#And after the emotional episode before hand

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

An Essay on SamBucky

Just got back from seeing Captain America: Brave New World and am full of thoughts. The following contains Sambucky-centric thoughts, head canons, and spoilers based on the movie. (I have a separate post that includes my overall thoughts on the movie but this one is solely Sambucky.)

Sambucky nation--we rise! No divorce era for us! (Though it did provide for some awesome, angsty fics). I hope the trend continues with Thunderbolts*. Bucky is obviously looking rougher there than he did in this movie, so we're not out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling pretty good about our chances.

There's so much to say here. Multiple Bucky mentions (Sam alluding to Bucky when he talks about having a friend who was controlled by trigger words.), a picture of SamBucky prominently displayed at Sam's headquarters, Bucky showing up as emotional support when Sam needs him most, the hug, the "Buck" and the "I love you, Buddy." All of these have already been mentioned a lot, though, so for this post (who am I kidding this is an essay!), I would like to highlight a few points pertaining to the movie. I haven't really seen discussed in the Sambucky tag yet.

First, Sam says the following to Bucky at the hospital:

"Joaquin’s in here. Isaiah’s in prison. And Sterns…I had him. I had Sterns right in my hands but he got away." Bucky is given no additional backstory here, which means he already knows who Sterns is and what Sam is dealing with. This indicates Sam and Bucky are in regular contact with Sam keeping Bucky filled in on what's happening. This isn't just a case of Bucky seeing news footage and immediately going to Sam. Bucky is an active part of Sam's life and support system.

Then we have Bucky's line:

"Steve gave people something to believe in, but you give them something to aspire to." Bucky's admiration and devotion to Sam here is quite evident. I fully believe Bucky Barnes is all in for Sam Wilson and has been probably for longer than even he realizes.

Then toward the end of the scene where we get our iconic "Thanks Buck" and "I love you, Buddy" moment:

We have a wealth of unspoken communication here. Sam and Bucky seem to have a whole conversation with both their eyes and body language before they speak these words. Sam looks at Bucky. Looks down at (presumably) Bucky's outstretched hand. Then his eyes cut back up to Bucky. Then they cut back down as he shakes Bucky's hand, then he looks back up at Bucky. For Bucky's part, his eyes never leave Sam's face during the entirety of this. It's only right before he says "I love you, Buddy" that his gaze cuts down from Sam's face. After saying the words, Bucky proceeds to back away and Sam watches him go. The way this scene plays out, and the choices Mackie and Stan make leave a lot of room for subtext and interpretation, imo.

Right after this scene, we also get the female agent coming in with questions/comments about Bucky to Sam, alluding to a possible interest which Sam shuts down with "He's 110 years old." Look, it might make sense for Sam to try to nip a Bucky/Sarah potential connection in the bud like he did in TFATWS and it not mean anything (that's another essay for another day. I wasn't on Tumblr back then to share my thoughts on that.); after all, that's his sister and Bucky was riding on his last nerve through all the previous episodes at that point. It does not, however, make sense for Sam to insert himself into the narrative at this point and try to dissuade a random CIA agent from showing interest in Bucky if Bucky is just his friend and/or Sam's interest in him is purely platonic. It just doesn't. I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this besides the obvious 'that man is mine, step off' conclusion.

And for my last point:

During Sam's final showdown with the red hulk, with the outcome uncertain, and defeat (and therefore death) potentially eminent, Sam proceeds to bitch about Bucky under his breath. "Bucky is full of so much shit..." I know this is supposed to be funny and snarky, but it's also quite telling. We know that the signature of SamBucky's relationship--whether it's platonic or romantic--is the bickering. Not only is Sam spending his potential last moments ranting about Bucky (again, the staple of their relationship), he's also spending them thinking about Bucky. He's going out there facing odds that seem insurmountable and it's Bucky that's on his mind.

So, in conclusion, they're in love.

[aestheticpearl]

“ BUT I HATE TO THINK ABOUT YOU WITH SOMEBODY ELSE ”

synopsis. leigh isn’t jealous. he doesn’t get jealous.

featuring. leigh (sakuverse)

a/n. if you’re reading this in the future and it’s inaccurate to his character, keep that to yourself i’m going off of a single episode and a prayer here

leigh has honestly confused himself at this point in this stunt of a relationship he has with you. it’s just a normal company picnic with your software company. they wanted their employees to be able to get some fresh air on the job or something like that. regardless, leigh watched for under a shaded tree as you grab some snacks for the both of you from the table they’ve set up on the field.

he’s watching your body language more than anything as you speak to one of the guys in the sales department who clearly doesn’t know how to take a hint. he keeps moving forward as you step back at each advancement, even glancing over to leigh himself to communicate ‘are you seeing this?’ with your eyes. he is unfortunately.

he remains planted under the tree, knowing full well you can very much handle yourself and if you needed help you would ask, but after a certain point it’s not just about how he’s getting impatient with the guy blabbing his whole life story to you, it’s about how he’s trying to make moves on his fake partner. that’s when he knows he has to intervene for appearance sake. at least that’s what he’s telling himself. he ignores the feelings that it stirs out in the pit of his stomach as he stands up and starts walking over to you.

you feel leigh before you see him as he wraps his arm around your waist, a wave of comfort washes over you at the feeling; finally someone that can get you out of this uncomfortable situation without being rude—

“quit hitting on them. they’re my partner.”

nevermind.

you watch the poor guy sputter out a few apologies before stumbling away from the two of you.

