#i either need to clean it up again or I need to buy new glass

[mocacheezy]

Reminder for any small furry pet owners with no AC; check on your pets and wipe them down with a cool cloth. If you have some of those plastic reusable ice cubes dedicate one or a few for your pet and gently cool them down by gliding it over the fur on their necks or under their armpits.

Brought to you by; my shorthaired cat Pikica looked like roadkill until I cooled her off for a bit and now she's her happy, slightly destructive self again. After being a lil menace and strutting around she is now curled up in her spot on the couch napping.

#moca talks #pets #pikica the spawn of peace destroyer #summer heat #cats #dogs #i did this for the first time last year and now she meows at the cooler door anytime she feels hot #i take her collar off and she nuzzles against it until she's sufficiently cooled off #so yeah. if you're hot so are they #my weather app says it's 28/31°C outside and I know that if it's hot inside rn opening my balcony would feel like opening an oven #also no that's not a filter my phone camera's been like that for a while #i either need to clean it up again or I need to buy new glass #given my phone could classify as a hand warmer most of the time it might be smth else tho

[charliemwrites]

Sniff, sniff…. Woof.

Content: Voyeurism

“Johnny? Johnny, baby, come here!”

Your big wolf boy comes bounding in from the living room as you shut the front door, immediately rearing up to sniff at your neck and face and hands. Satisfied, he licks your cheek and drops down again.

“Alright, listen up, handsome.” You grab his cheeks, scritching along his jaw and grinning as his big blue eyes go dopey. “My sister and her husband are going to stay the night. You are going to be a polite boy because you love me and don’t want to give my sister anything to talk shit about. Yes?”

A sneeze that he (for once) aims away from you. You laugh, drop a kiss between his eyes.

“Good talk.”

As usual, he follows you through the house as you shed clothes and shoes and bags. You ramble about the grocery store and your day, mostly just to get it out so your headspace can be clear for the evening. Helps to have a little (relatively) listener following at your heels.

He camps out in the bathroom while you shower, licking the glass door until you scold him - per usual. And again when he tries to lick the clean water off your leg. Only starts getting restless and grumpy when he sees you change into “outside” clothes rather than pjs.

You groan as he tries to herd you away from your own closet. Must be mixed with a shepherding dog because he’s a damn pushy jerk.

“Enough, bud,” you sigh. “Look, I don’t wanna go much either. But it’ll be worse if I don’t.”

He mouths off at you, a new thing he’s started up that reminds you of a husky. Maybe you should get one of those doggy DNA tests.

“I know I know,” you coo, shimmying into a pair of pants that your sister won’t be able to tease makes your ass look flat. “I’d rather snuggle up and watch 90s vampire movies too. But I already said I’d go and this means I’ll be able to skip seeing her on her birthday.”

More grumbles, but at least he climbs up on the bed to pout. You finish dressing and head for the vanity - no way you can go out with your sister without makeup.

As you pass, you roll him over to scratch his belly - politely ignoring his reaction. God, you really need to get him in for a neutering. If you catch him humping one more pillow—

When it’s time to go, you drop down to give him one last hug.

“Be good, baby. I’ll be home soon with some new friends. I love you.”

—

After dinner, your sister’s husband suggests a bar. And, of course, it’s a sports bar. Man can’t go more than an hour or two without.

You and your sister chat while his eyes stayed glued to the screens. Well, she chats. You mostly just provide the audience she constantly craves, the validation she always needs.

At some point your excuse yourself to order another drink, weaving between the patrons and sighing at a chance to let your face rest for a moment. While you’re waiting, someone brushes up close behind you, startles you.

“Och, sorry, hen. Madhouse in here.”

You blink, tilt your head back to see a gorgeous pair of blue eyes shining down at you. Takes your breath away.

“Oh! Um, no problem, I get it.”

You try to scoot as much as you can - but it really is packed, especially at the bar - and the man takes the opportunity to occupy any free space you have.

Not that you’re complaining. He’s got the type of face they put on magazines with hooks like “sexiest man alive.” A killer grin as he winks down at you, arm bracing on the bar.

“Buy ya a drink for bein’ so rude?”

You’ve barely gotten the start of, “oh it’s alright,” out before he’s signaling the bartender. His stature and presence gets him instant service though, so you let it go, fidgeting restlessly.

Even his voice sounds like a sin worth committing. He’s too attractive. Too handsome to not know it; and definitely too handsome to be chatting you up and ordering you a drink.

“You here with anyone?” he asks with an edge that makes your spine prickle. Yet you almost feel like you imagine it. His tone is normal, his expression hasn’t changed and yet. Something subsonic in the timbre of his voice, maybe.

“My sister and her husband,” you reply.

“No husband of your own?”

You try to laugh, it comes out strained and awkward. “Ah, the only man in my life has four legs.”

Instead of looking annoyed by the brush off, his eyes spark.

“Dog?”

“Yup!” And okay, alarms in your head aside, you’re always happy to talk about Johnny. He’s a safe topic. You fish your phone out of your back pocket and show him your lock screen.

The man takes a quick look at the screen, an odd, private smile flicking across his face. There and then gone, before those intense eyes are locked on you again.

“He friendly?”

You laugh a bit, perk up as the bartender returns with your drink. “Not with men. Thanks for buying!”

as you turn to go, he grabs your hip. Not hard, or even too low. But you gasp quietly, the heat of his palm searing through your clothes.

“Name’s soap, by the way.”

Infinitely more nervous now, you stutter out your own and then retreat to your sister and her husband.

Spend the rest of the night pretending not to watch Soap. He doesn’t return the courtesy, eyes trained on you, lurking around the bar. So visible it seems to only you. Something about the way the light catches his eyes reminds you of when Johnny senses a threat. When he gets low and growly, hair standing on end, eyes focused.

Soap looks like he’s hunting you.

Thankfully, your sister complains about the noise after an hour or so and the three of you leave. You’re relieved to be going home.

As you step inside, you call for Johnny again.

“Wait, who the hell is Johnny?” your sister’s husband asks, an odd look on his face. “You’re living with someone?”

You snort a bit. Does he seriously not remember you talking about your dog?

“Yeah,” you joke, “he’s the love of my life, my one and only—”

You hear the clack of the doggy door and call out again. Johnny trots in panting.

“Did you just come in from a run?” you chuckle, putting a hand out in greeting.

He comes right up to you, presses his nose to the spot where “Soap” grabbed you and snuffles.

“I know, I smell wrong,” you soothe.

He grumbles and licks at your shirt, but you gently nudge him away, turning as your sister scoffs.

“You still do that thing where you talk to them like people?” She asks. “Don’t you think that’s… childish?”

“Johnny’s basically a person in a human body,” you reply, laughing. “You’ll see.”

“Dogs shouldn’t have human names,” her husband pipes up, reaching for Johnny.

“No, wait—”

Johnny snaps just shy of his fingers and puts himself bodily between you two.

“Easy!” you yelp, hooking your hand in his collar. “Sorry, I meant to warn you - Johnny’s shy with men.”

“He almost took my bloody hand off!”

“He’s just protective. Johnny, heel.”

He stops snarling, but plants himself at your feet right there, eyes sharply trained on your brother in law. Your sister snorts.

“How are you supposed to get men back here, then?”

You jump as Johnny barks, a full deep one that your rarely ever hear. Your sister startles too, then scowls.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “Anyway, let me just get the sheets for the spare room and we can call it a night.”

Johnny stays close at your heels the entire time, though you swear he throws a nasty glance back at your sister’s husband.

#thoughts™️ #cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic

[vanessagillings]

I love your art so much!!! I've also been starting to paint with gouache, and I'd love to know a little more about your process! What kind of paints do you use, do you sketch first or start with paint, do you paint in layers over several day or all at once?

Hi and thank you! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly and apologies for length, but:

MY ART PROCESS!

Supplies: I use winsor and newton gouache and arches cold press paper blocks, usually 140 lbs (the lime green ones) and sometimes 300 lbs (the teal green ones). Even though this paper comes pre-stretched in blocks, I actually take the sheets off and stretch them myself because I've found arches' glue isn't as strong as it used to be. This is how you get watercolor paper to lay flat! I recommend youtubing some videos on how to do it -- there's a lot of great tutorials out there. Also, I use princeton brushes, and kraft paper tape and these boards to stretch my paper. (these aren't affiliate links, I just shop at blick)

A word about art supplies: these are the exact tools I use but everyone uses supplies differently and two people with the exact same supplies might get different results! A lot of it is about what works for you and what you like, so I always suggest that gouache/watercolor beginners just buy a few tubes from a couple of different paint companies and some small pieces of paper from different manufacturers to see what you like. Just changing one ingredient in the above has created massively different results for me, but maybe that'll end up being something you'd like! The first step in learning a new medium imo is to play. Just have fun!

ALSO: gouache isn't super light permanent, check your tubes for which ones hold up to sunlight. Here is winsor and newton's color chart explaining which ones will fade when exposed to sunlight -- all manufacturers will give you this. I only use the colors rated A and AA, and I still frame my pieces with UV glass just to be safe. Not all gouache is re-wettable, but winsor and newton is. I just put it in my palettes and refill my palettes if it runs low. AND SOME PAINT IS TOXIC. A lot of paints have cadmium and cobalt in them. I don't use any of the toxic colors, but if you do, make sure you don't eat while working and wash your hands thoroughly afterwards. This information is also usually available on manufacturer's websites. As more people are rejecting cadmium paint, you'll see more tubes labeled things like cadmium-free yellow. This is why. More artists should be aware that their tools can be dangerous. You don't need that many tubes of paint to begin, just a warm and cool red, warm and cool yellow, warm and cool blue, white and black. I have around 50 colors and use 20 regularly. I always mix all my colors myself, and never use straight tube paint. Most of my colors have about 5-6 different tube colors mixed together. If you use re-wettable paint a tube of paint will last you years; even as a professional I only buy new paints every 5 years or so.

Process: I ALWAYS start with a sketch first. Not everyone has to, but because I do illustration work -- where sometimes a client gets input on a drawing -- I always do a lot of preliminary work before I even begin to paint. At this point, even my personal work usually involves the exact same process:

I start with a 3" or so thumbnail that I scan (left; I traced it quickly digtally for clarity to myself here) and then either clean up digitally or print out and clean up traditionally with tracing paper (right):

Then I scan the cleaned sketch in and color rough it digitally (left, this was for a gallery show, so no one had to approve my color roughs, so it's messy!) then I transfer my sketch to my paper (with either carbon transfer paper or a light table), stretch my paper, and paint (right):

I obviously changed my mind about the color of the ribbon in the trees, ha, and made everything a lot more vibrant. The benefit again of gallery work is no pre-approval!

You are correct, I paint in a series of washes, going from lightest to darkest, where I apply the same color beneath all shapes that are the same warmth (cools under all upcoming cools, warms under all upcoming warms). I paint a piece usually in one or two days, depending on complexity. I didn't take pictures of the above painting, but here's a different painting to show you a little bit what I mean:

I painted the peach color under everything (and twice for skin tones), and the gray color of the sky under everything that would be grayish (the rocks, trees, her pants, her skirt, and coat). I do this to stop me from getting darker lines where two different colors butt up against each other, and also for color harmony. I have step by step photos of this in my process stories highlight on my instagram; also check my FAQ and tip highlights for more info on all this stuff. Most pieces take around 25-30 washes before I start adding in the details (sometimes I add in face details early though because if I mess those up it's not worth finishing the rest of the painting! 😅)

All this might seem like a lot of work (...it is) but I do it so that I can show clients previews of the final piece and so I don't have to repaint the finals. I also used to pre-test all of my washes on scrap paper like this:

I still recommend doing this if you're just beginning! But at this point I only do it when testing techniques because I know my paints really well. (the above was my test for the pine boughs in this piece)

Painting by far is the longest part of the process, so I do more work up front to not have to do it twice. Every piece takes about 6-24 hrs of actual work time to produce. Stretching watercolor paper takes about 24 hrs to dry, and because I sell most of my originals in galleries, they need to be flawless, so planning ahead is useful and in the end saves me time.

And to conclude this novel of an explanation, don't be overwhelmed by all the information I've given you! I put it here so that people at various stages of their artistic journey can maybe find something useful in it. But seriously, the first step to learning how to paint whether it's traditionally or digitally is just to have fun. Try it out, see what's working and what isn't, and then try to solve specific issues that you're struggling with. I've been doing this for a loooooong time at this point, but here's my first watercolor piece from when I was re-teaching myself how to paint traditionally nine years ago:

Obviously, I was destined for greatness. Ha, yeah, no. If you scroll back through my tumblr archive, you can see me learning how to use these paints in real time. And keep in mind that I'd been working digitally for years before then, and years before that where I didn't post my work online at all.

So for anyone who needs to hear it: there's no such thing as talent, just hard work, patience, and trying again and again and again...and sometimes again. What I do is a skill and anyone can learn it. Sometimes, progress is slow. I'm 38. I only really feel like my art was half-way decent starting a few years ago, but I've been making art my entire life, and I went to art school at 18. 20 years later I'm kind of figuring it out.

The best advice I can give, whether it's about art or not, is find the thing you love so much that you'll keep at it even when you suck at it, because most skills you'll suck at to begin with -- and perhaps for a long time. I sucked at art for yeeeaaaaarrrrs. On top of the usual learning curve, I struggled with fine motor control and dexterity. But I loved it so much I kept trying every time I failed. If I can do it, so can all of you, no matter what stage of art you're at now, and no matter how old you are.

Anyway, thank you to those still reading this deep in. I wish you all the best on your artistic journey. Art can kick your butt sometimes, but it's also pretty dang rewarding 💛

#art tips #process #art tutorial #asks

[helios-writings]

Stupid in Love

Sanji x gn! Reader

Wc: 1.8k

Warnings: none

You’ve been in love with Sanji for a long time, but have never been brave enough to do anything about it, until now.

The breeze brushes against your face as you stare out at the blue sea, the rising sun peaking out above the horizon. You were up earlier than the rest of the crew, wanting to watch the sunrise before the day dove into chaos, as it was bound to do when Luffy was awake. You watch the rest of the stars disappear and then climb down from the crow’s nest, ready to begin your day.

You always woke up earlier than the rest of the crew, cherishing the alone time you got in the morning silence, the waves crashing against the Sunny being the only sound filling the air. You took a deep breath, letting the salty air wash over you, before the yelling started.

“Luffy, get out of the kitchen!” Sanji shouts, followed by the crashing of pans.

“But I’m hungry!” Your captain whines, and you laugh, before heading into the kitchen to herd him elsewhere.

“You should ask Nami about where we head next, I hear there’s a port nearby.” You tell Luffy, who grins in response before running off to bother the navigator.

Sanji sighs. “Thanks. Have you been awake long?”

You flush. “Who? Me? No.”

He cracks a smile like he doesn’t believe you and hands you a glass full of something to drink. “Well, you are welcome in here any time, as long as you clean up your mess.”

“Don’t worry about any mess from me! I’m as clean as they come, haha.”

You turn to walk out, run into the doorframe and contemplate walking into the sea, wishing you had eaten a devil fruit so you could drown. There was something about Sanji that made your brain short circuit and disconnect from your mouth, letting it run unattended.

“Are you….okay?”

You’re almost certain there’s a mark on your forehead from the door, but you wave him off. “Never been better.”

You are definitely walking into the ocean when you make port, it’ll be less embarrassing in the long run.

Making your way from the kitchen, you run into Zoro, who is desperately trying to hold back his laughter. “That was-”

“Say one more word and you’ll be tied to the front of the ship as the new figurehead.”

He doesn’t take your threat seriously. “You’re this flustered over curly brow in there? Unbelievable.”

“I hate you. So much.”

He’s still cackling as you walk away, and you definitely don’t deserve Zoro to understand what you see in the cook, but Sanji was…..he was amazing.

You saw parts of him that no one ever did, like when you helped him in the kitchen and he hummed softly to himself, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he washed the dishes. When you accidentally cut yourself with a knife and he doctored it right there, eyebrows furrowed in concentration but you were only focused on the impossible blue of his eyes, always focused on his eyes. Sanji was kind and gentle and brave, but no one else could see that.

Soon enough, the crew made port and you went ashore alone, desperate to avoid Sanji(and the more annoying Zoro) but mostly to find something to give to the cook, if you could sync your brain with your mouth long enough to have a meaningful conversation with the man. But what would you get him? He didn’t use cookbooks, and he bought his own ingredients(not that you’d know where to start, being as you wouldn’t be able to know what were good quality ingredients).

He wasn't a jewelry guy either, though he would wear it beautifully but then you remember a conversation the both of you had a few months ago.

Sanji sets the knife down on the cutting board with more force than necessary, startling you. He laughs lightly and apologizes.

“I need new knives, but I keep forgetting to buy any when we make port. Would you remind me?”

You flush and nod furiously but say nothing, just watch as he picks up the knife and starts chopping again.

You grin and make your way towards a stall you passed a few minutes ago, now certain that you were getting Sanji the perfect gift. At least you hoped so.

***

You were the first one back to the ship, box in tow, leaving it in the kitchen where you knew he would find it. You had decided that you didn’t have the courage to give them to him yourself, but hoped he didn’t think much of it. Maybe he would think one of the other crew members gave them to him.

Proud of yourself, you climb up the crow’s nest again to look at the stars, always seeming brighter when you make port. You hum to yourself as you do so, leg bouncing in anticipation. What if he hates them? Or he tells you that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore? Were you risking your friendship over a set of knives?

Just as you had decided to return them, you heard the crew clambering back on deck and you curse, crouching low so they don’t see you. It works, because they soon start asking each other about your whereabouts. They don’t seem especially worried, since it’s a safe town and you’re more than capable of handling yourself, but it’s nice to know they care, even if they tease you.

The crew goes their separate ways, and the cook finally heads into the kitchen to start prepping for dinner and that’s when you begin making your way towards the lower decks.

You almost make it when he comes back and spots you. “Oh, there you are!”

You turn and grin. “Here I am, haha. What do you have there?”

You gesture to the box, though you already know its contents.

Sanji beams, and it’s so bright you fear you may go blind. “Knives! I don’t know where they came from, but they’re gorgeous.” He takes on out to show you.

It is gorgeous, that being the main reason you purchased them. A beautiful pearl handle, topped with a gorgeous steel blade. You knew he’d love them, even if your brain wanted to argue.

“That is really pretty, Sanji.”

“Did you leave them? I know we talked about knives a while back.”

This is your chance.

You shake your head no and shrug. “Sorry, wasn’t me, but I hope you find who left them soon.”

His face almost falls at the aspect of you not being the gift giver. “Oh, well, whoever it was picked out a really nice set.”

You smile at him as he bids you goodbye and you curse yourself for not telling him the truth. Oh well, you suppose it’s better than him rejecting you outright. It was kind of nice, leaving him anonymous gifts.

He seemed happy to receive it, but it was always nice to see him happy, especially since it seemed to be a rare sight most days. You wanted to continue making him happy.

***

A few days later, Zoro joined you in the crow’s nest before dinner.

