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the-pink-baphomet1861 · 2 months

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The biology of Dredge

Or: What the f**k happened to that fish!

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Part 1; The blue mackerel

So, Dredge.

It’s that one simple fun fishing simulator about sailing to four different scenic, beautiful, geographically impossible locations while helping the locals and interacting with the wildlife. Just you and your boat for miles, nothing else at all. Sit down, grab your rod, don’t worry! It’s not like anything’s gonna happen to you, especially not involving the noises you’ve been hearing from under the hull. They’re probably just the currents hitting the side of the boat, relax! Feel the cool night air and the gentle, salty, insidious mist on your face and listen to the sounds of the sea, but not too closely. You never know what might be whispering on the tides.

I am, of course, messing with you. In reality, Dredge is a game about sailing through a haunted sea full of unknown horrors and lovecraftian abominations all while searching for the key to a lock you can’t fathom. I loved Dredge, it was a fun game, and my favourite part had to be the art, (besides the wonderfully simple gameplay and riveting story, of course) and my favourite part of the art had to be the aberrations.

For some explanation to the people who haven’t played Dredge, every time you fish from a fishing spot, there’s a chance that the thing you catch won’t be a normal fish, but a mutant little beast with all sorts of fascinating deformities. The chance is basically guaranteed if you see a little blue glow above the fishing spot and these guys are a good bit more valuable than their non aberrant counterparts, so you’re kind of incentivized to collect as many as you can.

Looks like mama’s eating good tonight!

That isn’t the reason I’m writing this though, because each fish and crab in the game comes with at least one aberrant variety, each with their own unique design and flavour text, which I LOVE! It makes the eldritch presence feel all encompassing, even as you deal with the much larger threats in the sea. Recently, however, I’ve been thinking about the actual, physical effects of these mutations and how they would affect the bodies of their poor, unfortunate hosts, and as a marine biology student, I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to both study and learn about the biology of some of the fascinating animals in the ocean and talk about a game I like! It’s a win-win!

Some ground rules first:

Dredge is a video game, and as such things that appear in it don’t necessarily reflect reality in all aspects. The team at Black Salt Games are amazingly talented people, but I’m not so sure how much marine biology they know, and if they do, they probably aren’t going to drag the game to a screeching halt in order to explain three pages of notes incomprehensible to anyone who hasn’t been studying marine biology for at least three years. It would also make the game a lot more boring if everything strictly adhered to reality. So everything in this document will be strictly speculative.

I may be a marine biology student, but I am in no way a complete expert. There are going to be a lot of things that I’m probably going to mess up. This isn’t a strict scientific breakdown with 100% accurate information, and while I will try my best to find good, reliable sources for my info, things are going to get pretty fantastical as time goes on, especially for the fish that are specifically made for the game. This is just for fun and not some inscrutable scientific paper built on loads of evidence.

I will NOT be covering any of the larger monsters in the game. This is already a massive undertaking with nearly 200 fish and aberrations to get through and a ton of research to do, and that’s not even getting into the lore implications that these guys are full-on eldritch abominations from another dimension instead of just mutated animals. I might do something like this for them in the future, but for now it’s just the aberrations you can catch and sell.

And with those formalities out of the way, let’s get into it!

Specimen #1: Blue mackerel

This little guy is probably the first fish that you’ll ever catch, they’re the easiest fish outside Big Marrow, not requiring any special equipment, and are in many ways the game’s tutorial for how the fishing mechanic works.

But what kind of fish ARE these guys actually? As in, which species do these guys belong to and what does that mean for how their physiology will change once they start mutating?

Well that’s what this first section is all about.

Who’s that ichthyoid?

In this section, I’m going to be going over the appearance and description in the game and trying to use that in order to find out what species these guys belong to and how exactly their bodies work. This section will vary in length from entry to entry, as while the game isn’t generous enough to give us the scientific names of each fish, there are some that are more obvious than others, and there are some that need a bit more digging.

Starting off with our little guy here, we can see that my largest trophy was about 28,1 cm in length, although I did read that their max in-game size was 30 cm. They have a bluish grey colouration with six black stripes running down both sides. Their body is that of a standard fusiform plan, which means that the animal has an almost cylindrical form that tapers off into two points at both ends, as opposed to other body plans like eel-like or elongated. The tail fin also has a particular shape, in this case forked, which means that the tail has a two-pronged appearance while still being a singular fin, as opposed to a lunate tail fin, which is two separate fins that both have a pronged appearance

A triad of diagrams that display the differences in body plan, the different kinds of fins and tail fin shape, you’re gonna be seeing this a lot. BE ADVISED that these are incredibly variable and can change a lot depending on the species of fish.

Our blue mackerel also has two evenly spaced dorsal fins that are somewhat rectangular and relatively short, reaching their highest points at the top right corner of the fin (although the rectangularity of the fins might just be part of the artstyle) and the pelvic and anal fins seem to share these characteristics, although the pelvic fin is much shorter than the rest, and although I can’t fully make out the pelvic fins, it seems to an almost teardrop shape with the bottom left portion of the fin connected to the area near the second gill slit. The mouth ends in a pointed snout which isn’t too thin, but it is still quite noticeable.

I haven’t really said much about the habitats of the fish yet, which you would think is pretty important, but here’s the thing, Dredge is frustratingly vague about where it actually takes place. I joked about it before, but the fact that a volcanic hotspot, a mangrove swamp, a coral reef, a temperate cliff area and wherever the marrows are all occur within a few days of sailing doesn’t sound likely to me at all, (although if anyone does know any similar real world areas I would absolutely love to hear about it) but there might be something we can use here. As you can see, each fish comes with an area marker that tells you what kind of gear you need for catching it, but we can actually use this to mark down a habitat and narrow down our search a little. For the blue mackerel we see that it is listed as coastal, which means that it probably stops appearing once you get too far out into the open ocean, so keep that in mind.

Now we can get to the fun part, actually identifying the specific species this fish belongs to.

First off I think we can safely say that this fish belongs to the ray-finned fish group because it probably has bones and isn’t a coelacanth or a lungfish, which I think is pretty uncontroversial. Narrowing it down is where this gets tricky. You see, the identification tool I was using, a site called fishbase which seems pretty reliable, has a bunch of different options to make your search easier,but they’re all things like the habitat where the fish lives, what it eats, how many spines it has in its fins, and for some reason lacks things like the fish’s colour. All things that would be helpful for a real-world marine biologist trying to identify what they caught, but not so helpful for us trying to find a fish in a fictional video game.

Eventually I did manage to whittle away the options through looking at things like the fin and body shape as well as things like size for species I found interesting, until I got to the Scombridae family, which consists of tuna, bonitos, and of course, mackerels. From there all I had to do was find the species that fit the description best, easy right? WRONG! None of the species I found had all the key characteristics I was looking for. None of them had that deep, bluish-grey colour or those six long stripes running down the sides that I was looking for. So in the end I decided on the closest match I could find.

Image source:https://www.fishbase.se/summary/Scomber-australasicus.html

The blue mackerel (Scomber australasicus)

Most of the main traits are there, it has relatively short dorsal and pelvic fins, with a similar almost-teardrop shaped pectoral fin and that same forked tail fin. The colour is a pretty good match too, albeit silvery blue instead of dark bluish grey, but still pretty similar. There are some differences though. The six, distinct, vertical bands on the game version are much less distinct and vertical, and much more numerous and the anal fin is much shorter than in the game and the maximum size was also said to be higher, around 44 cm with 30 being an average rather than the stopping point, but I think we can ignore this as part of the game.

And yeah, I know. Big whoop. The fish called a blue mackerel turned out to be a blue mackerel. I do think that going through this is important however, as it doesn’t just give us a starting point to work with when it comes to the more vague fish, (and trust me, it gets vague sometimes) but also lets us learn a bit more about both the morphology and taxonomy of these animals. Plus, that info will be pretty handy when we inevitably find a fish we can’t properly identify and have to dip our toes into speculative biology.

Now we get to the part you’ve all probably been waiting for since this post started:

WHAT THE F**K HAPPENED TO THAT FISH?

Finally we can actually get started on looking at the aberrations and breaking down the physiological changes! Hoo boy, this is gonna be fun!

First off, some more groundwork. (I know, I know, but this is still important, so bear with me)

The internal anatomy, specifically the skeleton, is something we need. It’ll allow us to pinpoint the basic look of what happened anatomically, which gives us the information we need to make more specific assumptions about what’s going on here. I will also bring in information about specific, real-world fish diseases for more accuracy. So be warned! There will be pictures of real fish gore and gross parasites, and with that disclaimer, on with the show!

I couldn’t find a specific diagram of S. australasicus’s skeleton, so I decided to use this neat 3-D model of another, incredibly similar (so similar that scientists used to believe that the blue mackerel was a subspecies) species known as Scomber japonicus, or the chub mackerel.

Image source:https://sketchfab.com/osakanaWatch

Now let’s get into some mutations!

Mutation #1: Grotesque Mackerel

This little guy was the first aberration I ever caught, I can still remember the day. I was happily fishing, minding my own business, when suddenly the fish I had caught came up with a distorted version of the normal “You caught something!” jingle and I was looking at this gross, sick-looking, mutated version of the blue mackerels I was so used to finding. I knew that the aberrations existed, I had already peeked at the encyclopaedia a little, but actually seeing and catching one was a whole nother experience. I remember feeling both morbid curiosity and a bit bad for the little thing, neither of which were helped by the flavour text that pops up the first time you catch an aberrated fish, but that’s enough nostalgic waxing, let’s get into some marine biology!

The first thing to note is the noticeably bent spinal column, which gives the fish a very distinct hunchback look. There are several different kinds of spinal deformities that can affect vertebrates, but I think the one most likely to be the culprit here is called kyphosis, which is a deformity which causes the upper back to curve forward into a pronounced hump and can affect basically any animal with a spinal column, including fish. We can’t exactly dissect the animal to see where exactly it bends but it seems to reach its highest point around the 10th or eleventh vertebrae, roughly right before the halfway point, and is quite extreme, as the whole spine is at a curved angle. This would probably be quite painful for the fish, the vertebrae disks would probably start digging into each other as well as impede its ability to swim straight, but that isn’t the only thing that would mess with its swimming.

Most of the fins, aside from the pectoral, tail, and one of the dorsal fins have completely atrophied into the fish’s body, with the remaining ones having undergone some serious changes. The pectoral fins appear to have lost a lot of the spines that make up the fin, and the remaining ones have grown to nearly half the fish’s length, which makes it much harder for the animal to make sudden turns, not helped by the lack of a primary dorsal fin. Speaking of which, the secondary dorsal fin is the fin that seems to have undergone the least amount of changes, being just a bit taller than normal, as well as the abnormal colour, but we’ll talk more about that later. The tail fin has gone from a general forked shape to an almost perfect crescent, again suggesting a difference int the number of spines, but this time an increase rather than a decrease, and they have also appeared to have increased in number as well, leading to the fin being proportionally much larger than before. The fish would still be able to swim, just not very well, as the narrower pectoral fins, the larger tail fin, and the lack of stabilising fins would probably give it a rough time controlling its movements, leading to uncoordinated swimming as well as a lot of collisions with obstacles.

The last of the skeletal deformities is the skull which, while still retaining the pointed shape, is also pretty messed up. The upper jaw appears to be forced forward over the lower jaw, along with the cranium, and the entire mouth just seems smaller than before. This might also be an effect of the spinal deformity, but it's hard to say for sure. It also looks like the skull has swollen and deformed a bit, as the snout is much less pointy and far more wide and blunt, as opposed to the normal fish.