“that wasn’t very nice.” you mumble as you place a few veggies on your plate.

“i wasn’t trying to be, mate clearly couldn’t take a hint.” leigh responds, picking a carrot off your plate and munching on it. “you should tell HR about that.”

“what? that my fake boyfriend scared off an employee for trying to shoot his shot?”

“hey what are fake boyfriends for?”

something pulls at both of your heartstrings when you say the word fake, but you both similarly opt to brush it off.

you both walk back to the shaded tree area that leigh has practically claimed for his own and sit down with the snacks in hand.

“so have any bets?”

“sorry?” you look at leigh puzzled.

“any bets on who’s gonna win capture the flag?”

“oh.” you follow his eyes to the scene that unfolds on the field. your coworkers in some kind of team building exercise that they are definitely too old for.

“i’m honestly not too sure.” you enjoy your snacks as you watch the game, absentmindedly offering leigh the same snacks by holding the plate in front of him. he is also is locked on to what you are watching unaware of how couple like you both look right now.

“do you think this is going to effect the weekend project?” you ask, looking back at him.

“yes, but i don’t know if it’ll be in a good way or a bad way. depends on how this ends.” he smiles back at you.

you laugh and lean on him, not evening thinking.

you only realize the mistake when you feeling leigh tense under you and you quickly pull away.

“s-sorry!”

“you don’t have you act like i am hot lava.” you chuckles a bit at you reaction.

“i didn’t want to overstep—”

“i didn’t think you were overstepping.” his eyes flicker over you facial features to try and read your emotions a bit better. you’re panicked and… flustered?

“relax okay? i just wasn’t expecting it, i don’t mind though, it is pretty chilly today.” he opens his arm for you to move into, which you do eventually with some hesitation.

he’s warm and somehow comforting. you remind yourself that this isn’t something that’s real, it’s just an act that you both have to keep up with and he seems to be better at remembering that appearances need to be maintained. you secretly pray that he doesn’t notice the flustered state he as been putting you in by doing this.

“you’re warm.”

oops.

he chuckles.

“thank you.”

“i d-didn’t mean to say that.”

“but you did.” he smiles. “which means you meant it~”

you roll your eyes at him and genuinely reconsider your feels for a spilt second in that moment.

new character rahhhhhh. i’m just hoping to get pulled out of this writing slump cause i’m lowkey starting to lose interest in this. the hyperfixation isn’t fixating. happy valentine’s day btw 🤍

.love always<3 pearl

.masterlist

[bimbosicko]

GET HIM BACK ! (DEAN'S VERSION)

you're sam's girlfriend and when you find out he cheated on you, you have to get him back ۶ৎ

pairings ! dean winchester x fem! reader

warnings ! english isn't my first language, soulless sam, S6E9, aka fairy episode lol, sam cheats on you so you fuck his brother ><, but there are feelings involved, i promise. fluff! angst! sex! what more could you ask for?, creampie (wrap it before you tap it guys), 69?, cheating but at the same time no??, oral (female and male receiving) and that's it i think! :3

author's note ! dean is literally the loml (���╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) idk how this got so long like i literally am a sam girlie idk what happened!!! remember!! my asks are open and everything you need to know ab myself is in the pinned post in my blog, ily<33

words count ! 10k omfg, i need therapy.

sam's version (there's no connection between these two fics)

The cabin was silent when you woke up. Outside, the wind battered the windows fiercely, making the wood creak with every gust, but inside, everything was still. Too still.

You reached out almost instinctively, searching for the familiar warmth beside you, but all you found were cold sheets. And like almost every night lately, Sam wasn’t there.

You sat up slowly, blinking to adjust to the night’s darkness, and then you saw him.

Standing by the window, back to you, his silhouette rigid, his head barely tilted toward the darkness outside. The same posture you had seen every night for weeks. As if something out there made more sense than everything in here. As if he was trapped in this place with you, and not out there chasing the freedom he seemed to seek with every flicker of his gaze through the glass.

“Can’t sleep?” you murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

Sam took his time to respond. He didn’t turn to look at you—if you didn’t know him better, you’d think he hadn’t even heard you. He just stood there, unmoving, like a statue.

“I’m not tired,” he whispered after a few seconds.

The same answer as always. The same empty, lifeless phrase, with not even the slightest attempt at reassurance.

Before, Sam used to wrap you in his arms, press a kiss to your hair, and fall asleep with his breath in sync with yours against your skin. Before, his mere presence was enough to make you feel safe. Now, you barely even shared the same space.

You moved carefully, ignoring the chill of the cold floor against your feet as you approached him. Every step felt like a test, like you were trespassing into forbidden territory. Finally, you lifted a hand and placed it on his back, waiting… for something. Any sign of recognition, a glimpse of the man you once knew.

All you got was the immediate tension of his muscles under your touch.

He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t react either.

You pressed your lips together and tried to pretend that didn’t hurt more than it should.

“Sam…” you whispered, feeling the words catch in your throat. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Another silence followed. A heavy, unbearable silence that stretched for too long. Finally, Sam turned his face slightly toward you.

And his expression knocked the breath out of you.