“You know, the shit cook really wanted those knives to be from you.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his one eye. “You’re not serious.”

You say nothing.

“You are. The cook’s been staring at you and sighing hopelessly for days, it’s really pissing me off.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He told Robin the other day he wanted it to be you. Plus, the whole crew can see that you two are in love with each other. Even Luffy.”

“I’m not going to take romantic advice from you of all people. Sanji and I are friends. Really good friends, a friend I have no intentions of confessing to.”

Zoro sighed, leaning his arms against the wood. “Do you remember when we got into that fight with that gang of bandits a few months ago? And you got injured real bad and were unconscious for what, three days?”

“Of course. Why?” You thought he was just changing the subject.

“Curls was the one taking care of you while you were out, making sure you drank water, helping Chopper clean and dress your wounds, sitting on a chair in the infirmary while you slept, he was really worried.”

You open your mouth to object, to say anything other than what was going through your head but he cuts you off.

“And don’t you say he would do it for any one of us, because that’s bullshit. Now go down there and tell him how you feel.”

The swordsman pushes you towards the ladder and you begrudgingly climb down and head for the kitchen. It wasn’t like Zoro to lie, in fact he was the most honest man you knew, so you knew he had to be telling the truth.

You knock softly on the door before you enter and find Sanji beaming at you. “Hey, what brings you by?”

“I….I think we should talk.”

He sets the towel on the edge of the sink. “Okay.”

You wring your hands as you sit on the counter, something that the cook used to object to but now has accepted as a quirk of yours. He leans next to you.

“I did buy you the knives. I was too scared to give them to you myself so I left them in here for you to find.”

“Why didn’t you say something when I asked?”

You aren’t looking at his face but you can feel his gaze burning you. “I really fucking like you, Sanji. It actually makes me stupid because I like you so much. You’re just so incredibly caring and strong and I like being around you because you make me happy and I didn’t want to ruin anything by telling you that.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything.” He tells you, voice impossibly soft.

“You sure?”

He takes your face in his hands, and you are trapped in the impossible blue of his eyes once again. “I’m certain, because I feel the same way.”

You laugh a little wetly as he kisses your hand and then your cheek before finally meeting your lips. It’s a little sloppy, but you have nothing to compare it to. You know he doesn’t either, and he told you as such one late night in the kitchen.

He pulls away grinning, cheeks a little red. “That was…nice.”

You lay your head on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

The two of you get one quiet moment before the crew charges in to tease you and you yelp as Franky wraps a particularly large arm around you and ruffles your hair, while the rest of the crew begins to tease Sanji for getting up to no good in his kitchen.

He yells and scolds them all while you laugh, and then when he makes eye contact with you over the chaos he smiles and everything is as it should be. Perfect.

#character☀️: sanji #fandom☀️: one piece #daylightarchive #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op x reader #op x you #sanji x reader #sanji x you #one piece imagines #reader insert #sunbathing with: sanji

[latoyalestrange]

princess

s. sallow x f!reader

summary: after winning the first challenge of the triwizard tournament, sebastian asks you to accompany him to the yule ball, of course. he's not sure if it's the twinkling lights, the romantic music, or maybe just your presence, but something has his eyes twinkling and his heart beating out of his chest. he simply can't help it. he needs to tell you how he feels, and fast, before he bursts at the seams with infatuation.

words: 630

warnings: fluff, smut, word vomit, language, aged up seb and mc, minors dni! not edited!

ps i hate the way they decorate the yule ball in the movies. why is so bright? and so...blue? balls should be warm and comfy for good time vibes!!

he'd asked garreth to bewitch some fireworks to spell out your name and set them off in the courtyard during free period. he had a speech prepared, but he ditched it at the last second when he laid eyes on you. seeing your excitement, he felt like you deserved much more than a poem he was half-satisfied with. he already thought the fireworks weren't enough, just a fraction of his love for you put on display. if he could, he would have a choir of thousands sing for you, flower petals falling from the sky to imitate your favorite tree, and the quidditch team writing in the clouds with their brooms.

since he couldn't do that, he settled for cutting a deal with his petty enemy. he had to pay for the fireworks, garreth's "labor fee's" for bewitching them, and he had to do garreth's charms essay for him. not only that, but he had to deal with garreth's relentless teasing. in the end, he decided it was worth it. in fact, he decided he would do it ten times over, for you.

after he'd gotten you to say yes, he was left with even more problems. he wanted to buy new attire, something that his family didn't get for him. he needed to buy your dress too, of course, it would be ungentlemanly of him not too. god, he needed to get you flowers! and a matching bit for your wrist and his lapel, whatever they were called.

but the day of, christmas day, he swore made everything worth it. witnessing you walk down the grand staircase with your hair done to perfection, your skin glowing in the candlelight, and the dress he picked out for you fitting you in just the right places made him feel...different.

he wasn't a boy in his seventh year at hogwarts with his schoolgirl crush, he was a man with his woman. he knew in that moment that it wasn't temporary. he wanted this, he wanted you for all eternity and so much more. he wanted you to bare his children one day, as soon as possible, preferably.

"i love you."

he just had to say it. he physically felt like he couldn't go another minute without confessing. the weight on his chest remained, however, until you smiled brightly back at him as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

"i love you too. shall we?" he linked his arm with yours and led you through the doorway of the ballroom.

most of his evening was spent just looking at you, either from afar or during conversation. he always prayed he knew the moves to the next song so you could keep dancing. what better way to show everyone that you're his than dancing with him all night? not that they didn't already get the hint from the blasting fireworks and the very public profession of love he gave. but it didn't hurt to remind them, right?

and when the night came to a close, he would remind you of the same thing. he would lay you down, and talk you through it.

"doing so good f'me"

"so pretty when you moan, baby"

and when you were close,

"that's it, darling, let it out"

then he'd kiss you to muffle your cries as he started chasing his own release.

"i know, i know. you're taking it so good f'me"

he'd have to bite your shoulder, but even that felt good since you were still buzzing. he'd kiss the skin after though, and clean you up. he even gets you a glass of water without you having to ask. and he'll tell you again,

"i love you."

and you'll say,

"i love you too." because you do. you truly, truly do.

reblog if you made it to the end!

#sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts legacy imagine #harry potter cu #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #sebblurb

[cheatsykoopa98]

its 4 AM and im trying not to freak out, let me write something to see how I feel

Her eyes opened and closed repeatedly, slowly. The dim light coming from the window let her know that it was daytime, everything felt so fuzzy. What had happened? What time was it? Her arm reached to her side looking for something on her counter. Glasses? Phone? She didn't know for sure yet. Slowly she realized, this was not her room, it was clean, white walls with a brown carpet. She sat by the side of the bed, still not fully awake, feeling the soft carpet on her feet. It then came to her: She needed her glasses, and quickly reached for them again. A yawn overcame her and as her thoughts became clear, she noticed her surrounding. It was a very tidy bedroom, with horse decorations on the counter by the other side of the bed. Figurines and a small pony plushie sat by it. The half open closet door had a coat hanger with skirts and sweaters on it, barely visible coming out of it. She scratched her eyes under her glasses. Another yawn. It had been long since she felt so... Calm? Paying no mind to the apparently unfamiliar bedroom, she moved her feet around the sides of the bed, looking for any kind of footwear. She felt the rubber of a sole under the bed. Her crocs. Quickly she put it on with only her foot, while the other moved around looking for the pair. Another object touched her foot, a soft one, a slipper. Slightly bothered but too lazy to find each pair, she finally got up, opening the bedroom door. The morning sunlight blinding her for a second before her eyes adjusted to it. She could hear a faint noise not tol far away, the sound of someone talking, and the smell of food being prepared. Following it, she found the kitchen. The smell of grease from the fried eggs with bacon got to her nose and made her realize how hungry she was.

"Uh... Hello?" She muttered with a grumbly morning voice. Her head was still not wrapped around everything. It felt so comforable yet so alien. As if she had travelled to a different culture and was kindly taken in by some nice hosts.

"Oh did I wake you up? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't leave my phone so loud..." A woman in her 30s took notice of her. She was making breakfast while listening to the morning news on her phone, quickly grabbing it and turning off the livestream it was tuned to.

"Don't worry..." She muttered in response. She tried to take a closer look at the woman. She had curly reddish brown hair, small lips and a round nose. Her face was filled with freckles that were clearly visible despite her tan skin. What took some time to notice, though, was everything about her eyes. At first she thought she was seeing things, but upon looking more and more she could confirm. One eye blue, the other brown, both very bright. Even with her tired face one could see genuine happiness in them.

"Am I... Dreaming?"

"Aaw, you're still a little sleep groggy! Come here" The woman with bright eyes pulled a chair, inviting the other to sit down. As she did, the woman put a plate and silverware in front of her, with fried eggs and bacon.

"I think I don't usually have breakfast, but... Thank you" She tried to smile, but she was still confused. She had to ask.

"Is this really not a dream? I'm... not sure what to think"

"Oh, well... I can't say I do either, honestly" The woman responded. "If you don't like it I can make something else! I can go out and buy..." The woman suddenly appeared to be getting nervous.

"No, this is good, but... Where am I? I remember the circus..." Suddenly the woman held her hand.

"The circus is gone Pomni... I mean, Pam. Everything is fine now" It was all clear now. Pam. Pamela! She had escaped that horrible nightmare. This wasn't just some woman, it was her wife. Tears came to her eyes.

"Oh... You're right..." Pamela smiled a bit, feeling whole while taking one of the bacons to eat.

"I know it's our first day out of the hospital, I just wanted to make it special, you know? I don't like thinking you're having a bad first experience..." Annie tapped her fingertips on the table nervously.

"Rag... Annie... This is delicious, did you know that?" Pamela had a bigger smile on her face, a genuine one she couldn't have afforded for years.

"Look... I'm sorry, this is all so new to me... I just... Thank you..."

"Hey, it's all cause I love you!" Annie winked and did finger guns at Pamela's direction, waving them around in a "get it?" motion. Pamela giggled. They kissed.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long..." Pamela muttered close to Annie's lips, as they both smiled looking at each other passionately.

"We'll be doing that a lot, new stuff" Annie smiled as they kissed once more. Suddenly, Annie's phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, getting both of their attention. Annie picked it up, looking at the screen, a familiar number

"It's work stuff" She showed the phone screen to Pam, rolling her eyes, to which she giggled a bit.

"Hello?"

As Annie talked on the phone, her usual look of happiness faded. Whatever she heard shook her. She fell sitting on the floor, sliding down the side of the counter. Pamela jumped in to aid her wife.

"W-What happened?! What did they say?!" She questioned, anxious and scared. Maybe she did not want to hear the answer.

"A new adventure is about to begin! And what circus is complete without it's performers?!"

"w-what?"

"It's time to come back, Pomni! Your time out is on time out!!!"

Pamela looked behind her. No kitchen. No house. Just the monstrous, gigantic dentures and millions of eyes everywhere, looking at her. The mere sight of it was enough to make her dizzy. Looking closer, she realized she stood atop a giant pole, ready to jump into a tiny pool.

"Caine... What the..." As words couldn't leave her throat. Where was Annie? Pomni spun around trying to find her, only to lose her balance and fall.

She couldn't scream, for her lungs were filled with tears, and with a gurgling noise, she hit the floor next to her couch. A dream. There was no daylight. She remembered this place. Her run down apartment. All she could afford. Her clothes scattered on the bed, waiting to be folded. Paper bags from groceries she forgot to take out close to a full trash can. The living room illuminated by her phone, which she was watching videos on before falling asleep.

She was breathing heavily, her eyes jolting around, looking for danger anywhere, but still she was unable to move or turn around. Just shaking and moving her eyeballs. She bit her nails and scratched her cheeks. It was like second nature to her. She felt like crying, but was too scared to let her guard down.

That is, until she felt a hand touching her hair. It was clumsy, but still soft.

"Hmrr... Are you ok, Pam...?" A sleepy voice grumbled. Annie's voice, much to Pamela's surprise. As it slowly came back to her.

"I... Had a nightmare... About the circus again..." She said with teary eyes. Annie grumbled something she couldn't make out, before slowly pulling Pamela back to the couch, closer to her. She could feel Annie's soft skin and soothing smell. Her soft carressing on her hair. The safety and warmth of her embrace. Slowly but surely, she felt home.

#ck98art #ramble #fanfic #ragapom #tadc #the amazing digital circus #pomni #tadc pomni #ragatha #tadc ragatha #jesterdoll #buttomblossom #writing

[starrynightmovietheatre]

The five love languages - Mr Blue Sky’s up there waiting!

Starring: Percy Jackson x fem!reader

Soundtrack: Mr Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra, Out of my League - Fitz and the tantrums, Somebody to Love - Queen

Warnings: swearing like once? I think you’ll live, random ass soundtrack

Enjoy the movie! 🎬

Physical touch:

This man love physical touch

Loves it, lives it, breaths it

Constantly has a pinky linked, a hand held, a hand on your hip, the small of your back…

Loves to see your smile when he hugs you and spins you around

Get used to it, he does it every five seconds 🫶

Kisses

Not even on the mouth

But he will never kiss you on the lips if your asleep/half asleep no matter if you tell him it’s ok

He feels like it’s wrong even if you don’t mind

So if you’re falling asleep be prepared for kisses just at the corner of your mouth

Or on your cheek maybe a cheeky one on the temple y’know mix it up a bit

Loves when you have your head on his shoulder

It means he can either put his arm around you or have your hand in his

Just loves being close to you in general

When you sneak into his cabin/he sneaks into yours he either likes to have his head on your chest or spoon (I gagged writing that last option I can’t lie)

Doesn’t mind if he’s holding you or the other way around but depending on the day he’s had he just likes to be held

Acts of Service:

He once cleaned your weapon for you cause you mentioned in passing that you couldn’t be bothered

You went to clean it and it was shimmering and sparkling

Loves just doing random things for you

“Oh I was meaning to pick up those books”

They are up and on the shelf the minute you step out the room

“I can’t be bothered making my bed.”

The second you are in the shower the bed is actively being made, pillows are being fluffed and the duvet is being aggressively smoothed

It’s shocking just how many things you don’t like doing he remembers

He knows you hate doing the dishes so if you get put on dishes duty he’ll ask Chiron to either swap with you or the other person doing it with you

When you visit your home town he loves watching you work if you have a job

Loves making dinner for you

Helps your mortal parent with things around the house without them needing to ask

Feels bad if he’s made a mess and you offer to clean up and goes ultra fast to even get half of it clean for you

(He spilt half a glass of water)

Gift giving:

Goes all out on your birthday

You mentioned you wanted something like 3 months ago? It’s been in a notebook ever since

Studies what you have and if your running low on your fav perfume he notices immediately and buys you either a refill or a new one

Loves making playlists or cassette tapes for when you’re apart

Adds random songs that remind him of you or he just likes and wants you to listen to

My love languages are mainly acts of service and physical touch so they’re gonna be longer but I feel like this is so short

You say you like a shirt/something in his wardrobe?

It’s now in yours

The next time you are in your cabin it’s magically found its way into your wardrobe/dresser

Words of affirmation:

Constantly tells you he loves you

Says it so much people start second guessing whether he means it or is just saying it

You can tell he means it just as much as the first time he said it

If you get new clothes then he’s immediately saying how good you look in them or you will look it in them

The first time he saw you in a swimsuit he was staring so hard (and respectfully 😘) that he didn’t even need to say something for you to start blushing

And giggling

He loves this one

He naturally uses all the languages daily but words of affirmation?

Abuses the shit out of compliments that again people start second guessing him

Reassured you all the time with a little squeeze of the hand

“Look, you’re perfect, you can do this, everyone knows you can, baby.”

OH THATS ANOTHER ONE

Petnamesssss

Has so many of them stock piled

Some are sarcastic and some are disguised as sarcastic if you laugh at him

Called you his little starfish when you were hugging him and not letting him go once

Not even words of affirmation just had to put it out there

Quality time:

This is so overused but 👏under👏water👏

Loves hanging out with you underwater

Its his little area that no one can really bother him in so when he took you down with him one time you were so happy

Time in his cabin when your both just sitting in silence, hands intertwined as he places a kiss to the top of your head every now and then

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHHDJSJDD

Sorry, anyway

Loves sitting the silence with you, just knowing you’re there

Has Iris Messaged or called you on multiple occasions while you’re apart and just sat there no matter how much it cost him

Picnic dates are his specialty

Even if it’s in Sally and Paul’s place or some random forest spot at camp he has a blanket set up and a basket

This classes as physical touch as well but just holding you

Mainly in his cabin, just lying on his bed and holding you or you holding him

Director’s note: OMG ELISE POSTING ACTUAL WRITING?? Unheard of honestly. Started like ten fics cause I had ideas but then I started thinking I was gonna kms if I tried writing an actual story so I decided I would do some headcanons so I wouldn’t cry 🫶🫶 anyway it’s kinda shit cause gift giving isn’t my main form of showing my love and it’s not really any of my family/friends so I had nothing to really go off of but this was done in like a day so I hope it’s not as shite as I think it is

#enjoy the movie ׂׂૢ: ̗̀➛✧.* #percy jackson x you #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson

[uncouth-the-fifth]

baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (vaguely s8). Tags/Warnings: not-too-graphic smut, hunting-typical violence, witches using glamors, soft, loving, childhood friends-to-lovers, glass injuries. Word Count: 14,729 (hence why it took so damn long lol) Notes: howdyyyy. sorry for the brief absence, i was packing up some end-of-the-year things at home, finals, etc. this is for my dear friend and ultimate supporter @lacilou, who requested something that was so up my alley that i just HAD to write it. here ya goooo! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You had never seen Dean grovel before.

It started with some gentle offers, and then his pride caved, and he really started to dig in. If you played bait for the witch the three of you were currently hunting, Dean would, (in order), clean your weapons himself for a month, buy you dinner from your favorite place, and let you do at least one donut with Baby in the nearest empty lot. You planned to say yes either way, seeing as people were dying here—and it’s not like the three of you had any other options. But the longer you held out the more Dean added. You stewed on it, until even Sam offered up the passenger’s seat for two weeks. Once you’d amassed a good collection of favors the night before your hunt—

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you crossed your arms.

“God,” Dean cursed, and slumped forward against the table of your motel room in mock-exhaustion. “Only took you two fuckin’ days.”

Sam, who was leaning against the counter of your kitchenette, cooly twisted off the cap of his bottle and smirked around it. “You’re just mad cause’ she played you. Donuts in the Impala? Really?”

“I think that’s fair,” you spoke up, “What’s our witch’s name again?”

“Hermes,” Sam and Dean said, rolling their eyes in unison.

“Well—I’m the one who’s gonna have to be touched by this creep. That’s worth wheelies in the Impala, if you ask me,” you argued. On the motel bed in front of you, you were sorting through the suitcase that carried your entire life in it. There was supposed to be a nice night-out dress in here somewhere, but it’d probably been ruined by monster blood a millennia ago.

“Don’t even joke,” Dean warned, but he hesitated, like he’d been considering the Impala doing wheelies and mentally measuring how cool it’d be. 