You also might’ve noticed another feature of the mouth, those magnificent pearly whites of theirs. They’ve grown much larger and sharper than you can see (or rather, can’t) on the skeleton which, when combined with the deformations in the skull, would definitely affect their feeding behaviour and their ability to catch prey. In real life, while the blue mackerel is mostly a planktonic filter feeder, they can also be rather voracious predators, striking at basically anything they think they could eat, which is a lot. Things like plankton, squids, small fish, and even non-food items like burnt cigarettes and bare hooks aren’t off the menu, so they pretty much only have one row of small, pointed, teeth on their bottom and top jaws and some teeth on the roofs of their mouth. This coincides with their lifestyles as mostly planktonic but still very predatory fish in coastal and open oceans, with their teeth mostly serving the function of holding prey in place when feeding and to keep them from leaving the mouth, not to grab onto and tear like animals with larger teeth.

The altered teeth on the other hand are much larger and sharper, and appear to have decreased in number as well, there is still only one row however. They also seem to be much more uneven. Assuming that there are no large changes in behaviour, and the fish still catches prey in a similar way to before the mutations, it would mean that the teeth’s new shape would actually get in the way of capturing prey rather than helping them, which when combined with the decrease in swimming ability from the deformed fins and spine, would probably mean that the fish is much less successful than the healthy fish when hunting, which would lead to smaller body sizes and much more aggressive behaviour as the fish grows hungrier. Yeah, these fish aren’t doing well.

With the skeletal abnormalities out of the way, let’s move onto the other forms of mutation. We can’t see much about the internal organs and muscular structure, but there does seem to be some swelling across the body, which could indicate a multitude of things. First, it could imply inflammation, which is when bodily fluids fill an infected portion of the body to allow the immune system to react better to a large amount of disease-causing organisms, but filling areas of the body with fluid can be detrimental in certain cases, not to mention painful. It could also be the sign of unregulated tissue growth, large amounts of an almost cancerous level of growth, which could cause the body to expand, which would not help the fish’s already hunger-strained body, but these growths are nothing compared to another little mutant. (we’ll get there soon, don’t worry)

The next part to discuss is the colour, which has gone from the regular bluish-grey to a vivid electric blue. There are multiple ways an animal’s skin can reflect a certain colour, such as specialized cells in the skin which hold different kinds of pigment, which is how colours like yellow or orange are produced by animals, but blue is a bit different. Instead of being produced by any sort of pigment, blue is reflected by the structures of an animal’s skin rather than any sort of pigment. So in a fish’s case, the scales would have certain structures on them which would scatter the light and make it appear blue. In our little grotesque buddy’s case, all it would take would be a shift in these structures in order for the light to scatter differently and for our eyes to pick up a different shade of blue. Actually, the fact that the fish has lost the black stripes makes it seem like the scales have actually lost pigmentation, which isn’t a very good sign for the fish’s health as the pigments in the body are breaking down for whatever reason. The lighter, more vibrant shade of blue could also make them more visible to predators, which also would not be good for the fish’s health, but in a different way.

The very last thing I want to talk about are those small beady, red eyes. The encyclopaedia describes them as bulging, but the illustration makes it seem more sunken than bulging, so let’s go with that. In any case, it probably isn’t good. Eye pigmentation is based on genetics, but to get a bright, vivid red like that usually means one thing: blood, and lots of it. It could mean that a lot of blood vessels could have burst and flooded the eye, obscuring the pupil and giving it a menacing deep red shade. The sunken-in state of the eyes is something known as enophthalmos, which can be a result of various things in fish such as sudden changes in salinity or a result of certain infections.

Mutation #2: Lumpy Mackerel

How long was that last section? Like three pages? Hoo boy we’re gonna be here forever. Thankfully I think that the rest of these are gonna go much faster, I hope. In any case now we’re gonna be looking at one of the more intense mutations in the game. Look at this thing, Where do you start!? I guess with the obvious.

This thing is absolutely covered in large, bulbous masses, I mean just look at it, you can hardly tell there’s a fish under there, and these things are huge as well. Compared to the rest of the anatomy, they would be at least a decimeter or even more if they appeared on a human, which isn’t good, in case you were wondering.

Now onto what I think these actually are. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what they are, but I have a few ideas. They could be cysts caused by something like lymphocystis, which are sacs that can contain air, fluids or semi-solid materials, which would explain things like the smooth shapes, but the problem is that cysts usually form in one specific part of the body due a specific cause, like an injury or infectious organism, and that cause can change depending on where the cyst forms, and considering the sheer amount of growths, I don’t think a single kind of cyst can be the culprit. They might be some of the growths, but I think that the main cause is actually cancerous tumours.

Tumours are clumps of cells that can form under specific circumstances, and can sometimes result in a rather obscure medical condition you might have heard of called cancer, which in short is when cells in the body undergo several key mutations which essentially makes them go feral, they stop fulfilling their ordinary function and start rapidly multiplying and draining valuable nutrients from the body, growing into a large clump that does nothing but take up space, get in the way of important functions and generally be a nuisance. There are two categories that specific tumours can fall into, benign and malignant, which basically describes how aggressively the tumour is growing and how much of a threat it is to your health.

Benign tumours generally aren’t very dangerous, they’re mostly just a clump, with some never even requiring removal. They don’t invade surrounding tissue or grow back after being surgically removed or even growing all that fast. However, benign doesn’t mean harmless, as they can still cram other, more important organs and do have to be monitored in case they do become malignant, which I think we should talk about now.

Malignant tumours are the dangerous ones, the ones that have entire foundations dedicated to treatment, and with good reason. These things are nasty, they do everything that benign tumours do and more, they’re cancerous, they invade tissue, they can grow really fast and take a lot of nutrition, they spread to new parts of the body, they kick grandmas and burn down orphanages, they are the worst. They are also what I believe to be causing these growths in the fish. I’m not entirely sure what exact kind of cancer it is and frankly I don’t think we can know, just that it is now everywhere. This I think is the result of metastasis, when cancerous cells break away from the original tumour and migrate to new parts of the body, where they begin growing into malignant tumours themselves.

However, there are a few other things we have to consider in this situation, the size and the amount. Most of the time tumours are rather small, even if comprised of thousands of cells, there are cases of absolutely massive tumours inside people, (don’t look up pictures if you value your mental health) but they don’t grow to this frequency in that size, probably because a person usually dies without treatment before that can happen. Which means that something, probably dark magic, is keeping the fish alive.

Other than the tumours, I couldn’t really see any easily identifiable deformities to the skeletal structure under the growths (except for one, but we’ll get there soon) as the only fin I could make out, the tail fin, seems relatively unchanged, at least compared to the grotesque mackerel, but the other fins appear to be either obscured or reabsorbed by the growing masses. Now for the skull, oh boy the skull. A particularly large mass seems to have grown either on the top of or inside of the skull, stretching the eyes from their sockets and deforming the jaws. I believe it to be inside the skull as the entire structure of the face seems to have been changed rather than a tumour simply growing on top of the skull, and since we can’t see the rest of the skeletal structure, we can’t tell if there are any more significant skeletal disfigurement.

The last thing I wanted to discuss is the colour, which has gone from the usual to a sickly greenish-yellow. Now yellow fish aren’t uncommon, with xanthophyll being the primary pigment, but given the obviously unhealthy nature of the fish, I don’t think that it’s just the pigments changing. So I did some research and eventually found another likely candidate known as jaundice, which is a condition that occurs when dead red blood cells accumulate in the body due to issues with the liver, causing the skin to turn a rather sickly shade of yellow, and it can occur in fish as well, and it can also be caused by certain kinds of liver cancer, which I’d be surprised if this fish didn’t have.

Mutation #3: Many-Eyed Mackerel

Here we are! The last mutation in this post! Can you feel the excitement? Let’s not dawdle and get right into it!

So unlike the other two, I thought I’d start with discussing the colours instead of the skeletal structure because it doesn’t seem to have changed all that much. The fins, except for the pectoral fins, which seem to be completely gone, and spine are all in basically the same place as the healthy fish and don’t seem to have undergone any specific changes, but the colouration is another matter entirely. The fish looks like a giant, eye covered carrot, which should clue you in on my idea on the matter. Carotene, a pigment most often associated with carrots, but can appear in a ton of other things as well, such as brown algae. It bonds with chlorophyll and allows it to pick up and receive energy from other light sources, basically expanding the range of colours the organism can use for photosynthesis. I don’t think it serves this function in the fish, as fish are not known for their photosynthetic qualities, but it is probably the result of whatever genetic scramblings the magic is doing to these fish, causing these pigments to form in the skin of the animal where there previously was none.

Eyes are incredibly complicated structures with lots of different parts that all contribute to their function. You have the lens, optic nerve, iris, retina, cornea, and all the muscles that allow the eye to move and contract. This means that the eye begins to form very early in the development of an organism, driven by proteins called morphogens which tell certain undifferentiated cells to turn into specific cells at specific points, and all the eyes in the mutant seem to be fully formed despite their random placement. So that means that the extra eyes would have had to form very early into the fish’s development, probably caused by the disruption of morphogens in the embryo, which caused eyes and their surrounding structures to form sporadically across the fish’s skull.

The eyes also seem much larger than before, compared to both the illustrations and the real life photo. In fact, the one that I believe to be the normal pair of eyes, the top-right pair, seem to have bulged out of their sockets, and the other eyes seem to be in a similar predicament. We can’t know for sure, but it seems like the other eyes have formed with eye sockets of their own, albeit while bulging out of them like the normal pair, but again, we can’t know for sure.

At first I thought that the fish would be unable to absorb oxygen considering that several of the eyes seem to have grown over the the gills, but it’s possible that the eye growth would have spared at least the last gill slit, which would allow the fish to have water pass over their gills and absorb oxygen without the eyes completely compromising the fish’s ability to breathe. Gills are really good at absorbing oxygen and can function pretty well as long as water can pass through, so even if there's some difficulty, it's not as impossible as it seems.

Final words

So now we’re done with this round of fish! I’m not really sure what to put here, it’s not like there’s some scientific conclusion we can draw other than “these fish are fucked up”, which I’m sure you could draw just by looking at them, so I think I’ll just give my closing thoughts.

I really like Dredge. It’s a game which has a lot of great elements which make it fun and rewarding to explore, such as learning about the story and seeing the new fish designs that come with each area, especially as a student myself learning about the sea and the creatures that live there. Each of the designs are beautifully and carefully crafted to fit both sides of the game, and I love going over each one and learning more about both their eldritch, mutated forms with wild changes, and the real world biology that inspired them.

This is the first in a series that will be going over each catchable fish in the main game and the dlcs and analyzing their biology both as real world animals, and as little mutant monsters, and it would be wonderful to share this with anyone who is willing to listen to me ramble on about a horror fishing simulator and its wonderfully creepy inhabitants.

#Dredge #dredge game #marine biology #biology #Speculative biology #not sure if i should tag as body horror or not #I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did making it

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 1 year

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beer pong deals

pairing: chad meeks-martin x gn!reader

wc: 1.4K

warnings: drinking, swearing. thats it.

summary: a lucky charm in a game of chance

A/N: used the prompts "if i win I get to kiss you" from @ihateprompts

masterlist / chad meeks-martin

anika dragged you from your dorm to this party. you constantly tried to protest any involvement with the frat party happening on a thursday night when you had a class friday morning, a class with a test. she wouldn’t hear any of it, saying you already know the material and that you needed to take a break. shut your mind down and just have fun, drink just a little so your limbs aren’t so tense.

also she might have mentioned that chad would be there and that he’s been asking about you all day. wouldn’t leave anika alone until she promised to bring you around. and well, you might have agreed that a little study break would be nice. and anika being the fashion major she is, loves when you agree to go out so she can raid your clothes and work her magic.

you, anika, and mindy walked to the designated party house not far from campus. the three of you would switch from having discussions about the pain your professors were ringing the class through to having mindy talk about the latest horror movie she watched as she gave a quick rundown and then rated it. and just as you were three houses away…

“so my brother has the hots for you.” mindy, always with her bluntness.

a sigh knowing where this conversation is heading, “and i’ll outright say it, i like your brother.” the girls gasped. a flicker of confusion over your features, “i thought that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“well, yeah. but you said it without hesitation. so we see that this is more than simply liking, you’re infatuated.” anika’s cheeks were pushed high with her beaming smile. mindy just held a quirk to the corner of her lip, “gross as it might sound, i hope the two of you kiss. don’t get laid tonight. it’ll just ruin the romantics.”