There was no trace of the person you remembered. His eyes, once full of life and every emotion you never needed to put into words, were now an empty void. Black in the dim light, expressionless, as if he were looking at you without really seeing you. If he hadn’t proven himself to you weeks ago, you’d be convinced you were dealing with a demon, not your boyfriend.

“Nothing.” His voice was calm. Too calm. So devoid of emotion that it chilled your blood. “Things just… changed down there.”

A shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the first time you’d talked about Hell, but never like this. Never with this cold indifference.

You swallowed hard.

“But you’re still you, right?” you asked, hating how weak your own voice sounded. Like you were afraid of the answer.

Sam tilted his head in an almost mechanical motion. As if the question confused him. As if it was ridiculous to even suggest otherwise.

Then, he smiled.

But it was an empty smile, devoid of warmth, almost soulless.

“Of course.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to believe him, you really did. But everything in his demeanor told you otherwise.

Still, you forced yourself to smile too, even though it hurt. Slowly, you lifted a hand, trying to touch his cheek. Just a simple touch. A simple connection. Something that could bring you back to him.

But before your fingers could even reach him, Sam turned his face away. Not abruptly, not in anger. Just with that same cruel indifference, as if the idea of your touch was completely foreign to him. As if you were nothing more than a shadow in his world now.

Since he had come back, he hadn’t touched you. He hadn’t held you. He had barely even spoken when you tried to reach him.

You lowered your hand, feeling your throat burn. You didn’t say anything else. There was no point.

You just turned around and went back to bed, wrapping your arms around yourself to fill the icy emptiness in your stomach.

But no matter how much you curled under the blankets, the cold never left.

If you were being honest with yourself, pretending to be surprised when Dean called to say something was wrong with Sam was harder than expected. You had already noticed. You had felt it in every empty stare, in every touch that never came, in every silence that stretched too long.

But you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t admit that, deep down, you already knew.

“He… doesn’t have a soul.” Dean’s voice was tense, tired, carrying that unmistakable weight of someone who has seen too much and still keeps going. “We don’t know who took it. We don’t know anything.”

You bit your lip, processing the information as you overanalyzed everything you knew about the supernatural world your boyfriend and his brother were trapped in. A world where souls could be taken like objects. A world where the impossible happened far too often.

“Maybe…” you started, but Dean cut you off before you could finish.

He said your name. Not like he usually did. Not with the teasing tone he used when you argued over stupid things. Not with that slow, arrogant drawl that sometimes drove you crazy. No. This time, it was different.

Lower. Deeper. More… personal.

“No, stop doing that.” His voice was firm, frustrated. “You always defend him. And lately, more than ever.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t going to defend him, I was trying to think of solutions.”

Dean scoffed, and you could almost picture him running a hand down his face, exhausted.

“There’s no solution for this.” His tone softened just a little, but when he spoke again, he said your name once more. And that was worse.

There was something in the way he said it that made you tense up. Like every letter weighed too much on his tongue. Like he was fighting himself just by saying it.

You didn’t like it. Or rather… you liked it too much.

Quickly, you tried to change the subject.

“How are Ben and Lisa?” you asked, forcing yourself to sound casual.

Dean was silent for a second. Just a second. But it was enough for you to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Don’t do that,” he finally said.

“Do what?”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was clenching his jaw.

“You know exactly what.”

You swallowed down a nervous laugh. But of course, Dean caught it.

“Are you laughing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I can hear you laughing.” His voice took on that tone he always used when he wanted to sound annoyed but really wasn’t. “I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It’s the same as Smurfette’s.”

You smiled, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Sorry for emitting emotions, Terminator. Won’t happen again,” you said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

On the other end of the line, you heard Dean inhale sharply, like his lungs had forgotten how to function for a second.

There was a pause. Not the comfortable kind. Not the ones that felt natural. This one was heavy, loaded with something you didn’t want to name.

“Speaking of Terminator,” he finally said, and you rolled your eyes at his nickname for his brother.

He’s not just his brother. He’s your boyfriend, you reminded yourself harshly.

“He… confessed some things.”

Your stomach tightened.

“Confessed?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Dean took a second to respond. Not long enough to be suspicious, but long enough for you to notice.

“I roughed him up a little,” he admitted, and even without seeing him, you knew he was uncomfortable. “Sorry about that.”

A part of you wanted to be angry. But that part was small, almost insignificant. Instead, you sighed and shrugged, as if that could somehow translate through the phone.

“I’ll assume he deserved it.”

There was silence, and then Dean let out a short laugh.

“He really did.”

But the lightness didn’t last long. A second later, he sighed, and you recognized the sound of someone bracing themselves for something difficult.

Then, he said it.

“Sam confessed to cheating on you.”

The world seemed to stop.

The air in your lungs grew thick, impossible to inhale without pain. Your eyes welled up instantly, but you didn’t let the tears fall. You blinked rapidly, pressing your lips together tightly, as if that could hold back everything that was about to break inside you.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t deny it.

You just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you okay?”

Dean said your name in a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. Damn it, he seemed obsessed with your stupid name. He always said it differently than anyone else. With a different weight. As if it meant more than it should.

“I’m fine, Dean.” You bit out each word, swallowing the anger, the pain, everything you couldn’t afford to let out in that moment. “Do you need me to come?”

Dean hesitated, and for a moment, you thought he’d tell you no. That it would be best if you stayed where you were, far from all of this. But instead, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“We’re fine.”