“You know…” Sam trailed off, and in the corner of your eye you watched him straighten up. “If this really bothers you, you don’t have to do it. We’ve found other outlets before—this one just so happens to be the easiest one. A harder solution never scared us off before.”

“Exactly,” you snapped the lid of your suitcase shut. “So I can handle an easy one, like you said. I’m complaining for the fun of it, I promise. A witch killing and robbing people is nothing new, and neither are creeps—so I’m not exactly intimidated.”

Stepping away from the bed, you presented your dress to the two. It was almost a little too plain, but you got out so little lately that anything, even willfully being seduced by a witch in a sleazy bar, sounded fun. Little things like that reminded you that the hunt was an adventure as much as it was a job. A pretty shitty adventure, maybe, but after the apocalypse optimism had become a need as much as it was a balm. You were stuck in another lousy motel room in another city you’d never seen. Yet, sometime in the next week you’d be terrifying Dean out of his skin doing donuts in his car, and Sam had been happy lately. You hoped it was your influence.

His concern for you, as usual, boosted your optimism well into next week. You were more of a realist by nature. But if your positive outlook was waking him up and following him to bed every night, yet again, you and Sam Winchester had established another unspoken cycle. You watched his back and he watched yours. Sam talked to you about how he felt and you talked to him, both out of fear of burdening Dean. He gushed about the books he liked and the science articles he read, you fell in love with him every time, and together you relied so heavily on the other that you doubted Sam could breathe if your lungs weren’t working. You saved him and he saved you until you owed each other eternally. It’d been that way since the first time your parents had dropped you off at Bobby Singer’s, when you’d befriended the only other hunter-kids you’d ever met.

A few years back, the horseman Death had called your relationship uniquely symbiotic. To this day, you still wondered what he’d really meant. Feeling Sam’s warm eyes catch yours over his drink almost gave you your answer. But like always, your train of thought chased the soft line of his bicep against his shirt sleeve or the dimple of his cheek instead. This time, Sam was comparing the neckline of the dress to your shirt, imagining you in it. Flushed, you folded it against your stomach and set it on top of your suitcase. You played with a hair tie on your wrist and reminded yourself that Sam wasn’t looking at you that way.

Dean whistled at the dress. “Man. Maybe we don’t even need the witch-killing spell,” he gave you an appreciative smile, “this guy’ll explode the minute he sees you.”

“That better be a compliment,” you glared at him, and for good measure, Sam swatted him on the back of the head. 

“You’ll look just fine,” Sam assured, sounding unenthused.

It was your God-given job to keep him on his toes, so you flicked the bottom of his beer as you passed him and warned with a smile, “That better be a compliment too, Winchester, or you’re both in trouble.”

“Mom, Dad,” Dean whined, “please don’t flirt in front of me.”

In an instant, Sam slipped his bottlecap off the counter and you rolled your hairtie off your wrist. Dean had just collapsed face-first into his bed when both projectiles whizzed off him, ricocheting onto the carpet. You hadn’t realized Sam had moved at the same time until his bottlecap had popped off Dean’s head, startling you into bubbly, shoulder-shaking laughter. Sam didn’t laugh—he rarely did, not since he was a kid—but he smiled, and for now that worked for you.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get some kind of DNA off of our witch at the bar, we’ll do our spell, and we’ll follow you in the car to make sure you’re safe,” Sam decided, softening his voice. He said this mostly to himself, and you indulged him even if you knew your game plan, just because you knew it was a comfort to him to list it out for himself. Years of staying home while Dean and John were off hunting had narrowed his life into lists—of school assignments, of tasks to handle while they were gone—and he’d never grown out of it. You imagined it was why he was so meticulous. “Then, we’re clear.”

“People saved, things hunted,” you drawled, listing each on one hand, “family business—”

“—done,” Dean finished, giving a thumbs up where he was faceplanted in his bed. With that, he rolled over, turned off the bedside lamp, and flushed your room into cool darkness. “Night’.”

You and Sam chorused your goodnights to him. Then, Sam turned toward the window over the kitchenette, adjusted the salt there with the back of his hand, and closed the curtains to cut off the last slivers of moonlight.

As a hunter, it was in the job description that you had some precautions about the dark. With Sam there, across from you, you forgot all notions about being afraid. You enjoyed looking at him even more than the next girl did, but with darkness came a new depth of intimacy. Without sight, you could only collect context from the low timbre of his voice or his presence next to you. It was about feeling instead of seeing. And Sam, with the sweet way he said things and the gentle way he navigated the dark, was nothing but feeling.

The moment was brief, but Sam found your shoulder and followed it up to your temple, which he kissed. Like the lists, it was a ritual he’d never grown out of. And you never wanted him to. You could feel the warmth of his breath, of his hand, flushing through your whole body like the sweet-tasting humidity before a healthy storm. 

“Goodnight, ____,” Sam murmured near your face. He was like you, so if the dark made you more honest then it made him more honest; Sam sounded like he loved you.

You leaned into the brief contact, squeezed his wrist, and resisted the surge of hope pressing up your throat. “Goodnight, Sam.”

_

It should’ve been sad, how happy you were to be out despite the circumstances, but you knew even the best covers had a sliver of truth to them—and tonight, you wanted to flirt, to feel pretty flirting, and to kill some damn witches. Being covered in monster grime didn’t make anybody feel beautiful, and suiting up in a skirt and wedges to masquerade as a fed didn’t count. The hunt rarely gave you an excuse for self-confidence. If this was one of those times, you weren’t about to let it pass by.

And truth be told, you’d been under fire for so long that one witch didn’t feel like much of a threat. You weren’t so stupid that you neglected to realize what Hermes was capable of. But after your five-hundredth witch in over fifteen years of hunting, the fear of danger was nothing more than a wisp of tension floating at your shoulder. If it bleeds, you can kill it, Dean always said. And witches definitely bled.

Knowing that Sam and Dean were watching your six, that wisp of anxiety disintegrated entirely. It was so natural to have them there, Sam on your right and Dean on your left, that you usually dreamt with each brother somewhere in your peripherals. Hazy flying dreams and late-to-school nightmares included. Well, the school nightmares were less strange—once upon a time, you’d really gone to school with Sam and Dean.

Your parents were hunters. That made you like any other sullen, directionless hunter kid in the business, desperate to follow in their parent’s footsteps but terrified of becoming anything like them. Most pure-bred hunters like you didn’t have the fortune of an Uncle Bobby, though. Looking back, you wished you’d had more time with your parents—but you were grateful for the days they dumped you on him. Around when you’d entered middle school, Bobby’s house had become something of a hunter daycare. He wasn’t big on the idea. Obviously. But Bobby melted like all grouchy old men inevitably did, and soon your days spent racing to get him books and spell ingredients overlapped with his days babysitting Sam and Dean.

Dean was two years your senior, and had usually been the bane of your existence. But you’d both existed in the strange place between a hunter and a liability for your parents, so together, you were eager to please, learn, and emulate. Dean had done this because he’d wanted to graduate to a full-on hunter, but you were content with bringing phones to Bobby and helping without being in the way. Sam was much of the same. He was… He was quiet and sweet and he’d cut out the gum Dean had put in your hair without wrecking it. He wrote school essays that were cool instead of boring, and made everything seem interesting and beautiful. Dean had embodied hunting to you, then, and Sam was the breathable living space between.

You loved Dean, and you’d learned a lot from him. But you lived and breathed Sam—and the new, exciting proposition of a home somewhere else—because of the ideas he represented. Being a hunter so young had gutted your faith, and Sam, somehow, had rerouted it all. He’d shown you that there were seams between hunts that you could use to find your footing. Bobby had taught you how to be smart, Dean had taught you how to be practical, and Sam had promised you that all of this wasn’t for nothing. You figured that was why all of the hunters you met were weapons more than people; Sam Winchester hadn’t cupped their face on Bobby Singer’s porch and kissed them like they were still human.

That’d been more than a decade ago, and you could still feel how the rain had made your hair cling to your face, how the shoulders of Sam’s sweater were damp from the weather. The kiss had been brief and childish and a little unmoored. And yet it’d carried you through everything, even the literal end of the world, Sam going in the cage… all of it. He’d been your living space.

That had been built on the rare weekends you happened to be at Bobby’s at the same time, so having a few months of school together bonded you for life. They purposefully forgot to mention that John was settling them in your town and your school, hoping to surprise you. In hindsight, it was a sweet gesture, but there was a bold line between your hunting life and your school life for a reason. High school was awful for you. Your parents’ deaths had left you as exposed as a bloody nerve. With no one else around, your foster family unaware of… the real world, and a valley between you and the life you used to know, hunting was all you’d had. You’d spiraled into it deeper than you ever had before. One misstep in the hallway had spilled all of your research books and spell ingredients out of your backpack, immediately casting you as your school’s new resident freak.

Neither of the boys knew about… the bullying. It was such a pathetic word. You never told them, probably because school was as much of a sore a subject for them as it was for you. So they’d turned up, gleaming with excitement, only for whatever image they had of you as some tough, unflinchable hunter to shatter.

You’d been eating lunch comfortably alone, fork in one hand and research book under the other. All at once your table was crowded with your grade’s most self-absorbed clique, all of them probing you, asking you questions, and giggling amongst each other even at your innocent answers. They stole your book and read it out loud to each other. They prodded at your backpack, searching for more joke material. It happened so often that you knew better than to lash out, as you’d done before—or react at all, as you’d done before—and resigned yourself to another ruined day.

Then, Dean’s hands had cooly landed on your shoulders. Hey, ____, Sam had greeted warmly from your right, and you remembered how he hadn’t bothered to hide his scowl. Are these jokers bothering you? 

It was such a movie moment, a book moment, that the only thing you could call it was wish fulfillment. There’d been plenty of times when you’d wished they’d been there, or wished you could tell them about something that’d happened to you. But actually having it happen—Dean swooping in with that suave grin, Sam refusing to let you carry your own backpack…

You felt like you owed them. It was a small, easy kindness for them to pay, but after months of loneliness and alienation and absolute, incomprehensible loss, it’d been a surge of heat in an ocean of ice. Sudden and unexpected and life-giving.

Since then, you couldn’t remember a single time you hadn’t been in that same position. Standing there, with Sam and Dean on either side of you. As the Impala pulled up to the bar your witch often skulked, you looked reflexively to your left, and there was Dean in the driver’s seat. For once, you were upfront with him—Sam needed room in the back to perform the witch-killing spell.

“And you’re sure you can… hook him in?” Dean asked, gesturing blandly with one hand.

You bolstered yourself, so the smile you gave Dean was a bit more confident than you felt. “Well, his past victims have all looked like me. And, no offense, but I’ve been swindling guys like this since I was sixteen. I’m not too worried about that part.”

Sam sighed so deeply that you and Dean twisted to look at him. Realizing he’d done that out loud, he bumbled awkwardly over his own reaction and coughed. “Uh, yeah. But, uh, I’ll have to do the ingredients in order, so it might take a second after we get his DNA for the spell to go through. You’ll have to… to distract him, until then.” Sam flashed you a tight smile. “I’ll be fast, I promise. You won’t be stuck with that guy for long.”

“Good,” you said. The eye contact you were sharing suddenly felt purposeful. You eased yourself away from his gaze, though it was more of a lurch than a very casual, not-at-all tension-filled turn.

There was a brief lapse in the conversation that made your skin prickle from your spine to your neck. You could feel Dean’s smug amusement from behind his binoculars, simmering, which didn’t help. The focussed silence that usually settled over the three of you on stake-outs never came, so you rushed to fill it.

“...So,” you opened, “if our witch uses a glamor to make himself appear more enticing to each of his victims, then how can I be sure it’s him?”

“He’s gonna be the best-looking guy in the place,” Sam explained. He’d reined in whatever had bothered him earlier, apparently, because his tone became halted and professional.

Dean sprung up, whistling. “That’s how—there ya go, he’s right there.”

You leaned around Dean, trying to get some idea of what you were hunting, but his big ass binoculars were in the way. The witch was only just across the street, yet Dean adjusted the focus on the lenses, apparently aiming for a microscopic look. You lowered them from his face so you could see past them, and behind the eyepieces he was so flushed his freckles had disappeared.

“I mean…” Dean cleared his throat, but his blush only spread further. “Wow. Just. Wow, that’s a good-looking dude.”

You were already opening your mouth to tease him, but everything you’d planned to say, along with any idea of what your name was, where you were, and what you were doing, drained from your grip like a fistful of sand.

Wow. That was the only word you could remember. It occurred to you that Dean was seeing a totally different man because of the witch’s magic, and christ, were you thankful for it. You’d never hear the end of it if they saw what you were… enjoying. The witch pulled up the curb in a glittering white muscle car—which definitely added to whatever Dean was going through. But for you, it wasn’t the vintage Challenger or the shiny loafers, or… or the, um… the white blazer… or the crisp button-up under, uh, underneath… Or the witch’s face. Which was Sam’s face. No little changes to support your preferences in men. No beautification, supernatural glow or… anything else. Just Sam. Sam as he was right now, sitting in your backseat. Sam with his, uh… his face clean and happy… with… w-with his hair styled all nice, like he always styles it when you dress up…

He emerged from the car, facing away from you. He waved a hand at the parking meter and it fizzed out. The broad shape of his back rolled under his suit, panther muscle moving under pelt, and he turned toward the bar with the same grace. His movements were vaguely not-Sam, if you squinted. It was all too sly, and he walked like he wasn’t as tall as he was. But something in the glamor kept you from pressing that idea in your head. Your mind wanted to indulge the parts of him that did look like Sam much more, so any bumps in his mirage smoothed themselves over, perfecting the look. It was clever. Clever… and… and, um… wow…

You had a thought. “The, um…” you tried, “we…”

“Y/N,” the real Sam chided.

The binoculars you’d pulled away from Dean fumbled out of your hand at the closeness of his voice, and you scrambled to catch it, and so did Dean, but neither of you took your eyes away from the street. You ended up weirdly clutching it together, like the two of you were going to wrestle for the right to see the witch through the binoculars. If you were any more focused, you might have.

“Guys,” Sam said, unimpressed. “It’s just a glamor. Pull it together, please?”

“...Sam,” you tested the name in your mouth, “um, witch glamors, how do they work?”

“They’re projections of power. They make each person who looks at them see their ideal partner. Didn’t I tell you this already?”

“I-I know. Just.” You swallowed. “Do they, like, pull from people the person’s already met, or do they, uh… make it up? To suit the person.”

“Both. But it’s easier magic to just use people the victim already loves.” He stressed victim as pointedly as he could, reminding you of the role you’d be playing.

Dean pried his eyes away from the street. They slid over to you, and you immediately did not like the suspicious gleam waiting for you there. “Why? You see somebody you know?” He bounced his eyebrows.

“What? You? Oh, please,” you laughed. You blurted out the first person you could come up with. “He’s ...Leo. In Titanic. Who do you see?”

“Another time,” Dean dodged. You usually would never let him get away with a blatant conversation shift like that, but he was grinning to himself like he could see you bullshitting too. It made you nervous. “Go on and get in there so we can gank this chump.”

“Good luck,” Sam wished you from the backseat, sounding blunter than usual. “And remember—underneath all that, he’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton murdering innocent women.”

“Got it. Reality check received,” you said. Taking the door’s handle, you shot the boys one last look to confirm they’d have your back, and ducked out of the Impala.

_

The bar was of a higher-end than you were used to, so it took some mental adjustment to prepare for your role. Usually, the barflies you tricked preferred rougher, meaner girls, and you got the feeling that wasn’t what fake-Sam—Hermes, you reminded yourself—was into. If he was going after married unfaithfuls, he probably enjoyed mature, deceptive women who talked a lot about all the money they had. It was weird to think of someone with Sam’s face being into that. 

The few pieces of gold jewelry you owned rattled on your wrists as you approached the bar. It was eight, prime drinking time, so everyone who’d had a long day at work or a date filled every inch of the place. Anyone who could afford the obscene prices, at least. A few minutes after you entered, you glimpsed Dean dissolving into the crowd. Hermes immediately took an isolated booth in the corner, where it would be easiest for him to scope out women at the bar. You only caught a glimpse of him. He lounged back, ankle on his knee, the low whiskey-hued light stroking one side of his face. It was… very Sam. He could’ve been on the couch at home, sunk into the cushions and reading a book by lamplight. You tried to reign in the confusing elixir of anxiety and attraction brewing in your stomach.

So far, he’d already begun to sort his targets. His honed-in look was unmistakable on Sam’s face. You made sure to pass in front of the women he was eyeing, and silently applauded yourself when his gaze was hooked on your figure. He trailed your slow saunter over to the bar with those intense, paletted eyes, lingering on the wedding band you wore. Knowing it was Sam—thinking it was Sam both helped and made things a million times worse. Your thoughts wandered like they never did on hunts, heart pounding.

Focus, you hissed to yourself. You needed to get him to drink something, so Sam, your Sam, could use the DNA on the glass in his spell. After setting up your act with a few coy glances, you suppressed the sickness rolling in your gut and summoned the bartender. “Two drinks—one for me, and another for the gentleman in the booth there.”

You almost ordered him Sam’s favorite beer, then felt supremely weird about it when deciding on a pricey whiskey instead. Man, was this place just begging for you to blow some cash. And this hunt… was really begging you to look some unspoken feelings in the face. As you waited for the drink to be delivered, it settled on you what Sam had said before—that this witch was wearing the body of your ideal partner. You weren’t stupid, you knew that’s what this was, but the confirmation from magic of all things…

It’s easier to just use people the victim already loves, Sam had explained.

You knew you loved him. You’d known since you were kids. But that was only ever something you told to yourself—now, the universe was shouting it back to you. It’s not like this witch reached into your mind and knew to choose Sam to get under your skin the most. The glamor was an automatic sort of magic, that you could tell. And if it was automatic… then it was all real. Your ideal partner really was Sam. Not even some dramatized, romantic version of him. The authentic article. It welled up inside you right there in that stupid-expensive bar on your stupid-expensive stool, a surging flood of emotion that seized you and tethered you to the floor.

Those feelings were always followed by the phantom pressure of Sam’s broad, gentle hands on your face. Your first kiss with him must’ve been more than a decade ago. He’d been so nervous that his hands shook, and he hadn’t taken up bow-hunting yet so the pads of his fingers were still soft. You’d held his wrists and trembled too, but you were relieved and excited and warm with wild summer liking, face tacky with dried tears. The last day had been spent weapon training. You’d shot a gun for the first time, and it’d stabbed the reality of your life right through your ribs. You were gonna kill things. It was going to be your job to kill things. Sam had sat with you while you’d sobbed on Bobby’s porch, squeezing you against him even though it was storming like hell. He’d sat there until your sides ached from laughing and you weren’t so worried about everything.

Sam promised you’d go through all this together, and he’d been right. Of course you were in love with him.

Okay. Hunt. Danger. Witch. Focus. He’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton, you reminded yourself.

But the hand brushing your bare shoulder was young, healthy, and familiar. Down to the bow-hunting callouses.