“oh, so now i know the romantic genre is second to horror. more mindy meeks-martin lore unlocked.” joking with her as you ascended the steps and opened the front door.

the smell of weed, cigarettes, and alcohol filled your nostrils within the ten seconds you stood in the doorway. you fully regret saying yes to a party knowing these things usually just cause anxiety rather than mindless fun. but this was college, you told yourself you would try to step out of your comfort zone when presented with opportunities. anika presented the party, you stepped out of the comfort of your dorm, and now you wished to high tail it back to the small space.

“ah, ah, ah.” anika made sure to grab your forearm, already seeing the gears turning in your head. “no, you are gonna take a shot with us and then go find your boy.” tugging you along to the kitchen.

after downing a shot, well three shots, you filled a solo cup and made your rounds of the packed house trying to find the boy that calls your attention. you gave mumbled “excuse me’s” and “sorry” though no one cared as you shoved your wave into different areas. your shoulders would slump every time you didn’t find him. you told yourself if he wasn’t in the next room, you’ll look for mindy and anika then tell them you're heading home.

after more shoving, you found yourself in what appeared to be a game room or something, there was only beer pong set up with a crowd surrounding it. you journeyed closer and were able to hear the conversation over the loud music and a name catches your attention.

“chad, come on man. thought you were better than this.”

“shut up, derek. you're not doing any better.”

there were ooos that followed then they resumed their game. you leaned against a wall with your feet crossed at the ankles, not wanting to disrupt the game while it was in play. with the light dimmed you allowed yourself the pleasure of just taking in chad. the way his biceps would flex as he prepared a throw, how he did little hops on the balls of his feet from excitement or nerves. His gleaming smile showed his white teeth, or how his eyes widened and his brows rose slightly when he found you huddled away.

he clapped his partner on the back as he made his way through the crowd and came to a stop just in front of you. pushing your feet flat to the floor and standing at full height, you loosened your arms out just a bit as you shared smiles.

“i didn’t know you were coming.” he bit his lips as he tilted his head. “well, a little birdly told me you were asking for me.” trying to play coy as you took a sip of your drink. the spiked punch made you feel warm.

chad gave a deep chuckle, “anika and mindy?” a simple nod to his question. “well, i’m glad they brought you here. i actually have a favor to ask of you.”

he leaned his forearm beside your head, body moving slightly closer to yours. your eyes did a quick sweep of his body and when they landed on his face his smile grew slightly wide, probably cause he caught your wondering gaze.

“what might i get out of this favor?” voice dipping into a playful tone. watching how chad’s eyes dance across your face and made oh-so-obvious glances at your lips.

“well, first the favor is you standing by the beer pong table and being my lucky charm.” you couldn’t help the raise your brows, “lucky charm, eh? didn’t realize i was so special.”

again that charming smile caused your heart to beat a little faster. chad did a pass of the table seeing they were resetting for a new game, his eyes back to you, specifically your lips.

“and if i win… i get a kiss from my lucky charm.” his voice dropped, but he was close to your ear and you were able to hear the price he was giving.

you pretend to mull the thought over, liking the tiny hint of pleading in his eyes. “what if you lose? what do i get then?” personal space long forgotten.

“if i lose, i’ll take you on a date.” “kinda backward, isn’t it? shouldn’t you be proposing a date for winning and a kiss for losing?”

he shrugged, always suave. “either way, it’s a win-win in my books. so, my lucky charm… what do you say?”

his friends were starting to get impatient and were calling for him, or making kissing noises your way then laughing. you ignored them as the two of you got lost in each other’s eyes, fully understanding that no matter the outcome, both of you would be happy with the reward.

“okay.” you held a hand out and chad shook on it, “deals on.” with your hands still held, chad pulled the two of you to the group of rowdy boys.

“alright! me and james versus derek and paul. let’s do this!”

honestly, you got very bored of the game quickly, and who wouldn’t? boys taking turns throwing a dirty pong ball into cups of beer before chugging them clean, it’s nothing entertaining. but you wanted either of your prizes so you stayed close to chad’s side, eyes once again hungry and watchful of the way he moved. loving that he would turn to you before taking a shot and sinking it, starting to believe you actually might be his lucky charm.

last solo cup and it was chad’s turn. his friends chanted his name over and over, james gave some friendly shakes to his shoulders before stepping back. you kept a watchful eye on chad, not caring about the outcome of the game. chad’s head turned and he flashed a cocky smile, your skin felt on fire.

“ready for your prize, y/n?”

and without another word flung the ball and in a sweeping arch splashed it into the warm beer cup. chad’s side yelled in victory while the others sulked before getting more drinks.

chad held out a hand and without hesitation, you dropped yours into his and he pulled you away. he dragged you through the kitchen and out the back where not many people lounged, but didn’t stop until you were leaning against the side of the house.

“i see you have dirty intentions, mr. meek-martin.” voice a low purr as you curled a fist into the front of his tee.

another of chad’s deep chuckles, “only with you, my lucky charm.”

his large hands held your face as he pulled you closer until your lips met. just a minute of feeling the touch of each other and mentally pumping your fist before chad started to take the lead and move his lips. it was teasingly slow and you quietly whined at the rhythm while chad just smiled into the kiss.

“needy?”

“very.”

#chad meeks imagine #chad meeks martin x reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks-martin #chad meeks-martain x gn!reader #chad meeks-martin fluff #scream 6 #chad meeks-martin scream 6 #chad meeks-martin scream 5 #scream 6 x reader #scream 6 imagine #scream 5 #mason gooding fluff #mason gooding scream 6 #mason gooding imagine

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sanitymakesposts · 3 months

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Tonight ! The end of an era...

Join @artwheat and me as we wrap up The Ballad of Joeb I'dan! It's been a long journey, but after over 120 hours of gameplay, it's finally time to put this little gnome in a hole. Spoilers for end of game Baldurs Gate III content!

If you'd like to catch up on all 40 episodes in Joebs' Ballad, you can click here for a repository of vods! (Just make sure to watch all 120 hours within the next twelve. So that you know ALL the deep lore that's DEFINITELY gonna be referenced) The stream will also be embedded below when it's time, but you can click here for the link a lil early

#stream ad #stream promo #blacklist stream ad to not see things like this again #ouhgoughhhgouhgouh this feels so weird to end. nearly a full year of this game #excited to see what lays at the end and what happens after!

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after-nine-at-the-oasis · 5 months

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Just finished Ghosts 3x06! Really fun episode lol.

It was so cool to see Trevor's brother!! Even if he was trying to scam them xD. But I'm glad he wasn't just bad, he was scared (and he wasn't impolite either). Plus he agreed to base it all on a video game so xD. Anyway, love the new Trevor lore!! And forgot to mention it but the new Isaac lore last episode too :). Loving the lore updates lol! But yeah, I'm proud of Trevor for pushing his little brother out into the world :'D. Also I knew that wet willy was gonna come back lol. Love that it was like that xD.

Isaac just chilling learning about dinosaurs in the background was honestly so cute :'D xD. Poor guy that he didn't know but glad he's having fun lol.

Loved Thor and Sas trying to protect Pete :'). Also that butterscotch scene was the most uncomfortable thing I've ever seen in my life. Thank you (not for the scene). Anyway, even though Thor SLEPT WITH HER SLFKJDHS O.O, I'm glad they showed Pete that Carol was still a cheater :'). I mean it sucks, but she's not good enough for our boy <33.

Also I think Alberta's still having feelings for Pete xD.

And hey, I would watch pedestrianism Hetty 😤😌. I don't know how much but I'd try xD. Love her getting into at the end lol. Also, the communication of information to cheat method they were using was wild xD. But I mean, hey lol, it worked, and Jay won :). Even if it wasn't fairly xd.

Also bro pointing out Sam and Jay hadn't had any other guests o.o. Oof but is he wrong xD

I loved the episode!! Thought it was great, super funny :D.

I have heard that the next (the most recent - less to catch up on than I thought before watching the first one tonight :)) episode is a doozy, specifically for us Nisaac fans, so I am scared xd. But! Wish me luck lol.

So yeah, great episode, I had a fun time :D. Bye all!!

#ghosts #ghosts cbs #cbs ghosts #oasis's ghosts chatter #wild episode as always lol #but hey a good time :D #terrified for the next episode o.o xD #love y'all ❤️❤️❤️🥰 <33 #wish me luck 😭 xdd xD #byeee :))!!!

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thesovereignsring-if · 1 year

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DEVLOG #1 (08/21/23)

Hi! It's Lili. This is gonna be my first ever Devlog. I'll be posting these biweekly every Monday until I open up a patreon. After that these devlogs will become monthly updates.

Moving on!

Demo: Prologue

The demo is out! You can play it here. I'm overwhelmed with the feedback so far, I was not expecting so many people to play and enjoy the demo. 😭 Thank you very much everyone. I'd love to hear more about players MC(s) and their thoughts as the chapters go along.

With the next update I'll also be going back and adding some more grumpy/stoic replies for the mini-Sieg MC(s) out there who want to be a lil grouchy on their birthday! :)

Chapter 1

Let's talk about Chapter 1 a bit.

Chapter 1 is going through a little shuffle of events and scenes as I flesh out the scenario and the world lore. The more I write, the more beefy and dense it becomes. As of tonight I'm sitting at 15k+ words with a half-finished intro and a middle part that needs some revisions. By the end of it, I expect Chapter 1 to be around 20-30k in words. Nearly double the Prologue!!

I'm contemplating splitting its release into two parts as the final part of Chapter 1 is an explorable location with some lore and new characters. (After Chapter 1, most chapters will be two part releases.)

The end of Chapter 1 will have players make a choice which will take them down one of the two branching routes that will comprise most the first half of Chapter 2. Each route will have you teaming up with another character as your sidekick! I think it will be good fun :D

A few things to expect for Chapter 1:

Meet some Imperial Generals and learn about some recent developments in the Empire.

Choose your educational background.

Have dinner with your mother the Empress.

Catch up in life with one of your brothers. :D

Meet the final two characters of the Main Cast :)

Have some nice dreams. <3 <3

Excerpt: “By rights of succession, all the Vagnyrs should have been put to the blade and Thyra’s whelp would ascend, but our Empress would rather shove a bull’s cock up her ass before she lets Thyra anywhere close to the throne!” Bellerophyn scoffs, “and you really think the rest of the Council would accept that cursed crippled boy as Emperor? If so, then you’re the real fool, Wolfram.”

#TSR Devlog #Devlog #if wip #twine if #Update #the sovereign’s ring

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wavernot4love · 8 months

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hello wanted 2 talk about a bunch of fun things from Thursday first show of War All The Time tour 2nite at the Town Ballroom in Buffalo (this will include setlist spoilers)

(starting with a random little video of title track, the rest of it is in the keep reading thingy)

- TURNPIKE DIVIDES FOR THE LAST SONG??? they let her see the light of day!!! i am probably the only person who has heard her at 2/3 of the thursday sets they have seen /lh

- geoff took the piss out of victory records for not paying bands while talking about how i'll be you & jbny are mirrors of each other then played them back to back (also described jbny as their heaviest song.... correct!!!)