It was soft. Too soft. Like he was trying to wrap you in something he couldn’t allow himself to give you.

You scoffed, “I’m coming anyway.”

Dean didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t argue. Somehow, that made you feel worse.

Your grip on the steering wheel was so tight you could feel your nails digging into the rubber. The trembling in your hands was subtle, but enough to make your knuckles turn white under the pressure.

You kept trying to convince yourself that you were fine, that this wasn’t the end of the world, that you and Sam were going to get through this like the totally functional couple you were.

You took a breath. Then another.

Everything could be fixed. Everything.

It didn’t matter what Dean said—what the hell did he even know about this anyway?

But doubt crept into your chest like a slow poison.

He knew. Dean always knew more than he let on, and when he had called, his voice had that tone that made you want to throw the phone out the window. That tone of I know you’re lying to yourself, but I’m gonna let you figure it out on your own.

Your breathing started to turn erratic, your grip on the wheel tightening even more.

You knew Sam didn’t have a soul. You knew it. Something inside you had known all along.

But goddamn it, you couldn’t stop it from hurting.

Things were changing, and you hated it. You knew what you were signing up for when you started dating him, but… how the hell were you supposed to fight something you couldn’t even see?

The pain was diffuse, hard to pinpoint, but it was there, under your skin, in the way his eyes didn’t shine anymore, in the way his hands no longer reached for you.

You blinked, and by the time your vision focused, you had already driven past Bobby’s place.

Shit.

You slammed on the brakes so hard that the force sent your forehead crashing against the wheel. Any harder, and you would’ve left a mark.

You huffed, running a hand over your face before reversing and parking properly.

By the time you stepped out of the car, Dean was already waiting at the entrance, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like he had been standing there forever.

His expression was tense, but his eyes scanned your face quickly, analyzing every flicker of emotion you weren’t sure you could hide.

“Oh, fuck, what happened now?” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth, because if there was one thing you could still do, it was pretend you weren’t about to break.

Dean let out a sharp exhale, tilting his head like he was debating whether to tease you or let it slide.

“Well, hello to you too, princess.”

You rolled your eyes with fake impatience, like hearing him call you that didn’t make you feel things you really shouldn’t be feeling.

“Your boyfriend’s inside.”

That sentence—so simple, so casual—hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend, who didn’t have a soul. Your boyfriend, who didn’t touch you, who didn’t look at you the way he used to, who had cheated on you and didn’t even seem to understand why that was wrong.

Your boyfriend, who felt more like a stranger with every passing day.

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression to stay neutral.

“Great.”

You took a step toward the entrance, but Dean moved before you could pass him—not exactly blocking your way, but not stepping aside either.

His eyes flickered downward.

It was only then that you realized your hands were still shaking.

The shift in his expression was almost imperceptible, but you caught it. The tension in his jaw, the way his gaze hardened for a second before he masked it with his usual attitude.

“Tell me you’re at least gonna kick his ass when you see him.”

It wasn’t a question.

You looked at him, and for a second, it was hard to remember that he was with Lisa and you were with Sam.

Dean wasn’t soft when he spoke—he never had been. But somehow, when he looked at you like that, when he said things like that in that irritated yet protective tone, the stupid tension in the air became impossible to ignore.

You shook your head, as if that could clear your thoughts. “Just tell me how bad the mess is this time.”

Dean tilted his head, his eyes still locked on you.

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something else. Something you weren’t sure you wanted to hear.

But then he just huffed and shrugged.

“Nothing we can’t fix.”

You knew he had changed his mind at the last second just to make you feel better.

You appreciated the effort.

Seeing Sam sitting at the kitchen table, casually drinking a beer like nothing had happened, sent a wave of fury so intense through you that, for a moment, you had to clench your fists just to keep yourself in check.  

You wanted to yell at him.

You wanted to shake him.

You wanted to make him understand what this meant to you, what he was making you feel.

But it was useless.

Because he didn’t care.  

Not because he wanted to hurt you, not because he was doing this out of malice, but because… he simply couldn’t care.  

And that indifference, that complete lack of emotion, was worse than any lie he could have told, worse than any excuse he could have given.  

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm, to not let the desperation seep into your voice.  

“Dean.”  

Just like that, he caught the hint instantly. With one last glance between you and his brother, he turned on his heels and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

The sound of the latch clicking into place felt like a sentence being passed.  

Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table, wearing that same vacant expression that was driving you insane.  

His eyes skimmed over you, as if assessing how much you knew, how much you had to say to him.  

He whispered your name, his voice hesitant.  

“I’m guessing Dean told you.”  

You let out a humorless laugh. Of course he did. Of course he fucking did.  

“Yeah, he told me all about your little ‘I’m unstoppable and have no feelings’ monologue.”  

Your tone was pure venom. A sharp-edged mockery, laced with more anger than you wanted to admit.  

Sam blinked slowly, unfazed.  

“You two are really close, huh?”  

You knew it wasn’t meant as an accusation.  

But it still felt like one.  

Your chest tightened instantly.  

You coughed, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “I… I’m disappointed.”  

He nodded, as if mulling over your words, then, with the same lack of emotion as always, murmured:  

“Yeah. I’d be disappointed too, honestly.”  

That simply was the final blow.  

No anger, no guilt, not even the bare minimum of an attempt to reassure you.  