“Excuse me,” he greeted. His voice wasn’t purring with seduction or intent, as you’d imagined. It was just light, easy Sam. Like it’d been a bit since he’d seen you, and he’d just climbed out of the car to give you a secure hug and a kiss on the hair. The witch settled his glass on the bar between you, expression glittering with feigned curiosity. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it was kind of you to send over the drink. I wanted to say thank you.”

Maybe he was reaching into your mind to emulate Sam. Why would a thieving, money-hungry witch be so polite?

“Anytime,” you said, and found yourself responding like you were really talking to Sam. The witch’s smile broadened into his dimples; he wanted familiarity. “It’d be rude to leave such a cute guy without a drink on such a nice evening, don’t you think?”

“I think it’d be rude to leave a beautiful woman without company,” he agreed, eyes twinkling.

Unfortunately, your body wasn’t in hunting mode, as it should be. It was in act-normal-around-Sam mode, but “Sam” was actively flirting with you—so all of your nerves were going haywire. Your skin warmed in ways it never did for the men you won your dinner money from. Or any other man but one, period. An embarrassing, genuine giggle burst out of your chest. “I-I don’t mind,” you beamed.

“Hermes,” he said, offering you one giant hand to shake.

You gave it to him, and immediately he turned it over in his palm, lowered his face to your knuckles, and kissed them appreciatively.

“Y-Y/N,” you blurted, instead of your alias.

Dear god. Jesus Christ. What the fuck.

“Y/N. Really.” The witch repeated. Now he was turning up the sultriness. His voice was so nice and his hand was just like Sam’s and he—he even smelled like Sam.

“No. Uh. Y/N L/N, not Y/N Really,” you joked. Your full name. Out loud. Instead of your alias.

What the actual fuck.

“Forgive my asking,” and fake-Sam ran his thumb over your wedding band, his lips parted and his breath lingering on your hand. His voice was coated with want and humor. “But is there a Mr. Really?”

Fuck. Wait, yes. This was good. This was what you wanted.

You gathered yourself, but not too much, cause he seemed to like your clumsiness. Or maybe it gave him more incentive to kill you. “Yes,” you said, tip-toeing with your wording, “...does that bother you?”

Hermes just grinned and shook his head.

The witch gestured to the stool beside yours, and you nodded maybe a little too much. He claimed it, folding his legs uncomfortably because he was a bit too tall. It made you realize that the glamor worked even better (and harder) up close. All of the little details you loved about Sam—the slight crook of his left incisor where it’d almost been punched out a million times, the freckles under his collar and sleeves—loaded in. You swore they hadn’t been there before.

But, you still haven’t seen him drink from the cup. He wraps his hand loosely around the glass on the illuminated bartop, but otherwise doesn’t make a move, brushing his thigh against yours. You make up bland conversation about a long, arduous day at the wealthy company you work for. You complain a little bit about the doggy daycare your pure-bred Pomeranian goes to. When the bartender comes by, you tip him a good chunk of money right in front of Hermes. And if none of that is working, you bait him with the wedding ring and the cut of your dress.

It’s weird. It’s so fucking weird. But that’s kind of your life, so you’ve learned to accept the strangeness, and you enjoy the surface flirting with this millennia-year-old man who’s planning to kill you. While wearing the face of the love of your life.

You realize that you’ll probably never have this with the real Sam. Not the murder part, but the easy date night flirting—not without the cost of your friendship, or testing Sam’s feelings about relationships. 

When you’re satisfied that he’s hooked, as Dean put it, you raise your second round of drinks together and toast to them. You make something up about good company, and Hermes drinks. He lets his hand cover your bare knee, drawing circles that set every hair on your body on end. After what feels like hours, you brush your nails against the hair at the base of his neck, lean in, and whisper in his ear, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

And with that sly, clever Sam smile, he agrees. But— “My place is close. May I walk you?”

“You may,” you reply, even if it’s a complete deviation from his M.O. The witch always takes his victims back to their own homes, that’s how he robs them. What, was he genuinely attracted to you? Was this a real hookup thing? Or, did he recognize your real name and planned to kill you? Knowing your luck, you’d put money on murder.

Instead of offering you his arm, the witch is gentle and sweet as he gives you his hand. Just before you slip away from your seats, you put his whiskey on the stool, away from the well-meaning bartender who might clean it. The second you make it out the door with Hermes, Dean skulks out of the crowd and drops the empty glass in a plastic bag. Now you’re on the clock. Either the boys get Hermes first, or Hermes gets you. No pressure.

When you get outside, the Impala’s parked elsewhere. You’re both bothered and comforted by that, because while it may mean that the boys are out of sight, your spell is being performed where prying eyes can’t see. That’s good.

Hermes gives your hand a playful squeeze. While you’ve held Sam’s hand before, those moments were always too fleeting for you to take in much. You imagine your mind, or Hermes’ glamor, is filling in the blanks for you. His fingers are long and his hold is encompassing, swallowing almost the whole of yours. You talk for the two of you, since it’s a part of his act to give as little information about himself as possible. He pretends to enjoy your conversation. It’s your mind’s greatest impression of an interested Sam, his brow furrowed, his head ducked in thought, his focus honed in on only what you have to say. The witch leans in close when he does speak, murmuring into your ear. He loves to touch your bare skin, so his hands linger on your shoulders and the exposed portion of your back. It’s all a tactic to win over your suspicion, you know that, but it’s Sam’s hands. It’s his hands and his voice and his face.

“You know what?” Hermes surveys the street, and peaks into the alleyway nearest you, weighing your options like it’s not obvious where he’s going to drag you. Come on. “Let’s take this shortcut here.” He gives you a devouring look, “I don’t want us to wait any longer than we have to.”

“The suspicious, dark alleyway?” You joke. Just a few more minutes. Almost there. It’s gotta be.

Fake-Sam’s smile is fond, and with the same quiet resolution that Sam brings to everything, he parts from your hand to wrap his arm around your waist. He cups your side and brings you against him. His arm is the perfect shelter from the chilly night, bleeding with body heat and the homey scent of the man you love.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he purrs, and admittedly, that’s when you start to panic.

Not because he was edging you into a creepy alley—alleys, in the hunting life, were familiar territory. Or because you realized you were about to fight him. That was more than routine to hunting; it was hunting itself. What made you panic was your own willpower here. You could cut down a thousand evil witches a day, but nothing in this world could make you put that knife to Sam’s throat. Not death, not hell, not heaven. All of them had tried. Every one of them had failed.

This wasn’t Sam. You knew that. The difference was palpable. But it was close enough to make you hesitate, and you were dreading what that could mean.

“Alright, hero,” you flirted. “Lead the way.”

He teased your waist with a squeeze, then began the slow, intimate walk he imagined you were hoping for. The witch started to chat about how much he loved the city, how lively the people were. Bullshitting. Trying to settle your anxiety—so you were open to attack. Well. If he was so hellbent on cornering you now, all you could do was drag it out for as long as you could. You snuggled close to him, and pretended to admire the night sky between the towering downtown buildings.

The two of you passed the back end of a business’s warehouse. Its windows were thin-paned and close by, shimmering with neon light the closer you came to it. You made bubbly, flirty conversation, and calculated in your head when would be the perfect time to smash the glass and attack him with it.

He must’ve had the same idea.

You woke up two seconds later, glass in your hair, in your dress, and prickling painfully between you and the icy concrete floor. The warehouse ceiling floated overhead. Streams of moonlight poured through the uneven shape of the now-destroyed window. It took you but a breath to register this, then you were rolling onto your hands and snatching up the biggest shard that had survived your crash. In an instant you were heaving yourself to your feet and plotting: just a little more time, they just need a little more time, all you had to do was distract.

A long shadow fell over the glass debris. This was the part where your adrenaline would kick in, but a hot, ugly dose of fear joined it. That was Sam. You were fighting Sam. No, y-you—you weren’t—

“Well, isn’t this special,” Hermes cooed. He strolled toward you, the glass crunching under his loafers to the beat of his lazy walk. Everything but his smile was obscured by the dark. “The Winchester whore. I’ve heard of you. I have to say, I’m a little—”

“—disappointed? Let me guess: I’m shorter than you thought, prettier than expected, yadda yadda,” you filled in for him. “G-god, can’t any of you losers find different scripts?”

You knew the shard wouldn’t do much, but you’d hoped having it out in front of you would make you feel better. It didn’t. Hermes stepped into a shaft of light, illuminating Sam, with his hair in his eyes and a curious, calculating turn to his lip. It was straight out of any pink-hued day of your teenage years. Like he’d just found something fascinating in a book he was reading, and was beckoning you over to share it with you. And if it came down to it, you’d have to make him bleed if you wanted out of here.

“Fine. We’ll skip the pretense, then,” Hermes bargained, and with a wave of his hand you were slammed back-first into the nearest product shelves.

Pain exploded across your back, whiting out all else. You dropped a whole foot to the floor and collapsed there, pathetically gripping the closest table to find the courage to stand up. You couldn’t. Every deep breath you took seized your ribcage like a snapped trap. Shuddering in place there, you heard Hermes step across the glass, coming closer. Closer. Come on, Sam, you thought. For a moment, just a moment, you were truly afraid of him.

But this was Sam’s face. Out of all the faces you could see the moment before it all went dark, you’d be glad if it was his. The fear lightened. You lifted your face to meet his, snarling. Hermes waved his hand, and in one great cacophony, like a chandelier dragging itself across the floor, the broken glass fluttered up in a swirling cloud and hung in the air around you like stars. Deadly, jagged stars.

“One less thorn in my side,” he decided, and the hand—a copy of the love of your life’s hand, closed into a vicious fist. The shards whistled.

Hermes exploded into smoke.

The glass hung in the air for a moment more, then rained down on the floor again, shattering into powder. You flinched away and jerked to cover your head, and when all was quiet, and Hermes’ smoke was dissolved in the wind, you rolled onto your side and let out the breath you’d been holding.

People saved. Things hunted. Fuck, your back hurt.

You laid there for a moment longer, having fun pitying yourself, when a sharp cry of your name echoed down the alley outside. It took you a second to gather enough breath to holler back, “In here, Dean!”

Dean sprinted clear past the window, then backtracked so hard he almost tripped. “Y/N,” he sighed. Relief could’ve bowled him over at that moment.

As he charged through the broken window and swung his gun at the dark, you sat up, aiming to smile. You couldn’t really do it. “The witch is dead. Sam got him. High five?”

Dean hesitated, but after stashing his pistol in his waistband and taking stock of your injuries, he gave your raised hand a light smack and opened his arms. The gesture alone made all your injuries feel numbed. “Alright. Up and attem’. Let’s get you some Barbie bandaids and a big dinner, huh? You deserve it.”

“Hell yeah,” you breathed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Without hesitation, Dean scooped you onto your feet, brushed the hair stuck to your bloody forehead aside, and started to guide you toward your exit. After a long beat of you laying your head on him and soaking in everything that's happened, Dean murmured, “The witch didn’t look a thing like DiCaprio, did he?”

You watched your footing instead of Dean’s face. “No. No, he didn’t.”

_

After the bigger chunks of glass were taken out of your skin, you took a quick, wince-filled shower, and toweled your hair on the motel bed you shared with Sam. The glass was surprisingly the least annoying part of fighting the witch; what had really fucked you up were the bruises, which were blooming all along your back in shelf-shaped rectangles. Your injuries were pretty light for a witch hunt, though, so you contented yourself with being alive in a pair of snuggly pajamas.

It was well past eight by now, so the rooms adjacent to yours were quiet, and the road outside threw occasional beams of light across your bedspreads. You always loved the motels on the outskirts of town more than their inner-city counterparts. Though they were usually more run-down, the sounds of tires whisking on asphalt and frogs croaking in the weeds comforted you. Dean rarely let you keep the windows open, but he wasn’t about to snipe at his poor, injured best friend, so you arranged the salt on the sill in neat lines and soaked in the midnight breeze. In safer times, you and the boys might’ve had a bonfire at Bobby’s on a night like this.

Dean left the bathroom light on and propped it open enough to see by. He lapsed into his post-hunt ritual in the half-dark, chattering about your success, while Sam perched in a chair and didn’t speak.

He’d succumbed to an unnerved, unbroken silence once you promised him on the drive back that you’d live. A couple of throws and one window weren’t going to kill you. There was no chance in hell that he couldn’t sense that the witch was eating at you for different reasons, though. If he could tell the route a car had taken while blindfolded, then honing his sensitivities to the daily shifts in your mood was child’s play. But if you pushed him to let it go, he would, because he respected your limits—you just weren’t looking forward to having that conversation.

Dean chattered constantly, like he usually did when something was wrong in the air between the three of you. He’d even tried to hold a conversation with you through the bathroom door while you showered, for god’s sake. When you emerged, hissing at every pinch in your back tissue, Dean was waiting with clothes, a careful smile, and a medkit. His brother was still silent, though he’d jumped up from his seat.

“Sam?” You worked up the courage to say. “Could—would you mind, uh, helping me with my back? There’s… still a lot of pieces I couldn’t get.”

“Uh… Dean can.” Sam drilled his eyes through your room’s door, hunching into the collar of the jacket he hadn’t removed yet. “M’ gonna walk. I need to clear my head,” he sighed, snappishly, and poured all his willpower into not scrambling out the door as fast as he could. It whipped shut behind him too quickly for you to say anything back.

“...Okay. Well. Sucky job, huh?” Dean said. You heard him pop open the medkit and dip the mattress behind you, so you shuffled back a bit and carefully lifted the fabric of your shirt covering your back.

“Yeah,” you muttered. Sam’s shadow flew past your window and disappeared in long, curt steps towards the cicadas chirping by the roadside. You leaned further and further to chase his figure by the porch lights, but Dean gently reeled you back so he could start in on the tinier fragments.

“You helped a lot of people today,” Dean said, trying to goad you back to the conversation. You could hear in his pauses how worried he was about his brother, but you both knew that it was better to give Sam time to simmer, then return.

“Oh, just women willing to cheat on their husbands,” you rolled your eyes.

Dean braced his hand on your shoulder, and gave you a little warning squeeze every time he was going to pull one of the pieces out. The bloody glass tinking into the tin and your sharp winces soon formed a shaky rhythm. “Still people,” he pointed out. You didn’t reply, simmering in the thrum of his voice and the burn of your bruises.

When Dean started putting antibiotics on the cuts and loading them up with Barbie bandaids, as promised, you blurted out: “You think I upset Sam?”

You were hoping for a doubtful laugh or even some kind of scoff, like Dean found it hard that Sam could ever be mad at you, because that’s how his world worked. He needled the two of you all the time for how inseparable you were. You were you and Sam was Sam, mingled too closely for anyone else to squeeze in the middle. Usually, if you asked Dean something like that, he’d shrug. You’d know better than me, pal.

Instead, Dean released a deep breath from his nose. He did it like that so often now that you could recognize it, which unsettled you, since it was Dean’s withholding-sigh. You could usually pry just about anything out of him, but he had this wall that he hit sometimes with Sam. Brother confidentiality or whatever. You could respect that—when things didn’t involve you potentially upsetting Sam.

“Dean,” you tried again, “did I do something wrong? I feel like you’re not telling me everything here.”

He tore open another bandaid with his teeth and choose not to speak. It was enough to tell you that Dean knew he shouldn’t intervene, even if he wanted to.

You glanced over your shoulder to look at him. “Dean. C’mon. How many favors do you two knuckleheads owe me after today?”

Dean counted them in his head, closed his eyes, and cursed. “Don’t make me say it, Y/N. You’re a smart girl. You can’t be this blind.”

“Dean.”

“You don’t get it. Sam will be pissed with me.” He snapped the med-kit closed.

“If he gives you shit for it, you know I’ll cover for you. I’ll tell him that I coerced you and everything, that I cornered you,” you goaded. To make your argument even harder to ignore, you whipped down your shirt and rolled around to face him, your eyes big and bleeding with heart. “Sam is clearly upset. All I want to do is help him.”

Dean’s arms hung at his sides. His tells were small, but for a second there, you could’ve sworn you’d loosened his resolve enough. Instead, he shut you down with a short glare. “...Show me your shoulder.”

You held there for a moment, unmoving and stern, just to press how serious this was to you. If you’d done something to hurt Sam’s feelings, all three of you knew the lengths you’d go to make it up to him. And Dean keeping the reason why so close to his chest could only go two ways—either it was so light and petty that it wasn’t worth mentioning, or it was too terrible to voice. Only one of those ended with Sam nursing an infected wound for months. Few emotional appeals would reach Dean’s ears, but you thought he and his brother deserved someone who fought to right any grievances made against them.

With two fingers, you yanked your collar to one side. Sitting in the meat at the curve of your neck was a fat gauze bandage as wide as three fingers. Dean tested the edges with his thumb while you jabbed, “It’s fine. The stitches didn’t get messed up in the shower.”

“And the painkillers?” Dean checked.

“Working,” you answered. “Now, tell me what’s up. You can’t lie to me for shit.”

Again, you expected an awkward wince or a reluctant grimace from him. And again, Dean surprised you. He sighed deep into his shoulders, cupped the unmarred side of your neck, and shocked you into place with a burning, deathly serious look. “...Son of a bitch, fine! This is a big deal to me, okay? I’m breaking my brother’s trust here—but only because I think it’ll be better for the both of you, capiche?”

You nodded just as gravely. “What is it?”

“Sam…” Dean held you in place for a second more, then drifted out of your orbit, following his thoughts and hesitation in a circle around your hotel room. You let him think, a slow ugly sickness building in your throat. “Sam has feelings for you, okay? He’s—he’s had them for a while. So long that it’s insane to me that you haven’t noticed it yet—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. “Dean, please, I’m really worried about him. I don’t have time to mess around right now.”

Dean’s flailing arms dropped to his sides. He just stood there looking helpless, waiting. Waiting more.

“...Dean.” The name tasted like oncoming tears. You straightened up and steeled yourself, pressing into every new, stinging wound at your posture’s disposal. “This is… now y-you’re just being mean. You know how I feel about this.”

“I’m…” his hand fumbled upwards, like he thought about calling upon a higher power for help here, then remembered how that’d turned out last time. “Y/N, I’m not messing with you here. Sam has been crazy about you since we were kids.”

You believed him. It took some pacing, some crazed muttering, and some hard, labored breaths, but eventually you broke out of your trance and realized you believed him.

Dean nudged his chin at you, waiting for a response.

Pathetically, you said: “W-why?”

“Pardon?”

You summoned your best glare. “Level with me here. Just. Why?”

“Why the hell would I know?” Dean sputtered. He shrugged up to his ears, smiling a bit, like this was as grand a mystery to him as it was to you. “All I know is that he’d burn this world to the ground for you. Everything today… with you playing bait, and everything… It freaks him out, your scrapes. I mean, it freaks me out too, but I know you can handle yourself. It’s… I dunno, he’s mushier. It’s more personal to him.”