- crowd was GREAT. great pits, surfing vibes, actually hell, vibes were just great all around.

- make sure you get there early so you can catch both many eyes & rival schools (steve (thursday) actually played for rival schools today which was cool). i thoroughly enjoyed both sets, and tonight honestly made me a fan of many eyes as a project. i wasn't sure what to expect receptionwise from a buffalo crowd [insert every time i die lore] but everyone showed up for keith (buckley, former singer of etid)/them. i also thought he/they did great, and he seemed genuinely humbled. also saw him around after the show, bro was loading out merch so i didn't wanna bother him, but yeah, dude seemed chill. really enjoyed the songs as well, i'll be spinning them and staying tuned for future releases for sure.

- between that set, everyone just feeling like a true community all night, & a cameo from a local scene legend (if you know hardcore, the singer of terror/buried alive was watching sidestage all show, keith shouted him out hahaha), let's just say i felt like how i'd imagine patriotic americans feel when they hear the national anthem, but the western new yorker edition.

- between rupture and rapture & division st. were probably my favorite non big singles. so great to hear watt in full dude and the crowd was very engaged the whole time

- one thing that really sucks is geoff explained as they came out that pretty much all their instruments randomly got stolen right before they left for tour, so they were a little panicky and stuff but basically, nothing was gonna stop them from having a good time in buffalo (paraphrased). apparently when they were sorting out the tour routing a while back someone told them they should start in toronto but they were like, nah dude, we want to start in buffalo. back to my western ny patriotism analogy, i see. anyways, now that's what i call resilience. they put on a great performamce with such great energy, you can tell this is a band that truly loves doing this whole thing. support the guys extra hard this run.

- as the opening bit of understanding started i looked back at the carnage going on in the giant pit that was open at the moment and had to just. smile at That being a moment people were crowdkilling each other to /lh

- i brought my (digital) point & shoot and shot from the crowd! very stoked on those as i was quite close all show, will update with those once i edit em! will probably also be posting a review kinda thing on my site/ziney thing once i get that back up and published

- one final thing that haunts me is the wonder of what geoff was talking about here in this instagram story post from earlier. i even stuck around after the show (which ended around 10:30) in case... i don't know, thursday were to fly out of some sort of confetti cannon at 11 pm sharp, i have no idea, dude. someday i will ask geoff about Minds Blown - 11.00pm

anyway, every time i've seen thursday this past year of having the joy of really knowing their music (i'd heard of them of course just through being in the scene for years, but had just never listened then) thursdayband has come 2 mean more and more to me and i truly hope they never stop playing together as long as it makes them happy <3

#also fun fact i am still parked down the street from the town ballroom and thursbus in the lot i always park in for shows here #it is 1:30 in the morning #the party ended 3 hours ago and he's still here #thursdayband i love you dearly #thursday band #thursday #geoff rickly #tucker rule #wavernot4love gets 2 the gig #wavernot4lovetalksmusic #do i truly not have a thursday posting tag #insane for a fella who sure does a lot of thursday posting #thursday posting #there she is #post hardcore

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lulu-nightbon · 2 years

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How’s art

ngl i decided to refrain today for my sanity- not only am i in just enough discomfort to be distracted, but i wanted to spend time with my lil sis. also the angle at which i have to draw to see what the fuck im doing hurts my eyes- generally i just was trying to have a slower day to catch up and i didn't want to over-strain my eyes given that ive been drawing at the same damn angle two nights in a row (one night for my separated leo au, and then last night was princes)

plus, im probably gonna be more focused on the rp for the wedding tonight, along with the family potluck going on in peepaw's universe, and maybe some lila lore, so tonight's pretty packed as it is. however, i will try to get it finished tonight (lord knows my goddamn leo won't get finished tonight if i tried)

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sunkingwrites · 2 years

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goooood morning.. 💕 mm I’m so sleepy still- gonna make myself some coffee and then hopefully my stomach doesn’t get upset with the amount of cookies I plan to eat for breakfast 😙

anywaaaays, I’m gonna be cooking a lot today because it’s almost someones birthday and like the good roommate I am I gotta cook their favorite foods~ oh but but I was catching up with bnha before I went to sleep last night (pls I swear I slept when you told me to) but then my roommate came in and.. stole my laptop? I mean I didn’t mind because I was having a mental breakdown over the recent episode,, but now I’m concerned what they did because all they said was “I need le minecraft.” and left 🥲

and I finally finished the firewatch shinkami fic- why tf is it so good??? awhkjhdiuhoina I kept getting distracted noticing the little elements in the writing but it just made it so captivating 😭

oH OH AND- I finally finished what I had left for my college projects and sooo I don’t have anything to do for the next 2 days.. unless *cough* anyone *cough* wants to do me 🥺/j

jokes aside I was crying this morning because I also finished chapter 5 of the song of achilles and we got a background check on one of the characters and I swear I could see the mommy issues shining through 😔

OK NOW IM JUST RANTING OF WHAT IVE BEEN DOING HJQSDKJKWFDKJJNKASD- I can’t get discord to open so that’s why I’m sending an ask tho 🥲

oh oh and my mind just suddenly filled with questions last night and it wont stop bothering me lol I dunno why… they’re so random tho- although I’m very curious on the one reason we know each other: how did you find my blog? It’s just a lingering question that I always wonder when someone follows me hehe- I mean,, I’m very glad you found me because holy shit— 😭 I remember how you were freaking out because I followed you back- that was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life tbh (we’ve been mutuals for well over a month ayo??)

anyways I’m gonna stop my intrusive mind from dumbing more stuff here so I don’t clog up your asks.. I hope you have a great great day, and I will send you kisses and updates of what I cook and uhh shit I do! on discord this time hehe… well unless food pics are not something you like then I’ll just spam you with random shit I do-!

mwah mwah~ ✨

Dude,, IF YOU MADE FOOD FOR MY BIRTHDAY I WOULD FUCKING CRYYY

Ohhhh my godssshfjsmck the fucking shinkami fic,, IT HAD NO RIGHT TO BE THAT GOOD- I WANT TO GET THAT GOOD AT WRITING AJJCNSNNF but like,, I was so fucking close to crying?? MultiPLE TIMES??? AND LIKE ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT WHEN DENKI WAS RUNNING TO THE TOWER,, AND I THINK IT'S SO COOL THEY ADDED ACTUAL BNHA LORE WITH THAT OTHER ASSASSIN HERO LADY AND THAT THEY COULD EXPLAIN DENKI'S LEGS DOING THAT NSKDJSBBFBDB

just-- so fucking good-

Mmmm,, we love mommy issues-- just love love love that for us~ No but like, characters with mommy issues are always too relatable to write aghh- LIKE STOP HAVING MY THOUGHTS PLEASE,, I UNDERSTAND I HAVE TRAUMA JUST LEAVE MEH ALONE

..if you couldn't tell- I had sugar-- remember that boba tea icecream I sent you a photo of in the superstore a while back? Yeah well I bought it today at Walmart and now it's almost gone,, and and I also got an ube icecream too, and Marmo hAtEs it- but I like it and I already knew that I would-- and now I wanna make an ube, vanilla milkshake aahhhh yum yum,, obviously not tonight-- maybe tomorrow if I can???

Okay okay and,, as you know my remember is full of shit so this miGHt be wRoNg- but I'm pretty sure I saw.. mmm I think a writing post first- maybe cuz it aligned with one of my tags?? Then I was like "oooh, I wonder if this person has anything else written for this character-?? Lemme seee~"

so then I would've found your master list post and I liked the vibe of it,, so then I'm pretty sure I just started scrolling through and randomly liking shit-?? I was still like a week new on tumblr so I was desperately looking for people to follow and get some more content flowing through my dash and to interest with--

Thennn, I think it was that composition you had posted that kinda embodied your anxiety that got me hooked,, cuz I kept listening to it on loop- so then I felt like I had to comment about getting it on Spotify,, since my family has a premium plan it's the place I usually get my music,, AND THEN I saw the picrew and I was just gONe cuz I fucking love making picrews and yours looked so cool and you just seemed like you'd be a fun person to talk to.. and then I shared mine with you and just kept talking and uhhh- yeah! That's what's up!! ✨✨

-also also you're birthday on twitter says it's the 28th- so I thought that was funny xD

#ollie<3 #sunkingchats #just talking #personal

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scarlettriot · 3 years

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Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

#mha #mha smut #bnha #bnha smut #hanta sero #sero #sero smut #hanta sero smut #sero x reader #sero x y/n #hanta x y/n #hanta x reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #smutober #kinktober 2021

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

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D&D Story Time

@bloopthebat you may be interested in this

So ya'll know how I play D&D? While I had a crazy fucking session tonight, and my roommate is unavailable to rant to, so you guys get to hear it.

I've talked about the Three Cleric Campaign that I'm a part of before. There are three of us, we all play clerics, in a world where gods mostly live amongst us and are our political system as well.

I play Riona, an aasimar order cleric who follows Islina, sun goddess and queen of the pantheon. She's our party's healer

Then there's Taman (Riona's perfect opposite). A human raised by elves, a light cleric who follows the Moon God, a god who has been missing for centuries and is believed to be behind the dark corruption that is slowly killing the world (we only found that out post start of the campaign). He's utilities.

And finally, Thassa. A princess teifling of the Mother of Monsters who is a tempest cleric that follows the sea god Cashoctik (who is neutral in most of the wars that have happened in the lore). She's combat/tank.

ANYWAY! We're in the Mother of Monster's (a demi god) domain on a mission from the Father of Gods to kill her and bring her soul to him to help release him from his prison so that he can save the world from the corruption.

Rather than just go in guns blazing, we know the Mother to be very protective of her children (literally any monster race) and generally quite civil. We go to her, we explain the situation, she's like "Right. You are not the first the Father has sent to do this, and you probably won't be the last. I will let you kill me. But only if you can beat my Champions in battle. Consider it a test of sorts." So for the past few sessions, we've been doing combat and role play in this colosseum against the champions of each of the six children of the Mother: Goblinoids, Yaun-ti, Beast-Men, Orcs, Hags, and finally Demons. (Our DM homebrews a lot of stuff in the best way, so the lore for these races has been changed).

Tonight was our Hag fight and OH FUCKING BOY

All of us were already worried because we've fought hags before. They fuck with your head, and we've all had some recent trauma.

Riona especially.

For context, Riona is currently on the run from her temple (for whom she is seen as the "Marked of Islina", was practically raised by the goddess herself, and is officially a Mother (similar to a nun) of the temple and is the "Head Mother" of the entire orphanage and children care sector). She's been thrown curve ball after curve ball, being told that her goddess committed multiple massacres, imprisoned people, and is overall not always the best person. But then also told that most of those things she did were either with good intention or just cause and was also shown a number of really incredible and compassionate things she's done. So in terms of faith, it's wobbly. Not to mention, she hasn't actually heard from Islina in MONTHS, found out the artifact that her goddess gifted her was a tool for the temple's Cardinals to spy and track her, and that she HAS BEEN LIED TO HER ENTIRE LIFE AND APPARENTLY HAS DIED AND BEEN REINCARNATED SEVERAL TIMES THROUGHOUT HISTORY!

OH YEAH! AND THE LAST TIME SHE SAW THESE HAGS? THEY HAD ONE OF HER PAST LIVES FUCKING TAXIDERMIED IN THEIR OFFICE!!!

*clears throat* So Riona is having a great time.

So we're fighting three hags, and Taman (as usual) nearly dies several times, Riona and Thassa barely have a scratch on them. We kill the first one pretty early in the fight. Riona had to fight the undead corpse of her past life (yay necromancy) due to one of the hags, which was traumatic in its own right since looking in its eyes gave her flashbacks to its memories of its life and its death (which was in the very colosseum we were fighting in). Killed the hag that caused that.