You wanted to wipe that blank expression off his face with a punch.  

You let out a bitter laugh, because if you didn’t, you were going to break right there.  

Both hands landed on the table as you leaned forward slightly, forcing yourself to keep it together.  

“I understand your… situation. I really do,” you whispered, though the lump in your throat made it hard to speak.  

And the moment the words left your mouth, you felt like an idiot for calling it that.  

A situation.  

Not having a soul wasn’t a situation.  

It wasn’t a temporary crisis, something that could be solved with an honest conversation.  

It was a void. A bottomless pit.  

“That’s why I thought of coming to an agreement.”  

Sam raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.  

“You did?”  

You nodded.  

“An open relationship.”  

The very idea of it made your stomach turn.  

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to say these words.  

But you didn’t have another choice.  

For the first time in this entire conversation, Sam actually looked confused.  

“What?”  

He didn’t ask the question as if he was in shock. He didn’t say it because he was hurt, or because this was affecting him.  

He just… didn’t get it.  

Like the idea seemed unnecessary to him.  

Like he had already accepted what he was doing anyway.  

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to smile.  

“I don’t want you to keep cheating on me,” you said firmly. “And I know you’re going to do whatever the hell you want anyway, so I’m giving you full permission to fuck around.”  

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes.  

Sam tilted his head slightly, watching you. Analyzing.  

“And you… are you in this open relationship too?”  

You rolled your eyes.  

“Oh, tell me, Sam, who the hell am I supposed to be sleeping with?”  

He lifted his hands in surrender. “Just asking.”  

He stood up with that same unbothered calm, as if this conversation hadn’t affected him in the slightest.  

Your whole body tensed when he walked past you to grab another beer from the fridge.  

The fact that he didn’t notice…  

The fact that he didn’t even realize…  

It made you want to break something.  

The clink of glass against wood as he set the bottle down pulled you out of your thoughts.  

“Dean and I have a case coming up. Some missing people in Indiana.”  

You knew the only reason he was telling you was because Dean would mention it if he didn’t.  

The anger inside you burned hotter.  

“I’m going with you.”  

Sam turned his head, his expression showing just how much he hated that idea.  

“If you come, you’re just gonna slow everything dow—”  

You cut him off instantly.  

“Sam, you are in no position to tell me shit.”  

His lips pressed into a thin line.  

That seemed to shut him up.

You stepped outside, desperate for air.

Not that the air in Bobby’s scrapyard was particularly fresh. It always carried the scent of rusted metal, motor oil, and damp earth—a suffocating mix that clung to your throat. But even that was better than staying inside.

Better than being in the same room as him.

Your boots crunched against the gravel as you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your throat burned, your chest tightened, and there was this unbearable pressure, this sensation that you were about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

You leaned against the wall of the garage, bending forward slightly, hands gripping your knees as you tried to breathe.

Don’t cry. Don’t scream.

Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Get a grip,” you whispered under your breath. “You have to get a fucking grip.”

The door behind you slammed shut.

You flinched at the sound, your body tensing instinctively.

Dean.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

His presence was unmistakable—the way he moved, the weight he carried like the world rested on his shoulders, and yet he still walked with that unshakable confidence, like he’d fight the whole damn universe and somehow win.

He followed you outside, stopping a few steps away, watching.

Then, without warning, his hand settled on your shoulder.

You jolted as if you’d been electrocuted.

“Jesus Christ!” you yelped, clutching your chest. “Are you insane?”

Dean raised both hands in defense, giving you that classic ‘what the hell is your problem?’ look.

“Relax. I was just checking if you were alive.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Oh, I’m perfect, Dean. Just freaking fantastic.”

Your tone dripped with venom, but Dean didn’t take the bait. He just stood there, watching you with that damn patience of his, the kind that somehow managed to be both frustrating and grounding at the same time.

His eyes flicked over you, scanning, assessing—seeing more than you wanted him to.

Then he exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

“I broke up with Lisa.” His voice was calm, almost casual. “Haven’t seen her in months.”

Your breath hitched.

“…What?”

The word came out louder than you intended, and as soon as it did, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for reacting so strongly.

“I—Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine.”

And there it was.

Subtle, nearly hidden beneath the shadow of his usual exasperation.

A smirk.

Dean Winchester was enjoying your reaction.

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What happened?”

Your voice softened without you realizing it—less biting, more curious. And that was when it clicked.

The bastard had done it on purpose.

He was distracting you. With his problems.

And the worst part? It was working.

Dean didn’t answer right away. He just held your gaze, his expression shifting, growing heavier.

“…It just didn’t feel right.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking into your chest.

Because you understood exactly what he meant.

Because you knew what that felt like.

Because you were standing here, feeling the same way about his brother.

Your teeth sank into the inside of your cheek as you nodded slowly.

Dean smiled at that—just a small, fleeting thing. And then, for the briefest moment, his eyes flickered down to your lips.

Your stomach clenched.

The moment was so quick, so subtle, you could’ve imagined it.

But the air between you thickened, charged with something neither of you had the right to feel.

Then, as if snapping out of it, Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare, almost awkward gesture coming from him.

He coughed, looking away immediately, like he’d just realized what he’d done.

“Yeah, well… whatever,” he muttered, standing up and dusting off his jeans. “Tell your boyfriend to get his ass in gear. We’re leaving.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Boyfriend.