You thunked down on the closest surface, which could've been a hot stove for all you cared; numbing tingles rolled all the way up your arms and legs. Usually, you had a good reign on your own feelings, but now they galloped free too fast for you to catch. Exhaustion’s sweeter cousin barrelled you over. Shock and relief and love and terror each took their own swing at you, until you sat there with your hands limp in your lap, feeling like you’d laid down on the sidewalk and all of your feelings had lined up to kick you around. For the first time in your life you sat down and cried at the drop of a hat. It was fucking awesome.

A bubbly laugh rolled out of you. “Me too. I-I do too. Holy shit, am I over-reacting or what?”

Dean’s warm hand rubbed a spot on your arm the glass hadn’t touched. “Uh, maybe a bit. But I guess you’ve both waited a long time, so Sam’ll probably think it’s… sweet, or some bullshit like that.”

Another laugh surprised its way out of you. “Shut the hell up. God, you were right—I’m so blind. Do you think… Should I…? Sam, he’s still mad.”

Dean paused, enjoying how panic and delight warred on your face. “Not mad. More like…” he searched for the word, beaming slyly, “...jealous.”

_

Sam returned to a buzzing, eager silence in the motel. The second he had inched the door shut behind him, sheepish and looking like it, Dean shoved on his driving boots. You noticed how Sam was careful to catch your eye just once, otherwise entertaining himself with the pattern of the carpet. He at least seemed a touch more clear-headed. Sam had always loved a good, breezy walk; one of a million of his quirks that you loved too much to forget.

“Alright,” Dean scooped up the Impala’s keys, flicking the lapels of his jacket. “I owe Y/N her favorite dinner, like I promised. You want anything while I’m out?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Her favorite place is at least an hour and a half from here,” he said, because of course he remembered that.

His brother shrugged. “I’m in the mood to drive. Cabin fever n’ all. See you nerds in,” he was not at all subtle when checking the clock in your room, or smiling about his results: “...three hours. Ciao.”

“It’ll be cold by—” Sam started, but Dean had already sauntered passed him, swinging his keyring in one hand. His whistling carried all the way out to the lot, and quietly you wondered how long he’d been wanting to tell you what he had.

Sam was forced to turn to you. His displeasure from before had slowly melted into embarrassment, but he wasn’t about to show it. He made a helpless gesture at the door like, welp, there goes that, and the elixir of liking in your chest shook loose a giggle. A real giggle. At least you could be embarrassed together.

Since sleeping on your back was off the table for the next week of your life, you’d gotten comfy on your stomach. With Sam gone, you had the room go completely diagonal on your shared bed, angling toward the dingy colored light of the TV. Dean had put on some random soap opera you weren’t a fan of, but tonight you thought of nothing but one thing. Sam has feelings for you, Dean had said. He’d burn this world to the ground for you, Dean had said.

Repeating them to yourself felt like writing the words down and holding up the paper by Sam’s face—weighing those images against the man you knew. You’d… guessed. Hoped is more accurate. But to see those words in action, moving and breathing in a person, totally blew you out of the water. Dean was right; you were dumb as hell for not seeing it before. Sam teetered on his heels in front of you. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, hiding behind his bangs and forcing himself to stand still. When you shied away to look at the TV, you could feel his gaze devouring you in every dose he could manage. Searching and memorizing. Every time you were occupied, Sam admired the soft curve of your back in your sleep shirt, your swept hair, your shorts, the exposed skin of your neck, your face.

Still, you’d hoped and only hoped for so long. You believed Dean. But you couldn’t bring yourself to understand that it was possible in the first place.

While you watched the television and panicked over what to say to him, Sam toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the nearest chair. After a moment of hanging in the middle of your room, directionless, he followed his heart to your bedside.

“You feelin’ better?” He dipped the mattress just beside you, your side pressed against his night-chilled back.

You shuffled up onto your elbows, smiling at him with such vibrancy and realness that Sam flushed up to his ears. “I’m all good,” you promised, and it was the truth. “Happy to rid the world of another tie-wearing evil.”

That earned a dry smile. You carried through it, buoyed by everything except thought. “Only got three stitches this time,” you told him, sounding smug, and pulled down your collar to show him the bandage.

All your mind wanted to do was take a shovel out of the Impala and bury yourself off the edge of the highway, but the unbridled joy in your body didn’t care. It brimmed over everything else. The heady, healthy foam of it conquered every other feeling. Your nervousness, your terror, your anxiety. You couldn’t believe that you were just sitting here and talking about nothing. The truth was giddy in your ribcage, like good news you couldn’t keep from him any longer. Sam recieved it so rarely.

Sam just stared at you. You could only make out one side of his face in the dark, the cheek painted with the waltzing colors of the soap opera on the screen. Blues and peaches and warm grays. He was bent so close to you that you could keep your head comfortably sunk into your pillow, and you did, studying him as he studied you. The longer he took you in the more he seemed to relax. One of his hands flexed against the mattress, bringing him back to the world the two of you shared. Your exchange went on for so long that the hand on your open collar went slack, and so did Sam’s jaw. Dean was gone and the two of you were in the safe realm of the dark again—usually, Sam would reach out and brush his hand down your back, squeeze your arm, or kiss your forehead.

“If you’re good, then… good,” he said, distantly. “I’m beat. Let me help you move, huh?”

“Okay,” you hummed.

Even as Sam stood, his face chased yours, one side of a magnet seeking its counterpart. He hovered as you shuffled onto your calves, then pulled back the covers for you to worm under without disturbing your torn skin. You only had so much time to say something—and after so long, nothing could keep you from telling him. Not if you were sure he still felt the same way. You hesitated to lay down, and Sam, sensing your need to speak, paused too.

“Oh,” Sam realized. “I’d almost… forgot. Can I…?”

He waved to your forehead, and before he could retreat out of awkwardness, you convinced yourself to nod. Sam went as far as cupping your arm, then wavered. It was just cute, now. “You can,” you murmured between you, “go ahead.”

Sam dropped a brief kiss on the side of your face, then turned tail for the bathroom to get ready for bed. You had this whole fantasy in your mind of Sam letting his lips linger, burning the shape and feel of them into your soul like you wanted him to, but the two of you hadn’t breached this territory in years. Both of you were terrified of it. Before you could let that fear control you, you blurted out:

“He looked like you.”

Sam’s figure twisted toward you in the dark. “Huh?”

You cleared your throat, which burned front to back with need and apprehension. “The witch, Sam. He looked like you. To me.”

Sam couldn’t look at you dead-on without light, but he tried. Those hungry eyes, hungry for safety and closeness, scraped down your outline. Then again, testing the groves they’d dug. Sam was reminding himself of all the blood he’d seen before, driving back in the Impala and pulling glass out of your jacket with slippery, trembling hands. He deflated. He started toward you, then deflated again.

“He did that to you, with my face—” Sam bleeds.

Before he can start to spiral, you rope in his hand and squeeze it through his sleeve. It’s big and enveloping, just like Hermes’ was, but there’s so much more that the magic just couldn’t replicate. He has a mole on his wrist you’d forgotten about and these subtle veins that bump under your thumbs. His knuckles are strong and feel almost welded, but underneath all that you can feel how gentle he’s worked to be. How much he’s still scared of himself. His mind may be enclosed with good intentions, but Sam had always thought of his body as something that didn’t fully belong to him. Even if the witch didn’t possess him, to Sam, the used goods, the meat suit, it feels like it. And the last thing he’d want his possessed body to do is hurt you. Manipulate you.

“Shh,” you soothed. “No. You’re missing what I’m trying to say. The witch… his glamor made me see the most p-perfect—the best man my mind would come up with.”

Sam just stared. You squeezed his fingers, willing him to understand. His other hand, chilled by his walk, wound slowly over your shoulder. His two leading fingertips lingered over the square white bandage at the junction of your neck. Though he was repulsed by what he thought was his own handiwork, you pressed closer, chasing the rough pads of his bowhunting calluses no matter how much it stung.

“Sam,” you said, sternly.

He just shook his head, ripping his free hand back. Sam pressed: “When he hit you, he looked like me.”

You wound your tether to him ever closer, growing bolder, bringing his hand into the warmth of your chest, entwined against your collarbones. The tears surged into your lashes, but you resisted them with a shake of your head. “It made it easier,” you laughed without mirth. “When he was flirting with me, but at the end, too, yeah. Is that fucked up?”

Sam breathed short from his nose. “Yeah, a bit. But you know I’d never—”

“That’s not even a question. Of course you wouldn’t,” you swore to him. Since the humor was teasing into his voice again, you joined it with your own, pressing your face into his arm. “But, um. If you were jealous of him, well. You should know that there’s really no contest.”

Another long, draining silence haunted you from overhead for a moment, and Sam swayed in place, his hand dropping suddenly on your shoulder. For balance? Was he really… winded? Floored? The show on beside you faded to black, submerging you both in inky, sightless dark. You could feel it in his hands now—Sam was quivering with disbelief. His broad palm scoped up your neck. His hand parted from yours between you, palming across your shoulder. They joined seamlessly together on each of your cheeks, cupping your face just like they had before. You rose into the touch, following him up, until you were standing between his socks at your bedside with your face in his hands. They were still pretty cold; but warming up, and fast. Just like before, you softened all over and held steady to his wrists.

Sam swallowed. “Dean told you?” 

“Yeah,” you choked, afraid of what your voice was capable of. “Don’t be mad at him. Or jealous of some stupid witch. There’s… you have to know by now, that nobody even holds a candle to you, right?”

Sam laughed breathlessly. His long thumbs caressed your skin, your under-eyes, weighing the feel of you and your closeness like it’d be taken from him any minute. His left hand pressed even closer, and you met the scar there with your cheekbone. This is real, you promised him.

“Me too,” he gushed, and the sound poured right out of him just as yours did, overboiling with joy. “For you. Nobody, Y/N, this whole time, nobody compares.”

Real happiness was so new to you that the two of you hovered there, waiting for it to be ripped away. Your face ached, from smiling, from crying, from bruising, and it strained your chest a bit to laugh. You surged into Sam and let it all go anyway. Giggling uncomfortably rattled the injuries on your back, but any ache you felt was soothed by Sam's broad hand in your hair, stroking it away from your face. He was still chilly from his walk. There was a small building heat in the middle of his chest, so you squeezed even closer to meet it and found a leaching embrace instead. The pressure of him all around you could’ve put you in tears again. It hadn’t been long since you’d hugged him, but you could feel that love this time—the way Sam swayed with you in his arms, the way he kept pawing your neck to bring you closer and closer. Like the feeling of you laughing in tandem with him wasn’t enough. He needed to absorb you, be you, for you to be close enough to satisfy him.

He was careful to watch the injuries on your back, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to palm your bruised shoulder blades, to drag his nails down your glass-pocked spine, to squeeze you as close as possible no matter how much your material body hurt. A button on his shirt was digging into your cheek and his chin was poking your head. But it didn’t matter—he was the real deal, imperfections and all, just how you liked him. Loved him.

“Nobody?” You murmured, in disbelief.

Sam shook his head. “Nobody, Y/N. Not anyone.”

Nothing could pull you away from him then, so you didn’t bother to arrange yourself comfortably to kiss him. His face was so close to yours that you could breathe only him and the old books he smelled like. You knew that the second you kissed him that it’d be all over—forever marrying your visions of living to him, and giving your lifeblood a name. It was dangerous in this business to give your reason for living legs and a heart. But Sam’s sleepy eyes had closed and his pulsed swished under your hand, and you knew it was decades too late for that.

Your palms dropped to his chest, and Sam pinned them between you, ducking his head low enough to ache and searing you hard against him. It should’ve been awkward and cramped. You forgot that as you melted into the smell of him, a slab of chocolate in the sun. The kiss should’ve been cursed, since the angels swore he was, that you would be too. If it was, then cursed was warmth and love and closeness. Safe at last! Your body sobbed into the kiss. It all felt silly; like you could’ve done this ages ago.

Sam burst into snickers. You did too, against his mouth, and between peals of laughter you tried to scold him, “Shhh, you big idiot—” but Sam just shushed you back and kissed you again.

He dipped his head like actors in the movies did, intense-eyed and deeply fond, which made you flush and giggle harder. You both gave lose attempts at more sweet pecks, only to absolutely lose it when Sam almost knocked the lamp off the bedside table. Eventually, you were giggling too hard and stumbling too much to kiss properly at all. This didn’t intimidate Sam, who cleverly angled your cheek with his thumbs and kissed where you weren’t laughing. You squealed and wiggled for an escape that wasn’t actually alluring to you at all. Each time Sam caught you on the brow or the corner of your lip, you’d giggle and squirm away, only to float back into his orbit again. Parallelling the millions of games you’d played together as kids; tag, hide and seek, marco polo. Just another chase. Just another step in your infinite cycle.

“Really,” you said, eventually. An embarrassed heat prickled through your entire face. “Nobody compares to me. You really think that?”

“How many more times would you like me to say it?” Sam asked. He did this with both of your hands closed in one of his, his tone clever and sincere. “Not anyone.”

“You… you cheeseball,” you accused, and Sam’s mouth snapped closed to suppress another bubbly chuckle. It’d been ages since you’d gotten him to laugh so hard, so you were gluttonous off it and determined to steal more. “This whole time, you’ve been running around with this schoolyard crush on me… Man, this is quality blackmail material. Did you gush about me in your diary? Write Mr. Sam L/N in all of your notebooks?”

In the stark darkness, Sam again inclined his face over yours. “Did you?”

“No,” you blurted, a little too fast. “...It was Mrs. Y/N Winchester, obviously. It’s different.”

Sam just shook his head, charmed. You could feel him standing there across from you, admiring you in the silence, and it slammed on you like a ton of bricks that Sam must’ve done that before. A couple of times, at least. Just looked at you because he liked you so much. Any flirty confidence you’d built up was overpowered by a wave of shyness.

You rushed to fill the loving silence. “But. About the comparison thing… Good. I-I’m, I’m happy. I always wanted… I always wanted to be your… your first choice, I guess. Is that selfish?”

Sam hummed a no, and again his hand floated up to your face to warm your cheek. It filled you with so much want that your knees nearly buckled. Flustered out of your mind, you rambled: “I wasn’t a fan of Ruby, or, uh, that Becky girl from the convention, or the doctor chick in Iowa…”

He rumbled your name. “I don’t want to talk about them,” he murmured, amused, and kissed you once. When Sam parted from you, the silky lilt of his whisper in your ear flushed your belly with need. “I want to talk about you. And I definitely want to kiss you.”

“Sam…” you murmured. He dipped in for another warm, wet kiss, that instantly wiped your ability to create thought. You had to hold onto his shirt to steady yourself, and by then Sam had paused to not interrupt you. “I-I just…” you scrambled for anything to say, made honest by the dark, “I remember how you looked at them. I imagined how your hands must’ve felt on them… how theirs felt on you. I-I know I’m killing the moment here, but I need you to know—I was, I was out of my mind with jealousy, Sam. I—yeah.”

The hold on him grounded you, and again a second time when his hand settled over yours. Sam brought his arm around your waist, which made you realize how much he’d held you versus how much you’d held him. It was a disappointing ratio, so you welded him closer and snuggled your arms under his shoulders, letting your hands praise the unwinding slopes of his back.

A pleasant sigh seeped out of him, which broke into a careful chuckle. “I’m gonna be honest with you—pretty much nothing could ruin this for me right now,” Sam admitted. Which really meant something, because the chances of this being ruined by just about anything were 80-20. “I’ve wanted this since I was like, twelve. I guess you could say I wasn’t a fan of that waiter in Kansas, or your date to junior prom, or even Dean.”

You choked on your own laugh. “C’mon. You’ve got to be kidding me. Your brother, Sam? That man does not wash his underwear.”

Sam’s weighty shoulders shrugged against your cheek. You could feel his smile against your hair, that slight dimple in his cheek…“He always gets the girl. N’ the others… I don’t know.” Plainly and clearly, he turned into your embrace to speak face to face, “It’s you. It’s always been you. But I’ve never been brave enough to say it.”

You had no clue how to respond to that. A winning lottery ticket could be dropped in your lap, hell could close its gates forever, the angels could finally decide to leave you alone, and you’d know exactly what to say. Holy shit, maybe. Or even a tasteful, what the fuck. But what was good enough for Sam? What words could you say to make him happier than he just made you? You’d never been as sincere or as well-spoken as him, but he deserved that and more.

“I’m just glad we’re saying it now,” you murmured, your throat tight with building tears. Whatever channel was playing illuminated more of your face to him in a frame of white, and there Sam seemed to absorb everything you couldn’t put into words.

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “How long have you been sitting on this?”

“Since our first kiss,” you flushed. “So, uh, fifteen years?”

You could sense Sam’s smug grin coming from a mile away. He always glanced aside beforehand, like he knew he was about deliver a clever blow. “Sixteen,” he boasted. “When we almost shocked ourselves to death taking apart that old Ford in Bobby’s salvage yard—you taught me what an intercooler was, and I was so impressed I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”

“Sixteen whole years,” you scoffed. Just for emphasis, you gave Sam a little push, and he dropped down to sit on your mattress. Without question, he left room for you between his legs and you flushed down to your toes taking up that space. “You gotta beat me at everything, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But I hear it’s gentlemanly to let your girlfriend win every once in a while,” Sam hummed.

That was an obvious challenge put down just for you. It was all too easy for you to rise to the bait and fluster all at once, since Sam knew how to engineer his bets just for you. The divide between your friendship before and your relationship now was a web more than it was a line, so dipping a knee in his lap on the bed was easier than you would’ve thought. Leaning in and smoothing your hands around his neck was not. Sam’s breath hitched in his chest, which you relished in. All these little reactions he always had—they were all because of you. His shyness, his cute hesitation, his miserable attempts at being neutral.

“Well, I,” you clarified, walking two of your fingers up his collar, “hear that it’s gentlemanly to ask her out first.”

Sam really was a dork, because just a little physical flirting had his hands flitting without direction around your middle. Every time your fingers took a further step up his neck, his breathing grew deeper, straining for composure he wouldn’t ever find. Not on your watch. When you finally stole the kiss you’d been itching to take, Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands scuttled to find a place on your waist, wracked with shyness. He really didn’t want to mess this up. It was a sweet notion, if it was even possible in the first place.

Eventually, they found their hold on your hips. You hovered in his space, soaking up the feel of him in the dark as his fingertips memorized you, cataloged you, admired you. Sam’s chin tilted up, silently asking for permission as his hands hovered at the edge of your shirt. Your kiss was all the answer he needed. Gently, his fingers slid under your shirt, where they stoked the sensitive skin of your belly just for the sake of feeling you.

“Would you be my girlfriend?” Sam whispered. He was nervous and everything, as if there was a universe where you would ever turn him down. 

The hands you’d braced on Sam’s shoulders pressed closer, taking in the texture of his shirt and the muscle underneath it, until one of your warm palms had snuck underneath his collar to press flat to his back. Sam released a low hissing breath. You met him with a deep, meaningful, possessive kiss, tickling your nails against the top of his spine. 

“I’m all yours,” you promised, and Sam’s whole body sunk in relief.