But then there's the last hag. She casts Anti-Gravity, and everything goes to shit.

I won't go into fine details, but basically, since Riona can fly, she wasn't really affected by the spell, so with Taman and Thassa clinging to her leg, she's shooting arrow after arrow at this hag (I got like three nat 20s) and the hag summons this beast thing above us made of wood and bones from the other hags and the remains of Past Life!Riona. Monster thingy grabs Taman and Thassa. Thassa kills the monster thing. Riona grabs the two of them and then kills the hag.

But then Anti-Gravity drops as a result.

Ri (Riona) has everyone pretty sturdily in her arms, so it should be okay. Right?

Wrong.

The branches and sharps pieces of bone and rubble from the monster that had been above us start falling and we're still 90ft in the air held up only by Riona.

Ri fails a dex check to make us all dodge, and I ask the DM if Ri can move her wings so that she takes the brunt of the damage.

DM says if she takes more than 20 damage, she drops Taman and Thassa, and we continue with our house rule of if Riona takes more than 10 damage in one hit to her wings, they're broken until someone heals them.

Riona takes 18 damage.

We're falling. Riona is screaming in pain. Thassa trying to adjust Taman so he won't take any damage if we do fall to our deaths, and Taman is casting guidance on Thassa.

With a 25DC Dex save, with shattered wings, Riona forces herself to push through the pain and catch enough wind under them to slow us down.

Taman casts Cure Wounds on Riona. (The DM describes his magic to be silver with these ghost-like hands that grab, mend, or tear at things depending on the spell. In this case, mid-flight, they were re-setting and mending Riona's wings. The feeling is excruciating and feels wrong as Taman's temple is opposite/enemies with Riona's).

Riona slowly brings them all to the ground.

Just in time to see her Past Life's skull plummet to the ground and with its empty eyes staring into hers, split and shatter.

Riona turned and hid her face in Thassa's shoulder, Thassa pulled Taman into a group hug, and we all stood there, ignoring the audience booing at their champion's defeat, clinging onto each other as we tried to process what we had just gone through.

Deeply traumatized, we're lead to our waiting room to heal and plan before our last fight against the Demon King, the original Demon.

Riona is shell-shocked and finally breaks from just everything she's been put through with her temple and her goddess and this. She's shaking, she's crying silent tears and can't fully bring herself to talk. Taman lays down near where she's sitting, pats her leg and sleepily tries to comfort her. Thassa, after dealing with some of her own shit that went down, grabbed a bowl, sat behind Riona, and gently hummed to her as she wiped down Ri's wings and helped ground her.

This was the closest, most family-like moment our party has ever had.

By my own choice for role play, Riona will not be able to fly for the rest of the day, and from here on out will have to do a Wis save before flying to see if she can actually push herself to do it again.

She's traumatized as fuck and I have no idea what's gonna happen now.

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lakemojave · 3 years

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Tonight at 7pm Pacific: Dishonored High Chaos!

I'm back!!! After a break for the holidays and catching up on my research project, I'm returning with our previously scheduled dishonored! Expect murder and violence and biting and killing and destruction.

This month I'm mostly gonna be playing this, plus a return to inscryption and some mgs5! Also, stay tuned for the second half of my metal gear lore project this Friday, where I'll be covering 1984-2014 on the timeline!

#twitch #stream #dishonored #shameless plugging

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief, @padxleckiss donated $50, and requested always-a-girl!Deanna/Sam, lingerie, comeplay. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

In the week after they get back from St. Louis, dealing with James and the witches and the familiars and everything that got dragged up along with them, Deanna throws herself into the bunker. Sam thought she was nesting before; turns out he didn't really know what that looked like, from his sister.

There's cleaning. There's rearranging. She turns the kitchen upside down and finds another farmer's market over in Smith Center that even in late February Kansas weather has produce that she fairly squeals over, when she's dumping her egg-crate of loot out onto the island. "How are you getting tomatoes this time of year?" Sam asks, and she makes a raspberry noise and says, "What? Greenhouses, or something, Sammy, don't bitch when I'm bringing home gold." While Sam's still digging out in the library, still trying to make sense of the diamond-mine of lore and records and history that they've fallen face-first into, Deanna makes mysterious trips to Wichita, to Topeka, to department stores, to—who knows where else, because Sam isn't invited, because he, apparently, "doesn't know how to shop." Sam didn't know Deanna did, considering that their whole lives she's lived on thrift-store finds and leftovers same as him, but apparently his sister has yet more depths Sam didn't realize he wasn't privy to until they were suddenly revealed.

She comes home late after another trip—swinging past Kevin on the houseboat, but clearly an excuse from the shopping bag swinging on the end of her finger—and Sam's tired from a long day sitting in the library and trying to manage this nagging cough without worrying about it, but she bounces up the steps and there's a shine to her that hasn't been there since—since Sam doesn't remember, how long—and he smiles at her, despite everything. "Good drive?" he says.

"Update, Kevin has advanced in his diet enough to alternate between hot dogs and Hot Pockets," Deanna says, and wraps an arm over his chest from behind and kisses his cheek, easily affectionate like they also haven't been in too long. He swallows, tasting iron, and catches her wrist to keep her there. She hmms, reading his laptop over his shoulder like she always does. Her hair swings down, too, falling over her shoulder, smelling like road and like the faintest trace of her crappy strawberry conditioner. More absently: "Not even the good kind. He's getting, like, off-brand meatball and four cheese."

"Did you cook?" Sam says, and she goes pff against his cheek—tickles, and he flinches away, grinning despite himself—and she says, standing, "I am not Kevin's mommy, Sam, what do you take me for?" When he cranes his head back to give her a face she presses her lips together, rolling her eyes, and says, "I mean, yes, I made lasagna, okay? Kid can't live on weird mystery meat alone. It's got tomato sauce, that counts as a vegetable." She snorts then, tugging her wrist out of his loose grip, and Sam flattens his hand against his chest instead, wanting her back already. "You shoulda heard the noise he made when he got the first bite, too. If he never lost his virginity before, that thing blasted his cherry."

"Dee," Sam groans—Kevin's been through shit but he's still a kid, as far as Sam's concerned—and she says ha, unrepentant.

"You eaten?" she says. Bag on the other table, the one she's staked out as hers, which he isn't allowed to spread 'moldy records' on, apparently. She squats at the brand new mini-fridge, rummaging, though when Sam's silent she gives him a sidelong look. "Samwise? Dinner? Supper?"

"That would make you Frodo," he says, and she rolls her eyes again, coming up with two beers. She cracks them on the edge of the fridge—there's already a scraped-spot coming up—and comes up to him holding his just out of reach, her eyebrows high. Sam sighs. "Yes. Like, two hours ago. The mothering routine is weird, you know."

"Oh, something about us is weird, huh?" Deanna says, smile pulling at her mouth, and when she holds out the beer for him to take she keeps her fingers on the bottle and pulls herself in when he takes it, sliding inside the v of his legs, pressing her thigh against his. He tips his head back and she leans in, making a fake sweet moue of concern. "Tell me about it, baby."

"Dude," he says, protesting only vaguely, and she grins outright, pushing his shoulder and turning away.

"Yeah, whatever," she says. She scoops her bag off the other table and half-salutes with her beer. "I've got a date with the shower room and some new sheets. You going to come to bed tonight, or is this whole lore fetish permanent?"

Asked casual, her eyes on her shopping bag as she presumably admires whatever purchases. Sam swallows down a cough. "Give me a few hours," he says.

Deanna glances at him, not smiling at all for a moment, before that little exasperated dimple peeks up in her cheek. "Fe-tish," she coos, half-singing, and he rolls his eyes for her to see so she'll grin, brief, before she disappears again, her boots clomping loud down the concrete hall, so he still knows where she is even if he can't see her. Sam holds the beer in both hands, running his thumb along the edge of the label, listening. The bunker feels different, when she's in it. The world feels different, when she's in it.

It's been… how has it been. Complicated. That's the best way, maybe, to describe it in brief and still be truthful. His sister is one of the most complicated people on the planet, though she'd protest that description. Sam's personal opinion is that she's one of the most complicated people in history, and considering their relative position in history it's probably not a stretch to figure that, on an objective scale, she's at least ranked.

The last eight months or so—that was complicated, too, although in some ways it was very, very simple. Sam had been with another woman for almost a year and Deanna had been with another man and regardless of extenuating circumstances—death, or presumed death, or loneliness so complete that it gave Sam nightmares, even now, these bleak dreams of an empty world where he calls out and his voice doesn't echo, a deaf-and-mute misery where all he sees is absence—that was it, pretty much. Since then, they've forgiven each other. They broke off other concerns and when Sam walked back into that cabin in Whitefish Deanna was standing at the window with her arms wrapped over her stomach, looking out at something Sam couldn't see. She cut her eyes over when Sam closed the door and Sam shrugged and her lips folded between her teeth and, for a second Sam's always going to remember, she closed her eyes very tight, the faint crow's feet beside them going white with tension. Then she went to the cupboard and got down two cans of chili, and Sam found the can opener, and she uncapped the beers. They ate silently, watching a rerun of a wrestling match with six inches of space between them on the couch, but they were together, and that was more, almost, that night, than Sam could handle. It wasn't until the ridiculous adventure with Charlie—until after—when he woke up in the middle of the night already reaching for his gun with her hand small on his wrist and red-and-white makeup still smeared at her temples, her hair still caught up in the ridiculous Viking braids Charlie had given her—with her leaning in, in the too-big t-shirt she'd stolen from him to sleep in when she first came back from Purgatory and, he quickly realized, nothing else—when she said, soft in the dark, Sammy, asking—and he touched the bare shine of her knee gleaming in the moonlight and saw how her eyes closed again, very tight again, and he sat up and put his thumb to the clenched tense skin beside her eye and put his lips to her cheekbone, on the opposite side, and felt all the way through his body the breath she let out, like a tension she'd held close for a year or more was unraveling, all at once.

His sister. He knows what that means, about them. It's worse, of course, because she's his sister who raised him, who taught him how to shoot and bandaged his skinned knees and who beat the shit out of the first girl who ever stood him up for a school dance, when he was fourteen, and Sam had tried to intervene but Deanna had whirled on him, furious, and said no one gets to treat you like that, you get me? No one. Sam remembered that moment on the Greyhound, pressing his forehead against the window and watching the pale grey Arizona desert go past in the moonlight, California beckoning and Deanna's face, turned away while Dad shouted, pinned miserably behind his eyes. His sister, rowdy and caring and bullish and sweet. The town whore, boys had claimed when Sam was a teenager, and he'd gotten in his own fights, for that, fights that had led to Deanna pressing wadded TP against his lip and holding frozen peas against his eye, shaking her head, saying, Sammy, I know I taught you to box better than this. You fixing matches and making bank on the side, or what? His sister, who stood smirking in his kitchen in Palo Alto, her eyes not cutting to the girl at Sam's side even once—who said to him, voice sore, we made a good team, back there—who said to him, when Sam was out of his skin with worry after moving matter with his mind when the vision of her dead had filled it, nothing bad's gonna happen to you, not as long as I'm around, and smiled at him with her eyes clear, like it was nothing but true—who wept, cracked-open miserable, when she was sure that their dad had sold his soul for her—when she said to Sam that she wasn't worth it, and she didn't know why he had—that she was sorry, that she'd lost their father for both of them—his sister, who he folded into his chest, cupping his hand around the wavy-thick weight of her hair, noticing in a way for the first time how small she was, compared to him, and how she quivered, shaking in agony, caught against him, and how when he tipped her chin up on that mountain pull-out in the late afternoon sunshine the tears gleamed on her cheeks and her face was wrecked, her eyes red and her nose shined with snot and her mouth screwed up, bitten red and chapped, but full when Sam dipped and kissed her—plush, and startled-open, when Sam kissed her—giving, and tasting of salt, and desperate, and furious, and yielding, and precious-sweet, delicate, shocked, when Sam kissed her. She blinked, when he pulled away, stunned silent. Her eyelashes clumped and dark, and her eyeliner smeary, and her mouth red, red, red. Sam touched her lower lip with his thumb and she took in a huge deep breath that stuttered on its way in, staring at him big-eyed, and then she gripped his hair in both fists and tugged him back down and kissed him again, vicious, and that—well, that was it. His sister, and him. All the years between then and now, and that's still what it boils down to. Sam and Deanna. No matter what, the and is still the most important word.