It almost felt like a cruel joke.

But you didn’t let it show.

“No need,” you said evenly, standing up as well, though something inside you twisted violently. “I’m coming with you.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, one eyebrow arching.

“You’ve been real eager to tag along lately.”

You shrugged, your expression unreadable.

“What, afraid I’ll slit your throat in your sleep?”

He let out a dry chuckle, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. But his eyes—his eyes—they never left yours.

Studying.

And for the first time in this entire conversation, you realized…

He was crossing a line, too.

“If you wanted to kill me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping just slightly, “you’d have tried already.”

The drive was uncomfortable.  

Like, parents-on-the-verge-of-divorce-while-their-kid-sits-in-the-backseat-clueless level of uncomfortable.  

Except in this case, Dean was the kid, he had full control of the car, and he was very aware of absolutely everything that was going on.  

Sam had spoken exactly two words the entire trip. And as if the tension wasn’t thick enough, the second you arrived at the motel, he left you in the room without a second glance and grabbed his brother by the arm, dragging him along to do interviews.  

He didn’t even give you the chance to fix Dean’s crooked tie.  

Twenty minutes later, you had two missed calls from Dean.  

You sighed, already knowing that if you didn’t call him back, the idiot would just keep ringing until he drove you insane.  

As soon as he picked up, he didn’t even let you breathe before snapping.

“You didn’t answer.”  

His tone was irritated, impatient.  

You rolled your eyes on instinct.  

“I was doing this thing called showering. You should try it sometime. Even cats do it.”  

You heard him exhale sharply, like he was debating whether it was worth it to argue with you.  

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I can’t stand Sam anymore.”  

That made you raise an eyebrow. Fast topic change.  

“He’s really wearing you down, huh?” you murmured, a trace of amusement in your voice.  

“He doesn’t care. Not even enough to pretend he does,” Dean practically growled.  

The frustration in his voice was so thick you could almost see him gripping the wheel too hard, his jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white.  

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.  

“Dean—”  

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he snapped.  

“I wasn’t going to.” Your voice softened just a little. “I was gonna offer you a massage when you get back.”  

Silence.  

One second. Two.  

Your heart pounded so hard you felt it in your ears.  

“…Oh.”  

Dean’s voice dropped lower, quieter.  

“That… uh. That actually sounds nice.”  

Nice? That was all he had to say? Because suddenly, you were regretting offering at all.  

You cleared your throat, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.  

“I figured it would,” you said, keeping your tone light, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. “So… should I wait for you?”  

“I’m checking out the crop circles. Sam’s with the missing guy’s father.”  

“Alrighty,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get dressed and head out to find a grocery store or something.”  

Silence.  

“…Get dressed?”  

Dean’s voice dropped lower, rougher.  

“…Are you naked?”  

You blinked.  

And then you smirked.  

“I told you I had just showered.”  

“You never said—!”  

You rolled your eyes, amused.  

“Sorry, Dean, bad signal, you’re breaking up, bye-bye.”  

And you hung up before he could say anything else.  

As soon as you put the phone down, you exhaled sharply, realizing how fast your heart was beating.  

This wasn’t right.  

None of this was right.  

And yet…  

For some reason, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

It had been hours since you first walked into the grocery store.  

But somehow, you were still standing in the candle aisle, completely hypnotized.  

You absentmindedly picked up a pack of red candles, turning them over in your hands. Would that be too much? Would it make the massage feel… whore-ish?  

You chewed the inside of your cheek, debating.  

Then, with a sigh, you tossed them into the cart anyway.  

After all, you had plenty of time to set things up. Dean hadn’t called yet, which meant he was still out there, handling whatever the hell had happened with the case.  

And if he hadn’t called, it also meant that he hadn’t even thought about you.  

That shouldn’t sting.  

But it did.  

Shaking the thought away, you finally pushed your cart toward the registers, scanning the near-empty store. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and industrial floor cleaner, the kind of artificial sterility that only existed in convenience stores.  

The cashier barely looked up as she started ringing up your items, her hands moving automatically over the scanner.  

You glanced at her wrist, catching sight of her watch.  

And then you frowned.  

“Hey… what time is it?”  

She glanced at you, then down at her watch. “Four in the morning, miss.”  

You froze.  

That—  

That wasn’t possible.  

You had only been here for a few hours.  

Dean would’ve called by now.  

Hell, if you disappeared for too long without telling him, he usually lost his mind.  

“…Are you sure?” You let out a nervous chuckle, suddenly uneasy. “Isn’t the store supposed to be closed by now?”  

“It’s a 24-hour store.” She smiled politely.  

“Oh.”  

You blinked.  

Oh.

Your stomach twisted.  

He forgot, didn’t he? 

Of course, he did.  

You felt stupid for even entertaining the idea that he wouldn’t.  

There were more important things to do—things that had nothing to do with you.  

Sam had already made it clear, hadn’t he? You were a burden.  

So, really, what kind of idiot offers to give a massage to a man whose brother lost his soul?  

No wonder Dean hadn’t called. You had probably embarrassed him so much that he just decided to ignore you completely.  

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral.  

But before the weight of that thought could settle—  

“Miss, your phone is ringing.”  

The cashier’s voice pulled you out of your spiral, and you barely had time to register that she was scanning a pie—one you’d grabbed for Dean—before you glanced down at your phone.  

