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desert [1.3k] (ao3) Part of the Shameless series!

Sweat gathers in the hollow of Dean’s throat, collecting in a pool that feels like it could boil given enough time. Castiel’s hands on him doesn’t help matters, nor does the fact that Castiel refuses to let him undress, his jeans still stubbornly clinging to his thighs, his shirt rucked up around his midsection, his flannel pushed up to his elbows. The sun beats down, casting the desert air in a haze, baking everything it touches. Namely, Dean’s throat, and the hand wrapped around his cock, each lazy, precome and sweat-soaked stroke sending shivers rippling all the way to his toes. “Fuck,” he groans, and against his throat, Castiel smirks and continues peppering heated kisses. Castiel tugs him closer, his bare ass propped up against the front quarter panel of the Impala, Dean’s back to his equally naked chest, and ruts against the back of his jeans, the hard, heavy length of him doing wonders for Dean’s imagination. Not a gas station or a town for miles—nothing but an empty Nevada road in the middle of nowhere, with more dust and coyotes than people. Why they couldn't continue this in the backseat of Dean’s car is Castiel’s fault, but the thrill of it, of being alone and exposed to the elements like this, with the chance of someone happening upon them—Dean moans at the thought. “Please,” he huffs and reaches for Castiel’s wrist. Castiel nips his neck, scolding. “Least let me get my pants off, man.” “You’re lucky I let you have this,” Castiel rumbles. He gives Dean’s cock a generous squeeze, and Dean grits his teeth, his head thrown back. “I could’ve ‘left you hanging,’ as you’d say.” Definitely left something hanging. “Gonna kill me,” Dean rasps. Again, Castiel rakes his teeth down the length of Dean’s throat, just as he quickens his pace. Precome slips between his fingers, his grip absolutely soaked, dripping from his wrist, staining the inseam of Dean’s pants. How long they’ve been here, Dean can’t recall, but it feels like ages, especially with Castiel’s glacial pace. “You’re doing well,” Castiel says with another kiss. He traces his nail across the slit of Dean’s cock, sending a jolt of something through Dean’s gut and wrenching a groan from his lungs. His hips jerk; Castiel holds him still, keeps them pressed flush. He burns like fire, his skin an inferno where they touch, and Dean wonders if this is what it’s like, to touch the surface of the sun. “I didn’t think you’d last this long.” Frankly, neither did he, but Castiel always seems to know just how to push every one of Dean’s buttons at precisely the right moment. That moment was twenty minutes ago, before pulling over for a quicky somehow turned into whatever this is, getting the world’s hottest hand job in the middle of nowhere. “Fuck,” Dean repeats just as Castiel nips beneath his ear. Lazy, Castiel ruts into his jeans, still hard, like he didn’t come a few minutes ago. “Fuck, I’m…” “Do you think you can behave?” Castiel hums directly into his ear. One-handed, he works Dean’s jeans down to around his thighs and ruts into the cleft of Dean’s ass, the head slick, the length of it so thick that Dean’s mouth waters in reflex. “I seem to recall you couldn't stop talking.” “C’mon, you like it,” Dean laughs. With his precome-slicked hand, Castiel covers Dean throat and presses his fingers in, just enough to be a warning. Dean sucks in air, his cock twitching, precome spurting from the tip. “Fuck—”

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Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

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favorite character per show 25/∞: Letterkenny → Tanis (Kaniehtiio Horn)

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Chen Chen

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genuinely evil that we didn’t get to see this play out onscreen

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i feel like there's a rich vein of SOME kind of ore to mine with regards to the romantic woes of visibly "freakish" and inhuman superheros, especially in silver age comics. like, because of the comics code, the writers could not in-universe admit that some people are really kinky and would absolutely nut in an instant if a gigantic alligator man or a living rock monster or a ten foot tall woman who's on fire gave them a little smooch on the head. like maybe most people in the 70s and 80s had no idea this was the case, either!

but so you end up with these romantic plot lines where some poor freakish superhero with a heart of gold and the skin of, i don't know, a bunch of octopi, is miserable because they'll never find true love, except for a totally normal woman has the power to see their inner heart (which is normal) and fall in love with them for that (normally). villains can sometimes be like 'yeah this chick is super into the fact that i'm an eight foot tall deathbot, we're both evil like that' but ben grimm can't get a date! even blind women are a little concerned that he's literally made out of rocks. it never works out because the writers either can't imagine or can't admit that no matter the freak, there's a bigger, hornier freak who's praying for a chance to shoot their shot.

i don't know. it's just interesting. obviously modern comics can acknowledge a lot more sexual variance than the stuff from fifty years ago, but it's just kinda neat to consider the bizarre limitations a heteronormative paradigm enforces on a population of very strange characters.

and also i feel like in real life ben grimm's DMs would be full of incredibly horny geologists going PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE all day long.