He comes to bed. Midnight. A little after. They have separate rooms but Deanna's is nicer, despite the guns racked on the walls, and the weird obsidian axe that Sam doesn't ask about in pride of place, above the headboard. She's made the room her own—girly, sort of, despite the weaponry, although Sam doesn't describe it that way out loud—a new-built rack of her FBI-pretext suits and her few dresses on the other side of the wardrobe, and a throw blanket and fluffy pillow she has completely failed to explain or acknowledge on the uncomfortable loveseat, and candles on the shelf above the bed that she clearly had burning for a while before she went to sleep, because the room smells faintly of orange blossom when Sam's pulling off his boots, leaving his jeans on the chair in the corner. When he slides into bed behind her into the apparently-new sheets she makes a faint questioning sound, her head turning. He shushes her very quietly, sliding his hand over the wide curve of her hip, over the blanket. The memory foam sinks beneath him, too soft, but the bed already smells like her and so it's comfortable, anyway. He presses his lips against her bare neck, the soft baby-hairs there silky, her hair pulled messily up for bedtime as always, and she sighs, in her sleep, and curls in closer to her pillow. Sam smiles at the back of her head, wishing—well, whatever he wishes doesn't matter. He tucks in, knees pulling up into the curve of her knees so that he'll fit in the bed, and closes his eyes, and figures that, whatever he dreams, at least when he wakes up he'll be here, in what passes for home, with his sister.

As a matter of course Sam wakes up first. Unless there's a job-related deadline or nightmares dragging her awake, Deanna would happily sleep straight through the morning, and with no check-out times nagging at them in the bunker she's often wandered out into the library wrapped in one of those too-big robes at ten a.m., her hair wrecked and her slept-in makeup smudged and her mouth surly, demanding to know if Sam's made coffee. He has always made coffee.

This morning, though. Sam's alarm goes off at seven as usual, and he groans and smacks his phone, as usual, barely awake but knowing that he doesn't want to hear Deanna's bitching if it wakes her up, too—but there's no too-warm plush weight plastered up against him, and no murmured threats of shooting the phone if he doesn't change his alarm sound, and when he drags his hand through his hair and sits up and his brain actually comes online—the bed's empty, and the room's quiet, and he sits there blinking, surprised, not really knowing what to make of it.

Smell of coffee, when he opens the door, and bacon-smell snaking underneath it. When he gets to the kitchen, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Deanna's in her sleep-shirt (still Sam's, the shoulders way too big and the v-neck gaping), and tugged-on shorts, and bare feet, and her hair in a honey-brown messy pile on top of her head, and she's in a whirl of breakfast, pancakes on the griddle and a pan of bacon going and something being whisked with extreme prejudice in one of the big steel bowls, more suited to feeding thirty than just the two of them. She jerks when she notices him, like she's been caught at something, but then her eyes go to his hair and she starts to smile, wide mouth pulling into what Sam thinks of as her Joker grin. "Don't start," he says, and she says, too innocent, "Start what? I think it's very brave that you're joining a Flock of Seagulls cover band," and he drops his head back and sighs and ignores her snort-laugh, but he also drags his hands through his hair a little more strenuously while she says, "Whatever, Pigpen, take a seat. Grub's up in five."

He gets coffee, first. Strong, but good—like, really, really good, for some reason that he doesn't quite get—it's the same machine, same crappy tub of pre-ground stuff they get from the little market in town—but then Deanna's always been better at this kind of thing than she let on, and he savors the first few sips, breathing caffeine. She ignores him, moving confidently around—the whisking it turns out was eggs, which she pours onto the griddle too and starts working like she's a line cook—and he watches her, content for a second to let that be the only thing he's thinking about. She was a line cook, once, he remembers. When he was in high school, and she'd quit school by then, and the credit cards hadn't come through. She got a job for a few weeks at that diner, in Joplin. "What was that place you worked?" Sam says, while she's flipping pancakes. She frowns at him over her shoulder. "They gave me free grilled cheese for dinner, that month."

The frown clears. "The Show Me Diner," she says, turning back to the griddle. "Manager always joked I should show him my tits." Sam pauses, cup halfway to his mouth. He never heard that part. Deanna laughs, scraping at the griddle with the metal spatula. "Man, that kitchen was gross. Great fries, though."

"The grilled cheese was good," Sam says, after a second, and she says, "Damn right it was, I was the one making it," and then she's ducking under the island and grabbing plates, and then in the next second there's breakfast—fresh and hot and delivered with a fork clattering down into his eggs and his sister plopping down on the other side of the table, tucking her foot under her other knee and gesturing with the other fork: "Eat, drink, be merry. Happy birthday, Sammy."

Sam frowns. "Uh," he says, and makes a show of looking at his watch. "Unless I slept way too late—"

She rolls her eyes, cramming pancake into her mouth. "Shut up," she advises, garbled, and he wrinkles his nose at the chewing but looks down at his plate. It does look good. Bacon's burned, exactly the way they both like it. He picks up a piece, lets it shatter on his tongue, but he gives her a look, too, and she rolls her eyes again—a little too obvious, playacted, which makes him pay more attention—and makes a show of swallowing. "I know, duh. But, hell. I wasn't here for the last one. And, you know, I didn't really get a chance to make it up to you. Before."

She cuts another bite of pancake, studiously piling it and syrup and egg and bacon-shards into one monstrous bite, while Sam's processing that. "We didn't do anything for yours, either," Sam says, after a few seconds. Jesus, his birthday? He was in Kermit, then, only barely coming to terms with how he was going to have a hole in his chest for the rest of his life. On Deanna's birthday—god, that was only last month—they were moving into the bunker, he thinks, and they were okay but that hole in his chest somehow still smarted, and Sam doesn't even remember if they did the bare minimum of pizza and beer.

"We can do a Seagal marathon sometime," she says, shrugging one shoulder, and smiling at her plate when he groans. "I'm taking the opportunity, dude. We've got a house, we've got steady cash, the world isn't currently ending, so. I'm in charge. Birthday queen. You've gotta do what I say."

"How is this my birthday, again?" Sam says, and she says, "Shut up," lightly, and then taps his plate with her fork and says, "Eat up, beanpole," and so he shuts up, and eats. Why not. It's good. Of course it is; she made it.

There isn't, it turns out, all that much of a plan. He washes their plates but then she shoos him out of the kitchen again, tells him to run a marathon or bench press a car or something, and so he goes for a jog, as ordered. Not much of one—full stomach, and the cough, which forces him to stop and lean against a fence-post and spit, laced with red. He licks his lips, swallows, and keeps running, and when he's back Deanna's still in her pjs, doing something in the library, and she gives him unimpressed eyebrows and says, "You look like you reek, Lance. Shower time." So, fine, shower time.

When he's done, he finds clothes in his room laid out for him. Basically pajamas: soft loungey sweatpants in a dark grey that are clearly brand new, and a thin soft black shirt to go with them. "Merry un-birthday," he hears, and when he turns Deanna's leaning in his doorway, clearly enjoying him in his towel. "You like?"

"Uh, I guess," Sam says, fingering the material. Their birthday presents to each other are usually along the line of a six-pack or embarrassing porn or, memorably, twenty-nine boxes of Ho-Hos when he turned twenty-nine. Three guesses who ate more of them. He picks up the sweatpants, giving her a quizzical look, but she only lifts one shoulder and raises her eyebrows, waiting, and he huffs and then, fine, drops the towel. It is sort of—something—how immediately her eyes drop to his dick, and he bites back a smile and tugs on the sweatpants with a minimum of show. They are soft, thin but warm in the bunker's cool air, and the shirt stretches only a little over his shoulders. He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows and turns, modeling. "You like?" he repeats.

"You'd still get thrown out of bed for eating crackers," Deanna says, eyes tracing his body. "But you'll do."

He comes to her, sliding a hand over her waist, and she doesn't move except to tip her head back, eyes steady on his. Watchful and more still, now, like she wasn't before Purgatory. The kiss is unhurried. He parts her lips with gentle pressure and she sighs, letting him in, her head tilting back. Her mouth, perfect. He slips his hand down to her hip, squeezing the wide curve of it through the t-shirt and the ancient denim cut-offs, and she unfolds her arms and wraps a hand around his wrist, stopping him from going further. When he pulls back her cheeks are a little flushed but she blinks at him, shakes her head. "Not yet," she says, and he frowns, confused. Like they haven't messed around in the middle of the day before? She bites her bottom lip, attempting to look coy. "I mean. There's… stuff to do, first."

Sam narrows his eyes and she switches from attempted coy to attempted innocence. "Dee," he says, and her eyes go round, guileless as a cartoon princess. He drags his thumb over the soft of her belly, his hand still trapped by her light grip but enough room for him to find the waistband of the shorts through the t-shirt, rub there. Her eyelashes flicker, but she remains steadfast. "Stuff to do," he says, finally. "Like what?"

"Oh," she says, waving her other hand. "You know. Important stuff."

Okay, so she's clearly got some plan. He glances down at himself, dressed for… nothing, as far as he can tell. If it's going to be an elaborate and terrible roleplay fantasy, as least she isn't making him be a cop or a doctor or something. "And what am I supposed to do?" he asks, conceding. "While you do important stuff."

She starts to grin but bites it back, in that way where her dimple peeks out. "I think you should hang out in the library," she says, half serious.

"The library," Sam says.

Deanna nods, the dimple deepening. "For like… an hour, probably." She tips her head, eyes cutting to the side. "Um, maybe longer. But I'm sure there's a book in there that'll entertain you, gigantic nerd that you are."

"Thoughtful," Sam says, and her grin blooms wide, her eyes crinkling in that way they do when she's really happy, and it catches in Sam's chest, like it always does. He dips and kisses her again, quick, just because he needs to, and she puts a hand to his jaw and lifts into it, eager, before she dips away, licks her lips, lifts a finger. Sam sighs. "An hour."

"Ish," she corrects, but she slides a hand down his chest to his stomach, presses in. "It'll be worth the wait," she says, warm and promising, in that way she has where she can flip from just the biggest dork in the world to the sexiest woman he's ever known, even in ratty pajamas and still all mussed from sleep, and he doesn't need more than just—her, just her, ever, and she should know that, but—he nods, and her eyes drop to his mouth and she looks tempted, but then she nods too, and disappears down the hall, bare feet noiseless on the concrete, and he closes his eyes and tells the warm wanting feeling in his gut that it has to wait, unfortunately, and he goes to the library, and he finds a book.