Dean.  

You picked up instantly.  

“Need you back at the motel. Now.”  

His voice was low. Steady.  

And yet…  

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.  

Your grip on the phone tightened.  

“Where are you?”  

“In the field.”  

Your brows furrowed. “Still?”  

“It hasn’t been that long. Just—” He exhaled sharply. “Meet me at the motel.”  

You frowned.  

“What do you mean it hasn’t been that long? Dean, it’s literally—”  

“Can’t hear you,” he cut in quickly, voice suddenly light, teasing. “You’re breaking up… See you at the motel.”  

And just like that, he hung up.  

You stared at your phone in disbelief.  

Then, before you could stop yourself—  

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile.  

Asshole.

The walk back to the motel was quick, the cold air biting at your skin as you hurried down the street. You spotted Dean just as he was about to cross, his broad frame illuminated under the flickering streetlights.  

A familiar warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him.  

You barely registered the exhaustion on his face before you picked up your pace, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

“Hey,” you called, shifting the grocery bags in your hands. “What was so urgent that I had to rush back?”  

Dean turned, his own grin surfacing when he saw you.  

“Oh, you’re not gonna believe it—” He cut himself off mid-sentence, reaching out automatically. “Here, let me get those.”  

Your breath hitched.  

It was a small thing. Simple.  

But the way he said it—so natural, like it was second nature for him to take care of you—sent a quiet ache through your chest.  

You handed him a few of the heavier bags, shaking off whatever that feeling was.  

“Thanks,” you murmured. “Okay, so… the field?”  

Dean let out a short laugh. “Yeah, the field. So, I was out there, minding my own damn business, when suddenly—”  

He pushed open the motel room door, stepping aside to let you in first.  

Only—  

The second he did, his smile faltered.  

And yours vanished completely.  

Your hands slackened, the grocery bags slipping from your grip as your brain registered what—who—you were looking at.  

“Dean!”  

Sam’s voice was sharp, filled with something dangerously close to surprise.  

Your stomach dropped.  

“What the hell?”  

You slapped a hand over your eyes instinctively.  

Because, standing right there, half-undressed on your boyfriend’s bed, was some random hippie chick.  

“Oh! That’s Dean?” The girl’s voice was way too chipper for the situation. “Sam, they brought your brother back!”  

You let out a slow exhale, keeping your eyes covered, because if you didn’t, there was a very real chance you would absolutely murder someone.  

Preferably the soulless bastard in the room.  

Dean, meanwhile, looked seconds away from strangling Sam himself.  

“Okay. It’s all right, Sam,” the girl continued, completely unfazed. “I so totally understand that you need time as a family. But it’s just—what were they like?”  

Dean let out a sharp huff, eyes flickering toward yours.  

“They were grabby, incandescent douchebags,” he said flatly. “Goodnight.”  

You almost smiled at that.  

Almost.  

“Too soon?” The girl hesitated before shrugging, completely unbothered. “Okay.”  

Then, finally, her attention shifted to you.  

“Hey! We haven’t met yet.” She reached for her shirt, slipping it back over her head. “Who are you?”  

Dean turned his head slightly at that. You felt his gaze on you, heavy, expectant.  

You forced a smile. The kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes.  

“Sam’s girlfriend.”  

Silence.  

“Oh,” she said slowly, blinking. “I… didn’t know—”  

“It’s an open relationship!” you blurted out before she could finish whatever sentence would’ve absolutely ruined your night.  

Dean coughed.  

The girl perked up instantly. “Oh! Cool! Since when?”  

You swallowed.  

“…This morning.”  

Dean let out a strangled noise beside you.  

The girl laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. You guys really adjust fast.”  

And with that, she grabbed the rest of her things and strolled right past you, completely unaware of the tension crackling in the room.  

The second the door clicked shut behind her, you dropped your hand from your face and turned on your heel, fully prepared to rip Sam a new one—  

But before you could even look at him, Dean was already moving. 

Fast.  

One second, he was by the door. The next, he was grabbing your wrist, his fingers curling just enough to make you stop.  

You froze.  

Your breath caught in your throat.  

Dean didn’t say anything right away.  

He just stood there, eyes flickering between yours, his grip firm but careful, like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.  

The tension was thick.  

Too thick.  

Because for a second—a stupid, fleeting second—you forgot all about Sam.  

Forgot about the girl.  

Forgot everything.  

And all you could think about was the way Dean’s hand felt against your skin.  

“Hey.” His voice was low, steady. The kind of tone that made your stomach clench. “You good?”  

You forced yourself to breathe.  

Then, with a practiced ease you weren’t even sure was real anymore, you pulled your wrist free.  

Flashed him a smile.  

“Never better.”  

And then you walked away.  

Because if you didn’t—  

You weren’t sure what would happen.

You heard Dean yelling, but the words barely registered. His voice was raw, edged with frustration. You didn’t even try to process half of what he was saying. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Not really. 

Eventually, his voice lowered, the edges of his words smoothing out. That meant he and Sam were actually talking now—probably about whatever the hell he was trying to tell you before you walked in on that hippie disaster.

You sat on the curb, pulling your lighter from the pocket of your jacket. It was simple, worn at the edges, your initials etched into the metal. A birthday gift from Dean back when you were just Sam’s girlfriend. Back when he only knew you as the girl who lasted longer than the others.