He made a desperate sort of gesture along the bottom of your back, avoiding your bandages but wanting you closer, deeper, nearer to him. Emboldened by his obvious yearning, you offered your knee over his thigh. Sam invited you closer. Anxiety swirled in your gut, but the touch of him was merciful and yielding; he’d do only what you wanted to do. This was Sam. You’d never felt safer, so you sunk comfortably into the bowl of his lap.

You kissed him in long pecks at first, the soft bulb of your nose pressing into his cheek. His lips were soft and plush and warm, and the deeper you tasted them the more they drove from you. Any rigid fear left in your chest dissolved at his touch. That’s what he must’ve been waiting for, because he put his arms around you only once you untensed, and with all the urgency of too-in-love teenagers, you embraced. Sam slotted your chests together. You cupped his neck and roamed his hair, crushing him closer until you could feel his firm middle flatten to yours. A low wanting sigh rattled out of him. It was so authentic and distinctly Sam that you felt foolish for ever seeing a thing in the witch’s glamor. This was Sam, with his gentleness, his fear of his strength, his hesitation to take what he wanted. You were proud of your choice of words: you were all his, because this Sam was definitely all yours. This was the Sam you knew.

It occurred to you just how much you’d dreamed of this before. Reality surpassed expectation with ease, purely because there was so much you hadn’t considered. Often, you’d dissolve into gooey daydreams of kissing him or making him happy, only to come out of them scolding yourself for feeding your feelings. Your unreciprocated feelings. But there were dreams you couldn’t control and times where you’d indulged yourself more than usual. Even then, though, you always kept Sam’s emotions out of the way. You’d dream of getting home late from work—in the “normal” world you’d never share—and crawling into his arms, sleepy, or vice versa. You’d dream of going for long drives with him and snuggling with him in the Impala. But you were always the one who said those three scary words to him, while he simply existed as he always did. If you puppeteered Sam into saying it, then you were taking a machete to any notion that your fantasies could be real—and making Sam lie in order to please you.

What you hadn’t considered was what would happen if Sam did say I love you, and, even better: if he meant it.

Sam murmurs it as you’re admiring him in the dark. His eyes had fallen closed and his head had tilted back, receptive to your touch. You loved to touch his face; you warmed his lap, cupped his cheeks, stroked the smooth back of your hand against his temple, and pushed the hair from his forehead in the cool motel darkness. Every once in a while the headlights of a car would give you a glimpse at him, and each time Sam’s gaze would almost be too much.

You whisper it back, thankful for the boldness the dark gives you, and feel something blaze hot inside you when his mouth drags down your cheek to your jaw. They’re deep and punctuating kisses. You’re reminded again of the sinking acceptance you’d felt when Hermes’ shadow had fallen over you. For a second, you’d thought that was gonna be it. Sam would’ve never known the truth, and would’ve ended up in that warehouse instead, picking the glass out of unresponsive skin. And though you’d survived today… Tomorrow, a reaper would have a million opportunities to take what had only just been sown.

You bunched your hands in Sam’s shirt, sounding urgent. “...Let me show you how much.”

Sam hung there for a moment, weighing the silence between your bodies. Weighing the space between them, and how much of it left there was. “You want that?” He asked. Sam made it sound like you were asking to stick your hand in a shark tank. “You’re… you’re sure?”

Your hand on Sam’s cheek turned over, so you were stroking your softer knuckles against his skin. You nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and pressed in to brush your noses together. Sam’s head tilted all the way back to meet yours when you prayed: “I’m sure. I… I waited a long time to be close to you, so… I’m not gonna waste a second more.”

A breath rasped out of him in understanding. Like everything else in your life, this could be taken from you. Sam’s fingers crept up the back of your shirt, sliding around for where the bandages began and ended. He confessed, “Me either.”

His kiss drew deeper, more lovesick, chasing each one to their full depth. Your hands shyly migrated to the buttons of his flannel and smoothed there. He nodded, flattening his hand to the small of your back, and after that you didn’t have to wonder once how Sam felt about you. It was outlined clearly for you in Sam’s handwriting. He showed it in the absorbing nature of each of his kisses; how he nosed every new inch of your skin, taking care to declothe you the right and patient way; how aware he was of your bruises and bites. When you’re clothesless, he runs both of his hands down your arms and just feels you in the dark. Sam gives you the same courtesy. When you help him out of his last layer, your hands smooth against his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his neck, but the contact still isn’t enough—you need to be closer. You drag him into another gapless embrace, and Sam is already there, eager to pull you in. His hands knead you with purpose. Your hips, your waist, your stomach, are squeezed until every part of you feels raw and achy and alive. She’s real, Sam’s body sighs. Another surging, dizzying kiss has you dragging your nails down his back, tasting every puckered scar and raised laceration from his shoulders to his obliques. He’s plush and warm and firm and right, a missing piece finally filled.

With his arms around you, you kiss him breathless and thumb open the button of his jeans. Your spine tingles in delight the second your fingers are hooked in his belt loops. The butterflies in your belly are birds by the time his jeans are past his hips, and when you’re on your knees in front of him, Sam’s calloused palms exploring your neck and your hair, the bruises and cuts on your back are just a memory.

“You don’t have to—” Sam starts.

The smile on your face is a bit too clever. “I know.” You frame his waist in your hands, pressing both thumbs into the divots of his hips. Sliding downward to find his boxers, you can feel his legs trembling at your touch, the skin there prickling as it’s exposed inch by inch. You press a lingering kiss to his waistband that makes Sam’s breath hitch in his throat. “Just helping you out of these,” you smile innocently, plucking the edge of his boxers. “I’ll have my fun with you like this when your brother isn’t coming back in an hour.”

“O-okay,” Sam agrees, and even in the dark you can tell he’s grinning.

When he’s nude, Sam finds your hand in the dark and brings you to stand with him. Again, you’re slotted into place in his arms, skin tacky with building sweat and cooled by the open window. His face and neck are blazing with a blush. You push the back of your hand against it, feeling him, all of him, in the honesty of the dark. His face lowers to yours, and again you’re met with the impression that the moment he kisses you, you’re his—curse and angels and demons and all.

You accept it with nothing but bliss.

He guides your knees back to the bed again, this time supporting your thighs as you lift yourself up. Your whole body reacts like before, surging into him and purring deep in your throat. You loop your arms around his shoulders in a claiming sort of way, and where your skin meets it sticks and melts together. Dragging you in around the middle, Sam hoisted you into his lap and moaned into your kiss; you slot right onto him, knees tight to his thighs and your chest pressed to his. You have the slightest advantage over him like this, your shadow falling on him. Sam’s eyes flutter shut and he sucks down breath after breath, his hair in his eyes, illuminated in slivers by the television. Something about it just makes you wetter. When you push further into him, there’s a glide between your bodies that makes Sam groan.

“Sh, sh, be careful of your back,” he warns. “Could you—could you hand me my wallet?”

You pat his chest, forehead pressed to his, and answer with a laugh instead: “I’ve got the pill?”

A shift goes through Sam’s entire body, radiating up from his lap. He shuffles his hips, lips parted, and you can feel his excitement pounding in his chest. “Atta girl,” he decides, smirking. “That’s good too.”

Flushed from head-to-toe with heat, you cup Sam’s neck and meet him kiss for kiss. During, you find him between you and tilt in your hips, finally asking the silent question. Sam’s fingers scramble across your thighs, your sides, and around your back. He hangs there, trying to pin down how real this is. This is really happening, his heaving chest says. She’s right here in front of me. A wet, passionate kiss balms his worries. He gives you the littlest nod. That's all it takes for Sam to be met with new, plush territory. You pant into each other’s mouths, fingers digging into flesh, hips dying to sink further in, hanging on the precipice, and when Sam’s certain that you’re ready, that this is really what you want, he presses your thighs down.

A desperate sigh seeps from his mouth to yours, like there's no better place to be in the world than inside you. Something needy and high slips from your lips. For a long time, all either of you can do is bask in it, in each other, breathing hard and shivering. Sam hugs you—genuinely hugs you—against him. There’s a thought somewhere in your mind that you should be nervous at all the lines you’re crossing here, but… Any day of the week you could rub your cheek into Sam’s shoulder like this. It’s a new song, but familiar notes dance all the way through it. The motel room is silent but for the barely-there hum of the TV and the crickets outside, so Sam’s heart under your ear booms. You soak in the familiar sound of it.

“I love you,” you tell him, and Sam hushes it back so fast your voices overlap, then again, “so much—so, so much—” as he starts to move.

Your whole lower half rolls with him, a boat on a wave. An urgent, keening yes squeals out of you the second Sam encourages you down again. It's more than good, than perfect, and entwined so closely like this, you can hear every thought and whim swirling around his mind—can read him better than you ever could before. You feel foolish. How much earlier could you have had this, if you hadn’t been so afraid? There were a million times in your life where you could’ve told Sam. Before the cage, when the apocalypse started, when Dean died and you were stranded with only each other. You latch onto him as you find your rhythm, a hand in his hair, nails in his shoulders, seared as close to him as you can be. Sam gasps your name; happy.

I have him now, you remind yourself. And I’m more than happy with that.

_

tags: @lacilou

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #user uncouth

[the-moon-lullaby]

Hi! How about some domestic and nsfw hc for Rayan? The sandy-skinned god deserves some love too 😆

Domestic Life with Rayan

N/A : This took a little while to write, sorry you had to wait dear !

Warning : NSFW under the cut

Goes to the Cosy Bear Café every morning before heading to Anteros Academy to have a little chat with Candy and enjoy a cup of coffee with her (also if she needs to and that he has the time to do so, he helps her to put the tables outside)

Sometimes, when he’s done with his classes of the day, he comes to the Café and sit in corner, sipping on a drink, while he’s preparing his next classes, grading some of his students’s essays or simply reading a book

He always order something different to drink because he wants to try everything Candy put on the menu

Grocery shopping with Rayan is so funny because he has his little list and it always begins with him following it diligently but he’ll always end up wandering around the aisles (and Candy looses him in the supermarket)

He and Candy often end up buying everything but what’s on the list lmao

Loves perfumed candles, there’s dozen in their apartment (I JUST KNOW THIS, and if Candy looses him during grocery shopping, he's probably picking up some)

He likes cleaning days  and he’s very particular about the cleaning products he uses (once again he spends so much time in the supermarket choosing them)

He often puts on jazz or (modern) classical music in the background while he’s working or reading 

He knows all the tea about the neighbours and he shares it with Candy (he’s very good at small talk and at connecting with people, therefore my man end up being told everything that’s going on in the building lol)

Likes doing online shopping with Candy (whether it’s for him or her)

Watching documentaries (documentaries on Ancient Greece or just historical documentaries in general and that’s just a personal intake ‘cause I love these lol)  together while cuddling on the couch with Rayan combing her fingers through Candy’s hair

Actually, loves playing with Candy’s hair when they’re cuddling

Random compliments all the time (like complimenting her outfit or just tell her that she’s the most beautiful woman he met)

naps together became a habit, especially during more stressful times of the year

also sleeps in on Sundays and would probably make a brunch with Candy afterward

Rayan wearing his glasses when he reads or when he’s on his computer and Candy going feral because of this (sorry but the illustration of him for that Valentine’s Day event, LORD HAVE MERCY)

He’s often the one that organises the dates : he love trying new restaurant and I think he likes gastronomic cuisine since he finds it as tasty as it is pretty 

He also likes the kind of dates that allow him and Candy to show their creative side (like the date in one of the Valentine’s Day event where they went to a workshop to make perfume, that was so sweet btw) 

He likes to go out with Candy whenever they can but he also enjoys when they stay home together for some quality time

𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 :

When it comes to oral, he’s a giver. He’s not really the one to tease but he likes taking his sweet time doing so

He likes to receive it too though and if Candy wants to get on her knees, he has no objections 

however he loves it the most when it happens in the morning (the morning wood oops) or at his office at Anteros during an unexpected visit 

About that, he may or may have not fucked Candy on his desk and it may have happened more than once (I had to do this one, I MEAN GUYS)

Candy trying on his glasses for fun and him realising he has a thing for this because she look so hot with them

Would moan but lowkey you know ? Like he isn’t that loud but he doesn’t restrain himself either (And I just know this man has a deep voice so it’d be music to Candy’s ears) 

However, he likes it if Candy gets loud and it makes him go even harder 

Praises. A lot of them. Also call her with pet names during sex (might let out a « good girl » and ahhhh)

he owns a copy of the Kama Sutra (I am not saying that he’s into that or anything - even though he really might -  but he definitely read it because well, as art enthusiast, of course he wanted to know a little more about the art of making love)

As much as he loves admiring Candy’s face, he loves backshots (because it allows him to hit it deep)

Breading kink ? (Maybeeee)

Despite all, I don't think he's really into being called Daddy (even tho he has that "Daddy aura", whatever that means, idk myself) because it'd make him think of that Freudian theory lol

I'm sorry I am taking so long to post (I didn't expect to receive this much requests but I'm also glad to see that the fandom is still alive lol) but I'm trying my best to answer them all !

#my candy love #mcl #amor doce #amour sucre #mcl rayan #my candy love rayan #amor doce rayan #mclul #mcl university life #mcl love life #mclll

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Gift Giving

batboys x reader

(A/N): I've had zero time to write between 15 hours a week of rehearsal, 20 hours of honors seminar work, other class, and my job so I apologize for once again being MIA.

Today is my birthday, though, so I found this reasonably relevant headcanon set (because I did not have time to write something like I wanted to) and I'm posting it as my gift to you. Enjoy <3

wc: ~600

warnings: none

~~

Dick Grayson:

He’s the easiest out of his brothers to shop for, mostly because he’s happy with anything as long as the person made an effort

He’s given quite a few gag gifts in his day, so if he gets any, he’ll take them good naturedly and laugh 

If you make him something, he’ll absolutely adore it

And he sounds a little bit like a parent when he says that he adores everything you give him because it came from you, and you put in the effort to find something specifically for him, and that means more than anything

Literally, he’d be happy with a new pair of pj pants

But if you want to make him really happy, get him things that will improve his quality of life

Like buy him body wash you think he’ll love the smell of, something a little more pricey that he’d never buy for himself but would really want to

 Jason Todd:

There are a few avenues you can go down when buying Jason gifts

The first is the literature route

You can either buy him a new book, a fancy copy of one he loves, or get something just a little decorative like a signed copy or a special dust jacket

The other thing guaranteed to be a hit is comfort items

He loves items that make him feel safe, so a weighted blanket or a fluffy blanket, or a new type of tea to try will make him so happy

Even better if you do something like a tasting box for the two of you to do together 

You can do gag gifts with him, but you have to be careful a) not to go too far and b) because he can and will give as good as he gets and he is devious

 Tim Drake:

Tim loves technology, so it’s smart to base gifts for him around that

Get him a new tool or a new device, or just something you found that you thought was awesome that he can tinker with

Anything weird and different he would find intriguing, and his face will light up when he thinks of things to do with new parts he’s never had before

He, like Jason, also loves comfort items

Get him fuzzy things like jackets or blankets

And consider something that heats up; he has poor circulation and gets cold easily, especially when spending all night in the batcave 

(You could also indulge his coffee habit with more coffee, but honestly the best way to watch his caffeine intake is to drink coffee with him, so consider trying new types of coffee with him so he has to slow down and taste it)

 Damian Wayne:

Damian likes  utilitarian gifts, things he can use

It’s hard to shop for him sometimes because of this

What do you get for the person whose hobbies are weaponry and art??

Much of the equipment and art supplies he uses is too expensive for you to afford

You can get him gifts for his pets, though you have to be careful because he is particular

If there’s some new exhibit going on that you know he’ll like, get tickets (but be careful that he hasn’t bought them first)

Overall, the best idea is to pay attention

If he needs something, like a new glass to clean his brushes in, or mentioned a type of tea he was wanting to try, get it for him

Or if you notice something he needs and you can buy it, do so

Not only will it be something he would appreciate, it would let him know that you’re paying attention to him and what he likes, and every time he uses it, he’ll think of you

#i'm 20 now yikes #i'm too old and too young for that #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson headcanons #dick grayson #dick grayson imagines #jason todd x reader #jason todd headcanons #jason todd headcanon #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #dick grayson fanfiction #tim drake x you #tim drake headcanons #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake headcanon #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x you #damian wayne headcanon #my writing

[cxrine]

HII i’m here for more requests, but just little headcanons with the morningstar court!! basically, the reader is like, blind without glasses, and they finally decided to get contacts and they went shopping with beelzebub, satan, solielin, rosealine, isahine, hervelia and diavolo, but the problem is that the reader is terrified to place contacts in their eyes. so it takes them like 30 minutes to put one contact in, and they’re like suffering (jokingly) and i just want the characters reactions to it!!

— @macrylys

OC: MorningStar court:-

Beelzebub, Satan, Solielin, Isahine X Reader

❀ Synopsis: Oh you're finally getting contacts? That's great, let them accompany you....oh my god, you're gonna blind yourself with the way you're putting in your contacts, your nervousness is gonna hurt you!! My god! Let them help...

❀ Fluff, crack?|| Established relationship|| Scenario|| normal versions of OCs

❀ Author's notes: I liked this one!! Thank you for requesting this and I love you all!! Also the characters in this imagine are not married to their original spouses, they're best-friend or only have a marriage of convenience and thus have no love in the relationship! Changed the request a bit

Blind Love.......Literally..

"I CAN'T STAND THIS!!" You say throwing your glasses across the floor making your S/O laugh as they nearly fell back into bed, before you walked it up and picked it up before placing it on your face again "..Jk, I need them to see.." you say making them giggle again...why are they like this?

"...you know you don't need to wear them right?" They say with a grin as she laid on their bed on their back and looked at your upside down with a smile, making you confused. s they see your confused face, they say "..Yeah, I mean there is something called contact lenses in this world,, you know that right?"

"..Right forget this place isn't like Victorian era anymore...shit.."

"..Yup, let's go shopping!!" They say as you became nervous...so of-course you denied as they tried their hardest to convince you saying they'll try to reduce your pain as much as they can! Sighing, you agreed...

Beelzebub MorningStar

◈ "...I'M NOT PUTTING IN YOUR CONTACTS! DO YOU WANT TO BE BLIND?!?"

◈ He took you to to like a lavish place...and please for the love of god, don't ask him to put in your contact...He eats a lot, he's the avatar of Gluttony and first of all, always has something in his hands whether it be rock chips, blood shakes, or something of the sort...and you don't know what he ate last and how clean his hand might be...

◈ ....Yeah, if he ends up using his hands to put in your contacts, you're going to go blind from the tiniest bit of spice from the rock chips he ate last or sugar crystal from his skull sugar puffs...I'm sure you don't want that and he knows and he doesn't want this either!

◈ offers to find some colours that will look good on you or some styles which in his opinion make your eyes look sexier, and he will pay for them no matter how much you yell at him to not, he will hold you upside down with his tail and he will pay for everything!

◈ Beelzebub knows Lucifer wears contact lenses at times, so he tries to guide you through it through actions doing it on himself like Lucifer does, but it's super awkward and you both always miss one or the other thing and it's funny as hell...