He doesn't actually know how long passes. He stands over the archiving work that he still needs to do but—god, he's not going to be able to concentrate on that, with this tugging in his belly that says he's got something better coming down the pipe. He goes over to one of the alcoves, instead, picks one of the leather armchairs, picks a book off the shelf. History—the Spanish incursion into Tenochtitlan—and it's dry and old-fashioned and he scans page after page, half-focused, barely taking in details about the supernatural elements of Aztec ritual when he's thinking about…

It took him until he left to realize that he judged all women against his sister. His first official college hookup, after a freshman mixer, was a perfectly nice girl whose name he can't quite remember, but he remembers to this day how he thought: shorter than Deanna. Blonder than Deanna. No freckles, not like Deanna. When she tugged him into her dorm room, both of them more than tipsy on jello shots and cheap beer, she tugged off her tank top and dragged his hands up to her breasts and he'd thought, in a way he didn't examine at all until much later, that they were bigger than Deanna's, and her ass filling his hands was—was probably smaller, although Sam didn't have the evidence then to know it, and when he rolled off of her afterward she curled up against his arm and promptly fell asleep and he looked at her muzzily confused and thought, distantly, that Deanna didn't do that, with guys, that the few times she'd brought someone home to their motel room when she thought Sam was either out or sleeping she'd fucked the guy and gotten whatever satisfaction she got and then showed him the door, and they were done, except for how sometimes Sam would squint carefully through shut eyes at how she stood with her back to the door for a few minutes, her eyes closed and her head tipped back and her body barely hidden in a big t-shirt or a towel, and he didn't know what she was thinking, then. She certainly didn't just roll over and drool on the guy's shoulder, until he had to awkwardly extricate himself, and fret over leaving a number, and then ultimately decide to just go. Bethany, Sam remembers, suddenly. It was Bethany, who was not Deanna.

He's stretched out in the chair, book open but mostly-abandoned on the arm of it, staring unseeing out at the library. Deanna, five foot seven in her bare feet, her lips a plush pretty curve and her tits a good handful and her ass, god, her ass, that she fretted over when they were younger and made him say that it wasn't fat—but it is, god, this fat perfect swell, impossibly hot along with her wide hips and her thighs gorgeous below and her body just—made for his, he thinks, sometimes. Even if of course that's impossible because they shouldn't be—it shouldn't be how it is, between them. Impossible or not, though—

"Ahem," he hears. He looks up.

Deanna's standing there, one hand on his research table, the other holding closed her grey dead man's robe. Sam blinks, taking her in. Her hair's up but she's clearly taken some time to style it—not quite the FBI-agent bun she's perfected, but looser, and the layers near her face tucked faux-messily behind her ears. Make-up, her eyes framed with liner and thickly sooty, but nothing on to hide the freckles, and her lips shining like they're freshly licked with that clearish-pink gloss she likes. Nothing too odd, or different. She takes another step, that clicks, and he glances down to find that she's wearing heels—not ones he recognizes, very high and impractical and shiny black, not her usual at all—and above the heels—

"I'm in charge, remember?" Deanna says, dragging his eyes back up to her face. "You've got to do what I say." He nods, feeling his face already getting hot, and he sits forward but she holds up a hand. "Stay sitting," she says, firm, "and don't touch, okay, not until you're told," and with that, she unclasps her other hand from the front of the robe, and lets it slide off her shoulders, and Sam takes in a breath and doesn't know if he ever lets it out.

The heels are the least of it. It's hard to take in all at once. His eyes leap from detail to detail. Deep maroon, in the silky material of the bustier, the bra-cups curved in and arrowing down to satiny buttons that close it at the front. It covers her ribs, surprisingly modest. Modest, too, the matching maroon panties done in a full cut, except that they're also sheer lace, and he can see the shadow of her trimmed hair through them, barely visible through the pattern. What's making his mouth dry, though, beyond the fact of her presented like this, is: a wide black garter belt, sitting high on her hips, leaving just an inch or two of bare white belly below the bustier—the arch of it high enough that the soft dimple of her navel's visible, above the waist of the panties—thick ribbons, for the garter, that curve sweet over her hips and down her pale thighs—and half-sheer thigh-high stockings, black lace thick at the tops, going all the way down her long legs to the heels, shining in the puddle of the discarded robe.

One heel turns in, her knee bending a little. Sam's dick pulses, caught in the sweatpants. This isn't—she doesn't bother, never has, and he never even thought to ask—in his life, he wouldn't have asked—

"Surprise," she says, spreading her hands to the side like a dancer, and Sam says, "Holy shit, Deanna."

Her tongue flicks to wet the center of her top lip. Nervous, almost, but what in god's name would she have to be nervous about? "Figured I could dress up," she says, shrugging—god, the way that makes her tits move—"and you know, it's your birthday, or uh—your unbirthday, right? So—"

"Are you sure I can't get up?" Sam interrupts. She blinks at him. "I really want to get up."

"So—" she says, fingers curling, and Sam says, "God, come here," with his voice rough in this way he didn't intend it to be, but she blinks again and then smiles, slow, her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth, and she steps forward, hips swaying, coming close enough to touch. He starts to reach but she puts her fingers to his collarbone and stops him, pressing him to the back of the armchair, and then she stands between his spread knees, leaning over him a little, so he can smell—the chemical peach of her bodywash, and the faint vanilla of the lotion she prefers, and beneath that—christ—he can smell her, her body clearly ready from whatever she was thinking as she put all this on, and he has to grip the arms of the chair very tightly not to get his hand on her pussy and find out just how ready she is.

Deanna trails a finger down his sternum, looking down at him with her lower lip caught in her teeth. "Didn't think this was going to be this much of a hit," she says, quiet, and Sam huffs. He's still looking all over. God. Her soft belly, lightly dented by the garter belt. The way the buttons of the bustier strain over her tits. "Hey, Sammy? Tell me something." He makes some sound. The stockings, christ, the stockings—that's doing something to him he didn't even know—"If you could do anything right now what would you do?"

His brain doesn't engage with the answer; it comes straight from his balls. "I'd eat your pussy," he says, and Deanna's hand spreads on his chest like a star, her chest heaving under the breath she takes. "Can I?" he says, belatedly, looking up finally at her face, because he wants to suddenly very badly, can practically taste the wet split of her, and she's pink over her cheekbones and ears, her lips wet and flushed, already, but she says: "No," and climbs into the armchair with him, instead, straddling him, her ass settling down on his knees, her hands in his hair, pulling his head back, making him keep eye contact. She dips her head, lips brushing his, and he opens his mouth for her but she doesn't quite kiss him. A tendril of hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, and she follows it, her lips faintly wet and a little sticky from the gloss, trailing over his cheekbone, breathing warmly damp against his ear. Her thighs clench around his and his hands flex, on the chair-arms, and his dick—god, he hasn't hardened up like this with no contact at all in years, didn't even know he could, but any second now it feels like he's going to start leaking, ruin the new pajama pants she gave him.

"If I asked you to hold on," she says, low and private against his ear—like anyone else could hear, like they're in a strip club and she's offering a private show. "You think you could? Hold on, not go until I said?"

"What, because I'm on such a hair trigger the rest of the time?" he says, attempting lightness, but honestly—christ, it feels like that could be a danger, right now, with her in his lap like this, with her smell, with her fingers dragging out of his hair and down his chest again, trailing down his abs through the sleep shirt. "God, Dee—you're so—" He's interrupted, when her fingers brush against the shape of his dick, through the sweatpants. She leans back, looking between them, her lips barely parted and her eyes dark. His dick flexes, against her hand, and her eyes flick up to meet his. "I can hold on," he promises, recklessly, and she flattens her palm and presses him thick against his own thigh where he's caught awkward in the soft material, but her chest heaves again on a deep breath, clearly as turned on as he is, and he says, then, "Kiss me," and she leans down immediately and does.

No touching rules or no, he's not going to just sit here, inert. He lifts up into the kiss right away, knocking her mouth open and licking inside, and she grips his hair again, fucks her tongue against his, squirms. "Scoot forward—come here—" she mumbles against him, half-coherent, and he hikes his hips forward between her legs so he's right on the edge of the seat and that, fuck, that tucks his hips warm between her thighs where he belongs, and his dick swells up against her pussy, the heat of it intense even through the layers of sweatpants and lace.

She doesn't tease, not exactly. She grinds down against him but then slips her hand right back to his dick, cupping the bulge of it firmly through the soft cotton and then sliding her hand inside. God—soft, warm. She rubs her thumb at the base, scratching her nail through his pubes, and then says, "Get it out," and he lifts, squirms, drags the waistband of the new pants down below the urgent heave of himself. Christ, he's hard. She presses right up close against him, thighs closing around his hips and his dick crammed tight up between his stomach and the scratchy lace of her panties, and she fists him capably, knowing, her cheek pressed against his and looking down between them, her breath heaving. She presses his cockhead up against herself, smearing it in the window of bare skin between the waist of the panties and the line of the garter belt—the sensitive ridge catching against her navel—and rubs her thumb hard under the crown—and fuck, fuck. Sam's balls ache. "Jeez," she says, low but light. "Happy to see me, huh? Wish I could suck it but I think I'd tear my tights if I went on my knees."

Sam groans. "You could try," he says, and she snorts, smears her lips against his jaw, kisses him brief and hot. She's as turned on as he is, which isn't helping him cool down at all. "Fuck, Dee. Let me—can I—"

"You can touch my ass," she offers, and he grabs her there immediately, squeezing, tugging her in so the spine of his dick crushes in against her pussy, grinding where her clit's got to be swelling, all trapped in the lace. She hitches air, back arching, and presses his dick firmer there with the hand caught between them, riding the pole of him. It feels outstanding but he's half-distracted because her ass, her ass. Fat and hot and so soft, denting under how hard he's gripping her. He slides his thumbs under the garter straps, tugging, and then sliding down, daring, finding the clips where they attach to the stockings. She squeezes his dick and he pulls, there, slipping his fingers under where the top of the stocking rides high and sweet and tight, and groans again, and says thoughtless Deanna, and she lifts her head up, looks down at him, eyes bright and her face flushed and her lips wet and her expression half-thoughtful, half-delighted. "Sammy," she says, and he squeezes the fat sweet swell where her ass rises up out of her thighs, the garters slipping silky against his palms. "That doing it for you? My stockings?"

He can hardly say, just lifts up and kisses under her jaw, sliding down to suckle at her throat—pulling—but she finds his hands, arrests them. He wants to knock them away but his brain's not completely offline yet and he stills, lets her pull his wrists away—lets her stand, fuck, up, wriggling backwards off his lap and getting her heels on the floor again, standing. "Hm, let's see," she says, low, and turns around, and that's when he gets to know that the stockings ride just a little higher in the back, the straps pulling with how the belt's fastened high at her waist, and they've got a thick seam that arrows down the line of her legs, ending in a little triangle of lace at the heel, just barely visible above the patent leather. The panties are practically sheer in the back—the lace finer, showing the crack of her ass—and the bustier dents in at the sides of her waist, making the tiniest roll there between the edge of it and the top of the garter that makes him want to fucking bite her, there, feel the soft flesh, taste her salt.

She's kicked the fallen robe out of the way and found the research table, her table, the one that's clear of books and mess. She bites her lip like a coquette and beckons, and he's up in a second, crowding in close, hands on the table on either side of her hips because she said, she said—

"If you want," she says, looking up at him, flushed, "you can eat me out, now."