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Enough random notes that have a written story on them as environmental storytelling, explore the space, get crazier with it.

You move into a house and aw cute, it has the kids height on the walls but you notice there's a three foot difference in height between measurements, you check the date, they're a month apart. The final measurement is on the ceiling. It's dated two days ago.

You're part of a recovery team that have finally found a stranded ship, they were found too late and have all passed a long time ago. They all died of starvation. You enter their storeroom, it's filled with food. In the dining hall you find the tables laden with perfectly fine looking breads, cakes, cured meats, jams, candies. Your medic says all the people sitting at the table didn't eat a Thing.

You wake up in an apocalypse. You can't find anyone at all as you wander the streets but you do hear faint music playing from somewhere. You stumble into a supermarket, to see all the aisles still full, except for the shelf that was full of ear plugs, which look to be the only thing that was looted.

Like there's light, sound, props. Having a street where every house is decimated except for One. Landing on a planet known for having No Water and a plant is growing and you don't know where it could have possibly gotten moisture from but you can't find the citizens Anywhere.

I'm sorry, I'm just kinda over the "graffiti on the wall to show the bad guy is around". That's not environmental storytelling that's just normal story. Show me I'm in the villains territory by the rain suddenly cutting out above me as I'm driving, even though it's meant to be raining all night. I park the car and step out, and realise the constellations are Wrong, until I see they're Not constellations, they're the blinking lights of a massive ship-

I Will stop now because everytime I go to write a sentence it devolves into another prompt but I'm just saying we have a Lot of senses, engage them, show me the Environment in environmental storytelling.

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'Secret Sun' Olly Jeavons

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yes all my favorite characters are desperate to be loved. no i don’t think that says anything about me

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TED LASSO (2020 - ) S03E09 · La Locker Room Aux Folles

bonus:

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@sextualfantasy requested destiel with Jealous!Dean, and the MotW being wildly flirtatious with Cas. <3 

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Dean grits his teeth as he stares down at the table, watching the couple–watching the two people across the table from him in the reflection of a spoon. He needs to relax. His jaw hurts from the force of his irritation, but every time he makes an effort to loosen his jaw, he hears the scraping, tinkling laugh of the kikimora. Worse yet are the cooed endearments, all dropped directly in Cas’ lap, for Cas to do whatever Cas does with compliments, but for Dean to obsess over, until he’s nothing more than a tightly wound ball of tension that’s three seconds away from exploding. 

Definitely wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

It was supposed to be a fairly easy case–3 men, all in fairly good health, went to bed one night and never woke up the next morning. The perplexed medical examiner finally put the cause of death down to heart attack, in lieu of any other explanation. But the rictus expression of fear and the clawed hands, frozen in the act of clutching the blankets, had all spoken of something unnatural. 

It had taken them a few tries before they landed on kikimora. They’re not common. To Dean’s knowledge, Dad had come across the hint of one once, and Bobby had killed one, once, about twenty years ago. Silver and salt, was all Bobby’s journal said, and Dad’s journal didn’t even say that much. Don’t look her in the eyes, was Bobby’s other piece of advice, along with the warning that kikimora usually fixated on young men, to drive them wild with desires, and young women, to drive them mad with jealousy. This one has deviated somewhat off script in that she’s literally terrifying men to death, which means that she has to be put down. 

It had been a foolproof plan, or as close to foolproof as the Winchesters got. Find the kikimora–the instructions were a little vague there, since all the lore said was that she would be in the guise of a beautiful woman and possibly have chicken feet–but Dean had figured with Cas alongside them, there wasn’t much cause to worry. While his grace isn’t what it used to be, Cas can still venture into a bar or club and pick out any ten monsters, usually before both his feet are in the door. Plus, there was an added advantage to bringing him along.  

“After all,” Dean had said, tucking his silver knife into the inner pocket of his suit, “you’ll be able to look her in the eyes, no problem.”

Dean should really know by now not to say shit like that.

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What We Do In The Shadows – 4.08: Go Flip Yourself

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Hi I have a question about Pacific Rim. Given that the sparring is just A way to test for drift compatibility and any activity that requires people to collaborate and anticipate each others moves works, including stuff like multi player video games

Can you test for drift compatibility via improv comedy