◈ He always makes sure you don't forget your contact lenses juice and makes sure you remove them before sleep at night cause he don't want them to get crusty like you do in the night during when you sleep...

◈ He gets you new contacts every time they expire, because you're lazy and he gets this excuse to buy more designs and styles of lenses! He does this all the time and you have to end up modelling your face with contacts whenever you can...

◈He gets Lucifer to calm your fear of contacts by showing you how he puts them on even with demon claws and not gonna lie it looks like a horror movie but it's hellishly sick and cool! Beel now thinks of stabbing his elder brother for trying to scare you...

Satan MorningStar

◈ "I'm not sure helping you put in contacts is the best idea...What if I get nervous and my claws come out?!"

◈Satan of-course helps you pick out lenses and first takes you to an eye doctor to check your eyes and your sclera,especially if you're a demon cause scelra is the important part if you're a natural demon and have black sclera like Raemous, Diavolo, Behemoth, Nightmare or Desion.

◈ Anyways, he will find something clear, he's not too much of a fan of TOO big ones just incase they don't have the best vision, he doesn't want you to feel blind despite having things which is meant to clear out your blindness...

◈ He is a generally a bit of a jittery person, despite being a prince, in a relationship or marriage, he will still be a bit nervous especially holding a rather delicate part of you like your beating heart after you ripped it out in a bet, or in this case your gorgeous face and your eyeball...

◈ He will generally get a bit nervous and when he gets nervous he turns into his demon form in accident at times, and in his demon forms his claws and SUPER large and sharper than the sharpest knife in the world...and he fears he will do that...so does not matter if you're an angel a human or an immortal, he will not put in your contacts...

◈ He will make sure your contacts don't dry out, you don't place them randomly and makes sure to help you buy new ones when yours expire...he's a sweet heart....

◈ He will also remind you to not sleep in them and if you do end up sleeping in them, that is the only time he will remove your lenses, making 8 HUNDRED SEPTILLION PERCENT SURE that he won't transform!

Solielin MorningStar

◈ "......Oh god, what was the spell to calm the pain...Let me check my book!" "NO-!" *cue 3 hours later* "..Okay, I FOUND I-...are you sleeping?....babe?"

◈ Okay no seriously, she's good at making sure she's doing everything right, she will take you to the doctor, pay for your checkup and make sure you take eye -drops, take in vitamin A and get you some comfy eye contact lenses.....

◈.....she will get distracted by them...don't...it's just better to go with someone else unless you like sitting in one position for next five hours cause she's gonna have a hard time choosing one...

◈ She finds one pair comfy but is rather blurry, one which is perfect vision for you but is very painful and one which is both but not spicy enough for your eyes...I don't know...ask her...

◈ Okay, she will not remember to change your expired lenses, so she will keep it in her large calendar in minuscule writing and forget until the calendar yells at her to do her shit... she will apologize for a bit, beofre running to get some new pairs!!

◈ Honestly she herself needs some, so you decide to make it a stupid little date where you both try to find eye-lenses for each other which are matching and seeing how much similarities you both have...It's weird, I know, but it makes you both happy, so who am I to complain?

◈ She finds it a hard time to put in eye-drops or her contact lenses, and you try to help each other and it always ends up with either one of you crying or you sleeping and her scrolling through the library for a book on eye-lenses...

Isahine MorningStar

◈ "I don't think I should put in your lenses, I got my manicured done and my nails are super long..."

◈ Isahine happily pays for everything you want even if you demand that she doesn't she will still do it, she just loves to spoil you!! She sometimes wears lenses and glasses herself for modelling and seven glasses during studying, albeit rarely..

◈ She is also worried for your eyes, she'll take you to a eye doctor and see if the number of your glasses is correct, she'll also does eye exercises with you after studying or during night before sleep as she does her skin-are routine with you!

◈ she makes sure you take good contact lenses, she herself wears them at times after studying for too long or she is happy to make your glasses more comfortable if you're not willing to want to wear contacts!

◈ She is also scared to put in your contacts, though she knows how to do it well, she's worried if she might accidentally stab you in the eyes with her manicured nails cause putting contact lenses on someone else is different than putting in your own...

◈ she is always making sure you don't wear them for too long if they hurt, she is a super worried mama bear type of girl, she loves you and you're precious to her! How dare anything hurt you!?

◈ stares at you while you stab yourself in the eye for 30 minutes trying to put in one contact, will not help cause again nails, but moral support counts, right? She herself does this too often, wondering how she isn't blind yet..but it's fine...

◈ Always happily buy new ones for you, she loves to spoil you and it's one small things she likes to buy you new pair every time yours get expire along with a care package, it's flowers, candy and soda...you're gonna be fine!!

:: Tagging: @roseadleyn, @sweetlyvibe, @amxto, @thalliian, @achy-boo, @dxmoness, @writerig, @astrililu @lumiidouce

© All three characters belong to me, Lxdymoon, Aurelia, Moon, Cerine. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for ready and if you like this check out my blog!

#navi⌗answers⌗!!!!! #navi⌗oc⌗writes #navi⌗writes⌗ #oc x reader #oc x canon #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x yandere oc #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #oc x y/n #oc x you #original character x reader #original character #oc scenario #oc imagines #oc headcanons #oc x reader headcanons #oc x reader smut #oc x reader scenario #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere oc imagine #yandere male x reader #yandere ocs

[chimerickat]

For the trope question, interrupted kisses are always fun if a little frustrating !

Five times Seto Kaiba seems like he wants to kiss you, and the one time he kisses you.

Either keep reading below the cut, or on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43853316

One.

When you hear a knock on the front door of the store, you're ready to disappear into the backroom. The store is closed, and you’re just cleaning up for the night.

But then you glance at the door and see Seto Kaiba standing on the other side of the glass. He isn't just any customer so you hurry over to unlock the front door and let him in.

"Hi Kaiba. Yugi isn't here at the moment." You know he and Yugi are friendly, but Yugi is on a date. It's why he asked you to close up the shop for him.

"I'm aware." Kaiba stares down at you. "Yugi said I could still come by to pick up some new booster packs."

“Oh cool.” It would have been nice if Yugi had mentioned that plan to you. “Let me check if he has anything set aside for you.”

Kaiba follows you to the register. Underneath sit the special orders, but you don’t see anything with Kaiba’s name on it.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I can try to text him if you want?”

He grunts and stares at you. After a moment, you assume that, yes, you should text Yugi.

“Kaiba is here after close expecting booster packs? Please help! I didn’t agree to this!!!”

After you hit send, you realize that you need to stand around waiting for Yugi to respond. “Are there any cards you’re looking for with the new boosters?”

Kaiba raises his eyebrow. “Why else would I bother buying them?”

“Right.” You sigh. “Well if you don’t want to participate in polite conversation, I’ve got a register to deal with.” You wave at the rest of the store. “Feel free to wait wherever.”

You ignore him, not wanting to see his reaction, as you open the cash drawer and begin to close for the night. The task requires your focus as normally Yugi or his Grandpa do the job, and you don’t want to screw it up. By the time you’re done, Kaiba is working at a table and Yugi has responded to your text.

"sorry!"

"told him i wouldnt be there"

"thought he wasnt going"

"just let him get w/e from back room"

Right. Well you can't be too mad at Yugi. His date tonight had been his focus. "Hey, Kaiba?" He looks up. "Yugi says you can collect your packs from the back room."

"Fine." His focus turns back to his laptop. He keeps typing. You wait for him to put his laptop away. He doesn't.

"You can pick out the booster packs now."

"I'll do it once I've finished this," he says without looking up.

You look at the time. Yugi absolutely owes you overtime, but you won't ever close the shop for him again. "Kaiba, I'm leaving. You can either let me unlock the storage room for you now, or you can hang out here and wait for Yugi."

He looks up and narrows his eyes. "I waited on you, and my time is worth significantly more than yours."

"Are you trying for insulting or a guilt trip? You can't do both."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm pointing out that you're being unreasonable."

You stare at him. The sheer audacity of Seto Kaiba calling you unreasonable has you shocked into silence. He wouldn't know reasonable behavior if it showed up in a Blue Eyes White Dragon car.

You are about to say as much to him, but he shuts his laptop and puts it back in his briefcase. Then he stands up and waves his hand forward, inviting you to lead the way.

You bite your lip and lead him to the back storage room. The new booster packs technically aren't supposed to launch until later in the week, but of course, Kame Game already has their shipment.

You look through boxes for the new boosters. Most of the boxes sitting out are already half-empty. Yugi restocked the floor this morning, and you intended to restock after close before Kaiba crashed the party.

"He must have put the boosters out of the way," you say. "Let me get the step ladder."

"I could still be working, but again, you're wasting my time."

"Next time, make sure you come when Yugi is here then." You pull the step ladder out from the closet and over to the main shelves. Then you start pulling the boxes out just enough to check their contents until you find one full of booster packs. "Got it!"

You hold the box with one hand and the shelf with the other as you ease yourself back to the ground. Then you hand the box out to him. "Okay, Yugi says take whatever you want."

He grabs a bunch of packs. "Add them to my tab." Then he lifts the box and places it back on the shelf.

"Show off," you mutter.

He smirks and looks down on you. He's already standing close, but he takes a step closer. "Next time, I'll be sure to come when Yugi isn't around."

You have to think twice about what he's saying before it clicks. Even then, it doesn't quite make sense. He leans toward you, still smirking.

Then one of the disturbed boxes tilts, and you watch as a bunch of action figures fall onto Kaiba's head. Some of them hit you as well, but he gets the majority of the damage.

He curses and storms out without looking your way.

Two.

When Kaiba walks into your favorite coffee shop as you're waiting for your drink, you wonder if you should pretend that you don't see him. You've replayed the moment in the storage room over and over, and you think he had been about to kiss you.

You're also sure that you're making it all up. Seto Kaiba would have no reason to kiss you. Especially not after you'd spent the whole time being rude to him.

He notices you before you can make up your mind. The moment his eyes meet yours, you know that you can't ignore him. You smile and wave. Then you turn back to the bar, hoping your drink will be ready soon.

Kaiba walks over to the bar, briefly speaks with the barista, and is presented his drink. Of course he orders ahead. You're not even surprised.

Then he approaches you instead of leaving.

"So you'll wait for a drink but not for me to finish my work."

"Waiting for your coffee is pretty standard practice for most people, Kaiba. We're not all important men who run the city like you are."

He raises an eyebrow. "The app to order ahead is available to everyone."

Right. Of course he used an app. You don't know why you thought his assistant called ahead to ensure his drink would be ready.

He smirks. "This isn't the way I imagined shutting you up, but it'll work for now."

Oh. He couldn't possibly mean...? You can feel the surprise showing on your face, but you can't help it.

Then you hear the barista calling out your name. You dart around Kaiba, grab your drink, and dash to the door. He doesn't move from his spot, and you don't look back as you leave the shop.

Three.

When Mai throws a party, she goes all out. It seems like everyone she knows is present, whether she likes them or not.

But still, you're surprised when Kaiba walks up behind you and puts one hand down on the bar. He's sideways so his body is facing you, and you worry that if you turn toward him, your shoulder will hit his chest. So you turn just your head. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Kujaku blackmailed me into coming." He gets the attention of the bartender and asks for a brand of beer that you've never heard of before. Then his attention shifts back to you. "She even had the audacity to demand an expensive birthday present."

You're intrigued. "What blackmail does Mai have on you?"

"Emotional." Then he changes the subject. "This party sucks. We should leave."

"Emotional blackmail?" You consider the words as you say them out loud. "Like she made you feel guilty about not wanting to come?" It was the trick she pulled on you. You frown. That just doesn't seem like Kaiba, but maybe he likes Mai more than you thought.

"No." He doesn't say anything further.

You turn on your barstool, ready to hop off in search of the birthday girl. Maybe she'll let you in on her secret blackmail.

Then Kaiba blocks you. "Where are you going?" he demands to know.

His hands lean on the bar on either side of you. You would have to duck underneath his arms to get away. Instead you put a hand on his chest, ready to push. "I was going to look for Mai?"

"So she can introduce you to someone?"

"What...?"

He's leaning forward on the bar. His face is close to yours. His blue eyes seem to be studying you. "Leave the party with me."

"Are you asking me to go home with you?" you blurt out before you can think about the words.

He's looking at your lips. You can tell he's looking at your lips. Then one of his hands comes up to cup your chin. "Yes."

"KAIBA! Give 'er some space."

Kaiba stands upright and spins around to face Jonouchi. "Mind your own business, mutt."

You slip off the barstool and disappear into the crowd, intent on avoiding their fight and finding Mai.

Four. 

You look up from your book to see Kaiba standing in front of you. He startles you. "Hey, Kaiba. Yugi is upstairs." 

"Hn." He steps closer to you and looks at your book. 

You pull the book closer to your body, keeping the cover out of sight. "It's just something Anzu loaned to me." That's true. She did loan it to you, insisting it was amazing. However, you don't want to defend your reading choices to Kaiba. You hope throwing Anzu's name into the mix will keep him quiet. 

"A treaty on friendship?" 

You stare at him for a moment, trying to understand... then you realize he's making a joke. You smile. "I think she saves all of her friendship pamphlets for you."

He raises an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware she wanted my friendship."

"She probably doesn't." You shrug. It's no secret that Anzu is one snarky comment away from trying to deck Kaiba. "But you and Yugi are friends so I'm sure she'd like to get along." 

"What about you?" He's suddenly in your space, leaning on the chair you're sitting in. His eyes lock onto yours.

You look for an escape, but short of sliding down between his legs, you have nowhere to go. "What about me?" 

"What kind of relationship do you want with me?" 

It's a bold question. You can hear Mai in the back of your head, saying he likes you. She said the only reason he came to her party was to be sure she didn't set you up with someone. Yugi even mentioned that Kaiba talked about you more than anyone else. 

And now he's leaning down like he's going to kiss you. 

"Hey, Kaiba--WHOOPS!" 

Kaiba steps back at Yugi's shout. You take that opportunity to stand up from the chair and back away. 

Yugi's face reddens as he looks between the two of you. "Did I interrupt?" 

"No," you say before Yugi can finish, before Kaiba can say anything himself. Then you hurry away for the backroom. You can pretend to be busy there. 

Five.

As you push open the front door for Kame Game, you feel the chilly night air rush past you. Yugi keeps the shop warm and comforting so it's an unpleasant surprise. You step out of the shop, wishing you had warmer clothing. You keep forgetting to bring a jacket for your evening walk home, and you know you'll be freezing by the time your bus arrives.

Still, you carry on to the bus stop. If you wait inside the shop, you run the risk of missing the bus if it shows up early. As much as you like Yugi, you don't want to hang around waiting for another bus if you miss your usual line.

At the stop, you try to curl into yourself as much as possible to keep warm. It doesn't work.

Then a car pulls up to the stop. The windows are tinted so you can't see who is inside, and thoughts of kidnapping rush through your brain. Do you have a weapon on you? Can you just run back to the game shop?

The window rolls down. Kaiba is alone in the car. "Get in," he says.

It's late and cold. Kaiba isn't a stranger. You don't waste time pretending to protest. You pull open the passenger door and get into his car. "Thanks for the ride home."

"We're having dinner first," he says as the car pulls away from the curb.

"Generally you ask people to go on dates with you. I think abducting them off the street is frowned on."

He frowns. "You willingly got into my car."

"I think it made sense to assume you were driving me home."

"Well I'm driving you to my home."

Your eyes narrow. "I thought you said we were going to have dinner?"

"Yes, in the privacy of my home, with the best chef in the city."

The car stays silent. You study Kaiba while he drives. He glances over and catches you staring. You try not to look away even as you feel your face warm up. He doesn't comment on it and focuses back on the road ahead.

When he pulls up to his mansion, he stops his car in front of the entrance. After he turns the engine off, he reaches for his seatbelt. You put your hand on his, getting his attention. "How long have you wanted to ask me out?" You're teasing him. He deserves it for not properly asking you on a date. "Please tell me you haven't been stalking me, waiting for a chance to lure me into your car."

"Of course not!" He pulls away from you and gets out of the car. You push open your door and get out.

"What if I'm already seeing someone?"

He glares as he approaches you. "Are you?"

"No." You shrug. "I'm just pointing out that you haven't asked me out yet so you're making a lot of assumptions here."

He cups your face with his hands. "No. I don't think I am." Then he leans down to kiss you.

"Seto!" He pulls away with a groan. Then he turns to face the building. Mokuba bounces down the stairs toward the two of you. His long hair is tied up in a ponytail and he's wearing an oversized sweatshirt.

He stops with a grin. "I see you've finally brought your girlfriend over."

"I'm not his girlfriend."

"You are," Kaiba corrects.

"That's news to me. Since when?"

Kaiba glares at the ground for a moment while Mokuba tries to hide his grin behind his hand. "Since right now."

"We'll see." You smile at Mokuba. "Do I get a tour?"

So Mokuba leads you on a tour of the mansion. He shows off the movie theater and game rooms, clearly his favorite rooms, but also the massive kitchen and library. Then he insists on sitting next to you at the dining room table.

Dinner turns into more of a hang out with Mokuba rather than a date with Kaiba. Kaiba doesn't say much and allows Mokuba to interrogate you.

"Mokuba, isn't it your bedtime?" Kaiba says once the table is cleared.

"I don't have a bedtime!"

Kaiba glares at his brother. "Tonight you do."

Mokuba rolls his eyes. "You can just tell me you want to be alone with your girlfriend."

"Just go to bed."

You interrupt their argument. "Actually, I need to get home." Kaiba never said he would drive you home, but you hope he intends to help you get there. His mansion is too removed from the city for public transport to be an easy option this time of night.

"I'll take you." Kaiba stands and offers you his hand. You take it as you stand as well. 

As you say goodbye to Mokuba, he smirks, looking just like his brother. "Don't let my brother sleep over. He's a bed hog." 

"MOKUBA!" Kaiba grabs your hand and tugs you out of the dining room. He mutters something about his brother being grounded, but you're too shocked to catch his exact words. 

Once the two of you make it back to his car, he opens the door for you and waits for you to get in before closing it and walking around to the other side. He gets in the car and starts the engine. As he speeds out of the mansion grounds, you wonder if his staff has ever failed to open the gates in time. 

Then you wonder exactly what he's said about you to his brother. "You know, you still haven't asked me to go out with you or date you or anything." 

He frowns. "Fine. You're free to object to dating at any point." 

Your eyes narrow. What is his objection to asking questions? "Fine. I object." 

The look he shoots you is offended and shocked. As if he can't fathom anyone objecting. 

"We've never even kissed," you point out. "Tonight really doesn't even count as a date." If he's going to be difficult, then you can be difficult too. 

He grits his teeth. Then he pulls over and the car jerks to a stop. For a moment, you think it's because of what you've said. Then you realize he's just pulling up to your place. 

When did you give him your address? You must have at some point. 

He opens the door for you and helps you out of the car. He holds your hand as he slams the car door shut. 

Then he pins you against his car. Your back is against the car door. His body presses against yours. One hand holds your head while the other slides down your side until it reaches your hip. 