He goes to his knees so fast it hurts and his mouth's between her thighs in the same second. He opens wide, breathes hot, sucks through the lace—her taste, right there, the fabric soaked at the little knot of the seams coming together—and she groans, bracing her heels on the floor, her ass barely perched on the edge of the table. He knows her cunt in every single way but like this it feels new, wrapped and pretty and served up for him, and he takes it slower, savoring. Drags his teeth over the unfamiliar scratch of the lace, kisses the pale-plump inside of her thigh above the edge of the stocking and suckles there, pulling tighter and tighter until she's squirming and gripping his hair and saying Sam breathless, and then switching to the other side and doing the same. Fuck, her smell. Salt-ocean, the queer unmistakable tang of pussy. He sucks at her clit through the fabric, not hard but in slow pulsing drags of his mouth that work her plump lips even fatter with hot blood, and her hips lift against him, a low pleased noise making his dick pulse. "Take them off," she says, somewhere, and he lifts up and kisses the little half-moon of skin above the waistband, fucks his tongue into her belly-button, and when he tugs—he pulls—dragging the panties down under the constriction of the belt and its straps—and he doesn't know how to get them out without ruining her whole costume—but christ, these are his present, aren't they?—and so he pulls harder, tears, and she gasps up above, "Holy shit, you lunatic," but then the lace is in two pieces and her thighs are pulling wide and he gets to dip his head and lick wide up the whole glossy slit of her, burying his nose in the slick-wet gingery patch of her hair, getting the salt without any stupid fabric in between. She grabs his head, pulling him closer, and he hooks his fingers into the straps of the garter belt and works, deep sloppy licks that smear slick all over, her clit swollen and aching just like he likes it. He spreads her wide with the edge of his thumbs, not touching, and licks the entrance to her vagina without dipping inside in the way he knows drives her absolutely nuts—and, yes, her thighs close around his shoulders and she arches with this surprised stupid sound that makes him grin against her cunt and she says, "Fuck, fine, fuck, get up here, come here—" and he stands slow, kissing her belly and her sternum and breathing against trapped satin swell of her breasts before she grabs his face and kisses him, eating her own taste out of his mouth.

"If you don't get your dick in me," she says, panting, "in about two seconds—" and so he grabs her ass and tips her backwards on the table and feeds his dick inside, pressing in bare, the scraps of lace tickling a little at his skin but the overwhelming feeling just the, fuck, the tight slippery grip of her, the close-grasping heat, the way she arches and makes this little hurt sound when he gets deep because he's thick, and he didn't even finger her to warn her, but she's so sloppy-wet he's not sure it makes much of a difference. He tips his hips in and presses his pelvis against her clit and leans in deep and kisses her, just staying still for a minute, feeling—christ. All of her. She slides a hand down between them and feels where he's splitting her wide, and he rocks back a little so she can hold his dick and then feel it slot right back in where it belongs. Fuck. "Fuck," she says, breathless, her hand flattened between their hips, and then Sam realizes she's massaging her mound with heavy, slow pressure. "Come on," she says, low and tight against his cheek, and he grips her hips and works her with a deep rocking, hardly pulling out, just grinding up and up and up inside while she works herself from the outside, and it's no surprise at all when she comes, fast, rippling inside and clenching so hard that he can barely move for fear of getting pushed entirely out. He drops his forehead to her collarbone, pushing deep, letting her clench and pulse. His dick feels so fat and swollen he could imagine all the blood in his body's there. It certainly doesn't feel like he's brain's involved.

Deanna sighs, after a second. "Holy crap," she says, like relief. "Mm. Lift up, 'kay?" He lifts up, keeping his hips right in place—his back cracking as he stands all the way straight—and she's flushed and pleased, spread out below him. "Shirt off?" she says, and so he strips it off, tossing it to the other end of the table. She reaches out and trails cold fingertips over his pecs, his abs, licking her lips. "Hm," she says, and smiles at him, wide and unexpected. She kicks her heels off, each one clattering to the floor, and lifts her legs against his sides, the stockings slick and smooth against his skin. He grabs her thighs immediately, savoring the long clench of muscle under the satin. She unbuttons the top two tiny buttons on the bustier—the top three—her tits spilling a little, the creamy swell of them loosened, and when she arches he can see the dark shadow of areola, peeking from below the maroon cups. She laughs a little at whatever his expression is, and then reaches down and grasps his hips, the sweatpants still barely caught around his ass. "Okay, birthday boy. Your turn. You can do whatever you want, but—" and her nails dig in, making his ass clench. "You make sure you come inside."

"Jesus christ, Dee," Sam groans, and she grins, eyebrows popping high like she's made a joke she's letting him in on, but it's not a joke, christ, it's not at all, and he hooks his fingers into the garter again and jolts his dick inside, deep as he can where he knows it knocks her cervix, and her eyes fly wide and she grasps his biceps instead, thighs clamping around his waist in shock, and that's—yeah, yeah, that's what he wants, and so he nails her again, and then one more time to make her gasp in a deep choked way and say shocked oh, that's—oh, and then he leans down and mouths her tit away from the soft cup of the loosened bustier and slip a sweet dark nipple into his mouth and then he just—fucks her, gripping her thighs and suckling her tit and slotting in and in and in to the perfect wet of her, making her gasp, making her clench and cry out, her heels dragging against his ass in harsh drags, scratching because of the lace, the seams of these perfect fucking stockings, pulling at him. She's soaked, her pubes a sticky mess when he drags his thumb over her clit, and he drags that wet up over her quivering belly to the garter belt, smearing there, rolling his dick in these demanding dragging slides that are making Dee arch her back, lift up one elbow, her other arm hooked around the back of his neck, her hips working back against his, her lips wet and helpless against his temple as he works her, her pussy grasping and clenching and knocked-open for him. He pulls out just because he can—feels the load of wet that spills out with him—looks down between them, at her tits spilling flushed out of her lingerie and her garter twisting and her stockings, fuck, still neat and tight in place even with her all red-sloppy and fucked-open between them—and when he pushes back in, her pussy parting immediately and welcoming, tight, perfect—she groans in this deep shocked way that connects directly to his nuts, a molten tight thing taking over where his brain ought to be, and he hooks a hand into the split of the bustier and grips a thigh tight against his side and fucks her hard, fast, his orgasm screaming up his back. If he weren't feeling so insane he'd wait for her, make sure she came again good, but it's—this is for him, she said, she wanted this, she wanted him to have her wrapped up like a present, to use like she told him to use her—and he dips down and finds her nipple again and bites there, sinking his teeth into the swell of her tit, and she squirms and clenches and says hot and quick, "Sammy, Sammy—harder—" and he unloads inside, just like she asked him to, his wad pulsing out of him hard enough that his thighs shudder, struggling to keep him up. He slams a hand on the table by her head and she flinches and moans at the same time, feeling it maybe—his dick twitching and pulsing so urgent that surely, she can feel it, even if she's so wet she can't tell her slick from his load—and he lifts off her tit with his jaw loose and his mind strange as an animal fresh off a kill, and she clutches her legs around his hips to keep him tight inside and grabs his head in both hands and presses her mouth open against his. Not kissing. Just their lips brushing, and their air shared and hot, and her forehead tipped against his, bone to bone.

His dick throbs, satisfied. His balls clutch, unload another wet pulse. He slides his hands down her sides, catching on the bustier, and then up again to frame her tits in the soft cups. The left one's out, the bitemarks obvious. He tugs down the little maroon-silk shield on the right and finds that breast full and pale, faintest freckles dusting the top, and kisses it softly, tender. Licks over the half-swollen bud of the nipple and feels it tighten, and suckles it gently when it does. Deanna's fingers comb through his hair, her chest rising against his mouth, and below her pussy clenches around his still-hard dick, needing. Wanting him.

He lifts his head and she's watching him, very close. Her eyeliner's smeared with the sweat of their fucking, the lip gloss long-gone. He fucks his dick in and out, carefully, and watches her eyelashes waver, and then slides out all the way and feeds three fingers in right after, squishing in on the mess he left, his thumb riding over her clit. Deanna's hand flashes down, fingers covering his thumb, and he lets her take over, watching not her hand but her face as he helps her chase it. She's close, has to be with how swollen and hot she is around his fingers. He kisses the pale inside curve of her tit where the bustier buttons are split wide, and the sweet peek of her belly, and then crouches and spreads his mouth wide on the thin skin of her hip, where the garter strap's still hanging on, fucking his fingers in again and again in steady pulses while Deanna arches and tightens and clutches around him and then ripples so hard he can't move, for a second. He looks up and she's silent, her mouth split and dark on a heaved breath, her head tipped back. He rubs his thumb over her wet fingers and she shudders, and he's pushed out of her pussy that way, the muscle clenching deep. His fingers are smeared white. She grabs his hand, quick, and pulls, and he stands up between her legs again and his dick presses against her pussy and he watches while she wraps her lips around his fingers and sucks, her eyes closing in concentration, her tongue slick against his knuckles, getting every last drop of come, until he's clean. He tugs his fingers out and she blinks at him, looking almost dazed, and he holds her eyes while he slots inside again and scoops out another gob of come—christ, it's slipping down against her thigh, staining her stocking—and he collects that too, and presents it to her, and she takes his wrist in both hands and sucks it all in, taking it, wanting all of him.

It's—quiet, after. Sam's tugged his sweatpants up. They're folded into the armchair but she's in his lap, this time, tucked in with her head on his shoulder, her legs slung over the arm. Deanna's torn panties are discarded on the floor and he keeps looking at them. "Do my hair?" she murmurs, finally, and he shifts them a little so he can reach and then does, searching careful for the bobby pins and pulling them out one at a time, setting them on the side table with little clicks, mussing her hair to looseness as he goes. Long time, since she asked for this. Not since… god, it was when Sam's mind was still trapped behind a wall, and he'd had a few bad flashes of memories he didn't understand. When they'd screwed madly, after that terrible job with the mannequins, and she'd held him inside in the same desperate, needing way, and she'd…

Her hair falls to mid-back, when all the pins are out. He combs his fingers through it, thick and soft. "Thanks," he says, quiet.

"Thank you," she says back, snuggling her head against his chest. "Now I'm not gonna stab myself in the middle of the night. Hallelujah."

Quiet, dumb. He sweeps her hair over her shoulder and runs a finger down her spine instead, finding the edge of the bustier and rubbing there in a soothing, repetitive line. "Dee," he says, asking, and she sighs, and doesn't say anything.

That time, that last time, when she'd been so desperate and clinging, when she'd wanted him inside. Held her hand against herself when he pulled out and felt the load he'd left, and of course it couldn't do anything, she'd been on birth control since she was fifteen, but it had made something go queerly hot in his gut to see it. Like some instinct she was operating on, trying to absorb him every way she could. Greedy, his sister. At least she used to be. He wonders if that's true, now, and doesn't know if he can ask. She's nesting, she's content, but between them—things are good, but…

Sam kisses the top of her head and she makes a small content noise, turning her face against his throat, her lips soft. He runs a hand over her knee, the stockings slick, and finds the lacy top, plucking lightly where it bites into her skin. He pulls at the garter strap and she smiles against his skin. "Never thought you'd be such a horndog about this," Deanna says, and it's sleepy-smug enough that he pinches her, on the soft plumpness of her thigh, barely hard enough that she'll feel it. She completely ignores that and crosses one knee over the other, bumping her leg up into his palm. "Should I get more? Pantyhose under the FBI suit?"

"I thought you said pantyhose was the patriarchy trying to suffocate women to death, or something," Sam says, and Deanna leans back so he can see her face, grinning, and says, "Yeah, but if it gets your dick that crazy then I'll deal with suffocation, doofus."

Honest, and nothing but content. Sam slides his hand over her belly where the garter's still digging in and slips two fingers between the clutch of her thighs where her pubes are still damp, incredibly hot, and she blinks at him surprised and then her smile changes, her thighs pulling open just like that. Easy for him, just like always. Sam puts aside any other worries and nods, thoughtful. "I guess I wouldn't mind seeing you use a garter belt to strangle a vamp," he says, and she barks out a quick delighted ha! and then lifts her mouth to his, opens her body to his, and he takes what's on offer instead of wondering about what's not.

#ffcc #wincest #girl!dean #lingerie #my writing #sam going nuts for deanna's pussy is even more boneheaded than him going nuts for dean's ass #which is saying something

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