? Or both, in that order! Yeah. Both. Of course. What a cliche :-D - buuut this idea would work.
So maybe this time no sim will die?
Who knows… After all, these are alien plants, so you-don´t-know-where-its-been!
This idea gives me some great Donald-Sutherland-vibes :-D
@bioniczombie says about them:
"They don´t change with the seasons"
I wouldn´t expect them to, cause they are ALIEN, who knows how they function and all. Maybe they can not be touched. Their surface might be kinda imune to human-gravity+stuff-like-that.
I can´t wait to put some alien plants into a garden :-D !
HUNT IS OVER for this time.
The screenshots I´ll put again in the next blog-post.
Will take a moment, I still have some last-changes to do.
#sims 10-things-challenge#sims3 challenge#sims 3 screenshots#sims 3 build#sims 3 interior#sims 3 scenery#sims 3 stories#sims 3 aliens#sims3 cc - or is that hashtag for creatores only?!
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hihi! Hope you are doing well! Was wondering how did you start learning tarot and if you have any tips for those who want to start? Also, I was wondering if only spiritual people can do tarot (as in those who with clair senses and are more intuitive/connected to their spirit guides?)
Just a regular degular person with no spiritual gifts lol so would it still be possible to do readings? Hope I'm making sense teehe. Thanks!
HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
Well, I started learning Tarot like 3 (4?) years ago. I was bored, I had curiosity and just followed the white rabbit hashas.
"I was wondering if only spiritual people can do tarot"
Absolutely. ANYONE can learn and interpret Tarot. ANYONE. Being intuitive makes some steps easier (not all) but you don't need a "gift" or "witch heritage" to read. All you need is volition, curiosity for study... and probably a deck ahsahsa.
"if you have any tips for those who want to start?"
Mmmmmmm, I think the first step must be studying about "what is Tarot?" and along it the history of tarot decks and cartomancy. From the firsts decks to the modern ones.
(Here's an AMAZING WEBSITE)
There are many MANY FUCKING MANY myths and nonsense about the cards and the practice. BOY, OH BOY! And the best way to learn tarot without the hardous work of correcting all those mistakes is being critical from the begining.
For example: One popular myth is "Tarot was born in Egypt, and has the secret knowledge of God Thoth". The truth is that if we check, Tarot was actually born in Middle Age - Renaissance Italy. And it has common catholic and moral knowledge, instead of the mysterious and arcane egypth thing that many occulstists believed (I think Eliphas Levi was the one that started that myth).
Another very important reason to study the history is because tarot cards aren't a mystical object only bound to divine rules. It's a human creation and as all human creations, it's prone to errors and mistakes. The history of the cards is a chinese whispers one hashahs. With every new deck of cards that was printed, sometimes a line in the wrong place, a stain of the wrong color and confusing shapes mixed with some ignorance and self agendas have distorted what was originally depicted in the cards.
I have a post about this and the perfect example that Wheel of Fortune is (somewhere in my blog) hashas.
If you understand what the allegory in the card represents, you will never need a meanings list.
Some other tips:
Don't bite more than you can chew. Have patience, go slowl but focused.
In the name of shit don't put "beatiful art" above "usefulness" ahshas. An amazing deck that you can't read is one that you will never use.
All the "you need to clean your deck", "have a candle and water" or a "cloth of ____ color" and shit like that are all optional. You can read on your bed eating cheetos if you want.
Try to clear your mind before every reading. Relax your mind, you don't want noise inside (and outside) your head to interfere with your reading.
Look for a study group. Part of studying the history is to connect with all the people that were before you in the same path. The old traditions, the advices, the mistakes, their embarrassing secrets ahsahdah. All that good shit. I know some good groups in Facebook but if you can find a group in real life even fucking better.
THE INTUITION. This one goes along the last point and what you asked. The "intuition" is less helpful that people think, mostly because it's very dificult to master and incredibly easy to confuse with desires and prejudices. For example, if a middle class white woman has always a "bad feeling" about black men in the streets, you wouldn't call that "intuition", would you? It's helpful, but if you read what is IN THE CARDS with a clear mind and strong knowledge you will be fine.
Always, ALWAYS, ALWAYS ask yourself
why?
Why someone reads the way they do? Why this shit symbolizes this? Why this card is the way it is?
A FUCKING LOT is lost in tradition without brain. Repeating stuff over and over with no good reason. Always try to learn the why of shit.
And always have respect with whoever you read. Tarot cards are that: Cards. Nothing more than cardboard illustrations. The art of cartomancy is one that cannot be explain in rational ways (that's its wonder), so rational thinking and advice always goes first (the prime example, health readings). Never hold the messages to unbreakable rules. Neither the bad nor the good, neither for your clients nor for you.
I HOPE IT HELPS YOU!! <3 <3
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
pinky-the-elephant-room
Welcome!
pemburu94
suka tudung
suetone125
Sans titre
spy-mel
Mel
ardimatika
Ardimatika