He kisses you. His lips press against yours, and he controls the angle by adjusting your head with his hand. 

He pulls away with a smirk. "Now we've kissed, and tomorrow night, I'll take you out." 

He walks you to your door. You have your key in the lock before you realize he still hasn't asked you anything. You turn to see him walking back to his car. "I never agreed to anything!" 

"I'll still be back tomorrow." 

Then he gets in his car. He starts the engine, and you expect him to drive off, but he just sits there and waits. 

You realize he's waiting for you to get inside before he leaves. Just like a boyfriend. 

#seto kaiba #kaiba seto #seto kaiba x reader #seto kaiba reader insert #kaibaxreader #dragonsilk #reader insert #also posted on ao3 #I'm sick so any issues I blame on that

[justabigass-simp]

Im crying so hard about Vander on this rn 😭 thats why I need to write that 😭

Pairing: Arcane Vander x Female Reader

Warnings: swearing

English is not my first language I’m sorry for any mistakes.

The last drop got a new machine! A vending machine with different snacks and sweets. The kids liked it much. Mostly Mylo and Powder. The whole family was in the empty bar where you cleaned the glasses and you scrubbed some tables too where Vander your husband watched the kids amusing how they discuss wich candy or snack was the best from the machine. While pow-pow was on her way to buy a sweet from the vending machine. But.. It got stuck. She huffed angry and tries to get the candy out while sticking her arm through the slot. Oh no- Thought powder.

Her arm got stuck

“Uhh- guys.. I need help..” she muttered. No response. “Help me please!” She squeaked and started to panic. “What happened pow!?” VI asked her confused but worried. “My sweet got stuck now my arm is stuck!..” she whined. At first Vi tried to pull her arm out but that hurt powder. So then she tried to make it with soap and it worked. “So and now your candy pow-pow” Vi explained with hands on her hips looking at the stuck candy.

Meanwhile You and Vander where in this moment in the storeroom searching for some things and cleaned up a bit. “Gosh baby you need to tidy in here!” You chuckled picking a carton full of Alcohol up. “Yeah that’s right darlin’ but don’t drink all this liquor on your own will ya?” He laughed that made you just roll your eyes with a smile. You placed the carton on the table unpacking the whole alcohol. “Hmh rye whisky” you mumbled to yourself. Vander chuckled. “What you laughing here huh?” You smiled looking behind you. “Nothin” darlin’ your just beautiful” he smiled walking towards you grabbing softly your hips. “Ohh now being romantic?” You teased resting your hands on his shoulders looking lovely in his eyes. “OH GOD DAMN IT THIS FUCKING SHIT-“ Vi yelled from the next room. You two looked at each other with wide eyes sighing. Vander kisses your nose then goes to the kids. You shook your head while giggling before you continued to put the liquor out of the carton to put it on the shelf. Everything in this room was dusty but not dirty.

“What’a wrong VI?” Vander questioned the teenager Infront of him punching the vending machine. “My candy got stuck Vander!…” powder explained. Now Vander understands. He walked over to them slapping the side of the machine. No movement. He tried again but shakes this time the machine.No movement either. Now he starts to shake the vending machine harder that it scratches on the floor. “Jesus- what is happening in there!?” You asked yourself by much of this noise. You walked over to them seeing how Vander shakes the vending Maschine while mylo slaps the Glas of it and powder her arm was in the slot wiggling her fingers to get the candy package.

“What the hell is going on here?!” You asked. All five looked at you in shock like the have seen a ghost. “What are you- or what are you Trying To do?!” You asked confused. Powder then almost mumbled “my candy…”. You walked in silence over to the vending machine Vander let the machine almost “fall” on the ground where powder put her arm out of the slot and mylo stepped back smiling nervously at you. You grabbed a key in your pocket and opend the door to fill up the vending machine. Powder made a “O” form with her mouth, mylo looked at you like you opend a Tresor and Vander opend his mouth to say something but didn’t.

“All you need to do is ask-…” you said face palming.

#vander arcane headcanons #arcane #vander x reader #arcane vander #vander arcane x reader #vander #arcane violet #arcane powder #arcane mylo #arcane claggor

[illusivesoulgaming]

Prompt time (please): TLOU - Pristine Condition?

Hi there! Thanks for the ask, and sorry it took me so long to finish it.

.

"Come look at this" 

Anna tugged at Marlene's arms and led her down the corridor in the flea market, moving at a snail's pace as they waited for the people to move forward.

Finally reaching the stall, Anna smiled.

"Look at it"

Marlene groaned as she saw what Anna was pointing at. A switchblade with a brown metallic handle was resting on the floor carpet along with several other trinkets.

"No"

"Come on! Look at it. It looks brand new"

"The last one you had was actually new. You'd still have it if you hadn't decided to use it as a house key" Marlene said in a reprimanding tone.

"But I had lost my keys. As much as it pained me to do it, sacrificing my switchblade was the only way to get inside"

"Sacrificed the switchblade and the lock. That didn't come cheap either"

"Come on, baby. Please" Anna gave Marlene the best puppy eyes she could as she took the woman's hand and placed it on top of her pronounced belly "I need it to keep our baby safe"

Marlene chuckled "What are you going to do? Cut the hospital bill with it?"

"I might" Anna laughed.

Marlene sighed "How much is it?"

"10 bucks"

"Buy it then"

"I need 5 more"

Marlene sighed as she opened the wallet and gave Anna the bill.

"Look at it. It's perfect" Anna said as she toyed with the blade, pressing the button to bring it out as she ran her fingers along the brown handle. It was clearly old, but proper maintenance had kept it pristine. A kiss on the cheek, and a few more words "Thanks, love"

The tap of the rain against the glass made Ellie's eyes drift to the window every now and then. Having to be ready to hide everything in case someone walked into the room had her slightly on edge.

With one eyed closed, she turned the small bolt in the handle with care until it came loose. Carefully spreading out the disassembled pieces on the table, Ellie blew the dirt in them and wiped them clean with a small cloth.

"Boo!"

The dry thudding sound of wood hitting the ground and the sound of Ellie's ouch sound filled the room as she fell to the ground.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Riley!" Ellie said as she stood "I could have fucking gutted you"

"Sure thing, Angel Knives" Riley stretched her hand forwards, helping Ellie get up “Sorry for scaring you. Here. Winston found it in the mall"

Ellie grabbed the small red container, the faded and torn tag in it still clear enough to read the words ‘Knife Oil’.

“I forgive you” Ellie said shortly before hitting Riley in the arm “Asshole”

As Riley laid on the bed and listened to, as she often put it, “Ellie’s shitty music”, Ellie carefully dropped some of the oil into the inner parts of the handle, coating the inner parts and the small bolts.

“Hell yeah. Awesome” Ellie said proudly several minutes later, wielding the reassembled switchblade in her knife, retracting and making it shoot out again as she did a few playful swipes in the air.

“Could pass off as brand new” Joel was surprised at how well kept the switchblade was. Using the limited light coming off the fireplace, he passed the sharpening a couple of times across the edge of the blade, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake Ellie. After a few minutes, he stood up with a hushed groan and walked towards Ellie’s bag, opening it quietly and placing the switchblade inside.

Zipping the bag close, Joel walked away and sat back on the rock, keeping a watchful eye throughout the night. Ellie, who was pretending to be asleep, smiled.

#ask #the last of us #ellie the last of us #marlene tlou #anna tlou #joel miller #riley tlou #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

[harley-sunday]

Maxiel Heist AU

Originally posted this on the sideblog but figured it might as well go up here. Wrote this in one go because I needed some sort of Maxiel robbery/heist AU in my life. There's a more elaborate fic in here somewhere but for now I hope you enjoy this drabble/set up (1.7k) even though this is not what I normally write at all. Also, I know this is not factually accurate but...

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance, likes to plan ahead, and likes to know exactly what to expect at any given time. 

Which is why, from Monday to Friday, his days are pretty much carbon copies of each other. He wakes up five minutes before his seven AM alarm, gets up, showers, and puts on his clothes - a dark navy suit with a white dress shirt and a pair of brown leather shoes that he only wears for a year before he replaces them. The same goes for his suit by the way. Every year, during the mandatory break his boss makes him take between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, he goes to the same tailor he’s been going to ever since he started his job two years ago and gets a new suit and ten new dress shirts. Last year his sister went along and pressured him into buying a navy tie she said would bring out the color of his eyes but that still lays of course untouched in the back of his closet somewhere.

Max still styles his hair the same way he's done ever since he was old enough to do it himself and then puts on the same cologne he’s used since he turned eighteen, when his sister gifted him a bottle of Tom Ford Azure Lime for his birthday, which, unlike the tie, he does like. He kisses his, barely awake, boyfriend of two years goodbye before he heads to the kitchen and makes himself the same breakfast he’s been having ever since he moved out of his mother’s home. Two pieces of toast with a slice of cheese on each and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Simple, but it does the trick.

Once he's had breakfast, he tends to his two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, who get some cuddles before Max changes their water, tops up their bowls with some cat food, and cleans out their litter boxes. He always checks his weather app right as he grabs his car keys, to see if he needs to bring his coat, before he heads out the door and takes the elevator down to the parking area of his apartment building and fires up his Porsche 911, a birthday gift from his boyfriend when he turned twenty-five last year. He drives out onto Fremont Street at exactly seven fifty because leaving early only means he’ll spend more time at work than he intends to and leaving late means he’ll be stuck behind a school bus most of the way. 

He’s been working as a financial advisor for the past year, moved up through the ranks pretty quickly once the bank’s manager saw his potential and made him his protegé. Max is still not sure the regional manager, a certain Dr. Helmut Marko he's only met once, agrees with this decision, but then again Max doesn't really care what the weird old Austrian guy has to say. He won't be working here much longer anyway.

The branch of Wells Fargo he works at is on the smaller side, ten or so employees in total, located on the outskirts of a mall in one of the city’s more wealthier suburbs, but Max likes it. Likes how, even though he meets different clients throughout the week, there still is a certain familiar rhythm to his day. He knows that when he gets in at eight-fifteen, Damian, the security guard, will greet him from behind the morning newspaper with a curt nod and a, “Morning, Mr Verstappen.” Knows that Bea, one of the bank tellers, will be standing at the coffee machine in the break room and will either complain about the weather or the traffic she was faced with that morning, while Portia, the other bank teller, will have her hands folded around a mug of steaming hot tea and nod in agreement. He doesn't care much for Bea or Portia, the two middle aged women far too nosy and invested in his private life for his liking, and so Max sticks to smalltalk mostly.

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance and likes to plan ahead.

Which is why his first client of the day always comes in at eight forty-five, because Max knows by now a meeting usually takes no longer than fifty minutes, and knows not to schedule another meeting right after because there’s a coffee break at ten. And because he of course doesn't drink coffee he takes a Red Bull instead. The first of four he'll have throughout the day- Five if it's the weekend.

His next meeting is always at ten-thirty and then another one at twelve, allowing for a lunch break at one. Max gets made fun of by Bea and Portia, and sometimes Damian too, because his lunch is just as varied as his breakfasts - a tomato soup and a carpaccio sandwich from the bodega around the corner he has been buying ever since he started working here. After a month of ordering the same lunch, Andy, the shop owner, stopped asking Max for his order and simply made sure he had his food ready to go at one o’clock. 

By now he also knows that the hours between one and three are relatively calm and that Bea and Portia have come to take turns going outside for a short walk after their lunch break, leaving only one teller out front for about half an hour at a time. Every day at exactly one-fifty, Damian disappears for ten minutes or so, for his after-lunch toilet break. On Thursdays there’s a Brinks truck that comes in at two to pick up the money deposited to the bank the week prior and Max knows that even though technically Damian should be present for the exchange, the Brinks’ guys know their way around the building and usually finish up before Damian even comes back.  

Max schedules his third client of the day at three, leaving him some time to catch up on emails and administrative tasks he thinks are the most dreadful part of his job. His last client of the day comes in at four and by five he’s ready to head home and settle into his evening routine of a workout, a shower, dinner, and some Fifa or Call of Duty on his Playstation before he goes to bed at ten. His days blend together seamlessly, his almost every waking minute accounted for in a carefully constructed regimen that he’s perfected over the years. 

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. Likes to leave nothing to chance.

Which is why it is weird that at one-fifty two on a random Thursday afternoon in November he remains seemingly calm when three masked men walk into the building and try to rob the bank, disturbing an otherwise quiet afternoon. Portia panics and starts screaming before they shut her up by gagging her and tying her to her chair in a haphazard way. Before Christian or Max have time to respond, two of the men make their way to Christian’s office while the other one barricades the door to the staff bathroom, locking in Damian. Christian gets held at gunpoint and is made to open the safe that holds the money Brinks is supposed to pick up in eight minutes. Christian tries to tell the men he doesn’t have the code, that only Brinks can open the safe, and for a moment it looks like the robbers believe him but then one of them catches Max’s eye and throws him a wink before he cocks his gun, puts it against Christian’s temple, finger on the trigger, and says, “Didn’t your momma teach you not to lie, boss?” 

It’s then Max remembers he’s supposed to have pushed the panic button located on the side of his desk the minute these guys walked in and he does so at one fifty-six, right as Christian gives in and opens the safe. He watches in silence as at least four or five bags filled with bank notes get taken out of the safe and get put into a large black duffel bag that one of the guys hoists onto his shoulder. Just as quickly as they entered the men start to retreat but not before one of them points a finger gun at Max and pretends to shoot him. Max doesn’t say anything and waits until the men have disappeared before he rushes to Christian who tells him to check on Portia first. 

Max knows it will take another two or three minutes before the police arrive and later he’ll explain to them that he blacked out for a second, too shocked by what was going on to think logically and apologizing for not pushing the button sooner. The detective he gives his statement to will nod and tell him, “Don’t worry, son. It’s hard to predict how we will act in stressful situations.” Max has to bite his tongue to not tell the detective that, “I of course knew how I was going to react.” 

He spends longer than he wants talking to the police, repeating his statement over and over again, his dinner a box of Chinese takeout one of the officers picked up for him and the detective. 

The thing is- Max Verstappen likes to be prepared. 

Which is why, when he finally makes it home later that night he can’t help but smile when he finds his boyfriend standing in the kitchen, whipping up what looks to be like a late-night snack. Max sneaks his arms around Daniel's waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder, voice raspy from talking all evening, "Hey."

"Hey," Daniel replies, putting his hand over Max's where it rests on Daniel's stomach and intertwining their fingers. "You had a good day at work?"

Max scoffs but chuckles, "I did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Max echoes, letting go of Daniel so he can spin his boyfriend around and finally kiss him. With his lips still ghosting over Daniel's he returns the question, "Did you?"

Daniel pulls back a little, eyes darting to the living room where Max knows there's a now-empty black duffel bag hidden away somewhere, and points a one-handed finger gun at Max, clicking his tongue to mimic the shot, "I did."

#F1 drabble #Maxiel AU #MV33 #DR3 #Harley Sunday x Maxiel

[apprenticestanheight]

heyheyhey!! someone wish me luck on getting the job I have an interview for tomorrow plsplspls

to convince you to wish me luck I have developed the pros and cons list of what will happen if I do get the job (I am also doing this for myself to really convince myself that I can DO THIS)

pros:

job = money

money = laptop after like two paychecks

laptop after two paychecks = more writing from yours truly (I am typing this while staring at my tv screen bc I use writing as a coping mechanism and located an HDMI cable which is also some of the reason requests have been on the slower end--I have to have my glasses on in order to see on such a big screen. I am typing this sentence while not wearing them to test how bad it is and i have to squint like I'm at the back of the room to see the screen less blurrily)

fixed term contract (seems like a con but stay with me) means I'll only be working like, 10-12 weeks which yeah not so great BUT I get experience and experience means more consistent 9-5 later on, plus if I save money while I work (aside from laptop that is a necessary purchase bc again, if I have to stare at my tv screen for another six months there will be tears and begging while I point desperately at my currently opened commissions) then I can have a bit of a backspace to fall on, yk?? like. if I ever decide I want something when I'm not working or if I need to buy more like?? bodywash?? idk, I don't have to crawl to my dad like "heyheyhey scary 5'8-ish adult man, I will do the dishes, clean the fridge AND the pantry for the low low price of $40 when you also happen to get paid"

will get me out of the house! I am stuck here all except for maybe once or twice in between the pay periods of my parents (they are my rides everywhere and they get paid biweekly so when they go for groceries I'm like HEY LET ME COME I WANNA EXPERIENCE EXTERNAL AIR PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEE) and getting to leave the house and work with the people I'll be working with will also significantly reduce my anxiety, which I have to talk to my dr about putting me on meds for bc it has become debilitating.

I ONLY WILL WORK LIKE, 3-4 DAYS A WEEK!! The shifts are SUPER LONG which yeah not great but its a 40 hour week and that money will be good money (which I will put into a savings account that will build interest!!)

MONEYMONEYMONEYHONEYYYYYYY!! It adds up pretty quickly and making a dollar and fifty cents above minimum wage will mean that I'll be getting close to a thousand dollars if they pay me biweekly and close to five hundred if they pay me every week. 500-1000 dollars is a lot of money for a new laptop but also,, also a lot of money for a gym membership plus treats of both the caffeine and the liquor store variety (I will be nineteen in three weeks and feel like weed will be a better experience than alc was. I had fun that night but if I ever cry over not having enough money to order pizza again pls just glare at me)

work experience!! This job is a fixed contract job (I am starting to sound like a broken record with this oops) so it'll be less than half a year but it STILL WORKS!! Plus it'll be a good lesson and help me decide whether or not I want to pursue a career in working in old folks homes and if I can handle doing so for twelve hour days for the rest of my life. It'll be a learning experience that I can add to my resume and help me decide which jobs I'll either look towards or away from once I start looking for a job after the contracts fixed term is completed.

cons bc I am in fact thinking of those

working 3-4 days a week is great, right?? right?? yeah that part is where the goodness of the work schedule will kind of stop off bc yeah, three days on four days off is amazing but I'll be working 7-7. I also unfortunately happen to know myself and I know myself well enough to know that having to go into work at seven in the morning will result in me waking up at half past five in the morning to get ready and drink either an energy drink or three cups of coffee. I also like staying up until midnight so I will be stubbornly running on five hours of sleep lol.

occasionally needing to work weekends isn't that bad but its just--I can be a morning person during the week with an energy drink or three cups of coffee and those things only. On the weekends I sleep in late and I make coffee anyway bc its my routine, but waking up at 5:30 for a weekend shift is going to have me hangry and exhausted by noon.

the only other con that I can think of for this is that the twelve hour shifts could send me into burn out very very quickly. On the one hand I keep telling myself "yeah you'll work 36 hours in three days BUT you'll also have four days to sleep the burn out off and engage in hobbies that make the burn out easier to handle" but on the other I just--I know myself well enough to know that two and a half months of burn out from working twelve hour shifts through to the end of march could have me fully burnt out until the middle of may. I just keep wondering if the fact that I'm gonna be making a dollar fifty above minimum wage for two and a half months is really worth the exhaustion both physically and mentally lol.

#cal talks