You flipped it open, flicking it alight. Then off. Then on again.  

A small flame danced at your fingertips, hypnotizing in its simplicity. A quiet distraction.

The motel door creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now, exhaustion slipping into his tone. “I’ll get you another room. Away from that idiot.”  

You smiled, barely, eyes still fixed on the flame.  

“It’s almost morning,” you murmured. “Doesn’t really matter anymore.”  

Dean sighed, then sat beside you, close enough that his thigh brushed against yours. He held out his hand, palm up. Without thinking, you handed him the lighter.

He turned it over in his palm, rubbing a thumb over the engraved initials, studying it the same way you had.

“I miss when things were easier,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it out loud.  

“You and everyone,” you muttered.  

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m sorry. For all this.”  

You frowned. “What do you mean?”  

“You used to have a normal life. Friends, a job, y'know.” His voice was rough, like he hated acknowledging it.  

You shrugged, letting your shoulders drop as the exhaustion hit you all at once. “Doesn’t even sound like me anymore.”  

Dean said your name.  

For the first time since he’d sat down, you looked at him.  

His eyes were glassy, his jaw tight.

Your stomach twisted.  

Dean Winchester did not cry.  

And yet—  

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he broke eye contact.  

“I really am sorry,” he murmured. “Told Sam you were a bad idea.”  

If you didn’t know him so well, you might have been insulted. But instead, you just leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.  

“You should’ve tried harder,” you whispered.  

Dean huffed a soft, almost humorless laugh. “Yeah.”  

The two of you sat there, the silence heavy but not unbearable. The kind of silence that held years of things left unsaid.  

Then, slowly, you moved your hand toward his.  

Your fingers brushed his knuckles.  

Dean didn’t pull away.  

So you intertwined them, heart hammering in your chest like a teenager with a school crush. You took his hand properly, feeling the rough calluses against your skin.

“At least we have each other,” you said quietly.

Dean let out a breath, shifting slightly like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His grip in your hand tightening.

“At this point,” he admitted, “I think you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”  

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you.

Dean released your hand, only to push himself up. “I’ll go get you a room.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “Will you stay?”  

Dean’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything.  

Not right away.  

He just looked at you for a long moment, then nodded.  

A few minutes later, he returned with a new key. He held out his other hand, silently offering to help you up.

You took it.

Once on your feet, you dusted off your jeans, hyper-aware of the way Dean watched you.

Every movement. Every shift.

His eyes traced your hands, the way your fingers brushed against your thighs, the way you adjusted your shirt.

When you finally looked up, he didn’t look away. Didn’t even try to hide it.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You could feel it. The weight of everything between you.

You swallowed, nerves buzzing under your skin.  

Dean inhaled sharply, as if trying to convince himself not to do something.  

Then, before you could second-guess anything—  

“If I’m wrong about this,” he said, voice low, deep, “you can slap me.”  

You frowned. “Wrong about wha—”  

Dean kissed you.  

It wasn’t hesitant.  

It wasn’t soft.  

It was years of tension. Of almosts. Of stolen glances and lingering touches and things neither of you ever dared to say. 

His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, like he’d been holding back for too long and finally—finally—let himself have you.  

Dean’s hands were firm, rough fingers cradling your jaw, tilting your head just right as he devoured you. 

You gasped against his mouth, barely managing to process the sheer intensity of it before he was pulling you closer. He kissed you deeper, tilting his head, his lips parting against yours as he swallowed the quiet gasp you let out.

Your fingers tangled in his jacket, fisting the fabric desperately as heat coiled in your stomach.

He needed this.

You could feel it.

The way he kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like he’d been starving for this and didn’t know how to slow down. 

You were dizzy. Burning.

You met him with equal force, matching every movement, every press of his lips, every quiet sound he made against you.

Dean groaned, and the sound alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Then—his hands.

One sliding to your waist, gripping you like he was scared you’d disappear. The other curling into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to deepen the kiss.

The heat of his body, the scent of leather and gunpowder and Dean surrounding you—

It was overwhelming.

And you didn’t care.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

Just him.

Just this.

Finally.

After years of pretending.

After everything.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing hard, foreheads touching.

Dean swallowed thickly, green eyes flickering between yours.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, lips tingling from the kiss.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you needed to.

Because whatever this was—

There was no coming back from it.

Your breathing was erratic, your chest rising and falling as you tried to process everything. Your eyes slowly dropped to the keys in his hand.

“Room?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean nodded, his gaze locked on yours—dark, intense, filled with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Room.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else.

The kiss was desperate, raw, almost clumsy in its urgency. Dean pressed you against the door, his body firm against yours, his fingers threading through your hair as his lips claimed yours like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the lock, somehow managing to turn the key. With one hand gripping the doorknob and the other still tangled in Dean’s hair, you pushed the door open without breaking the kiss.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked between ragged breaths, his lips brushing against your skin.

“Uh… college?” you said, breathless and unsure.

Dean chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.

“You’re gonna have to teach me that.”

“Relax, tiger, we’ve got time.”

The words had barely left your lips before you felt the sharp graze of his teeth—a soft bite, enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The door shut behind you with a dull thud, and before you could process anything else, Dean was pushing you toward the bed.

He hovered over you, his weight barely there, the heat of his body making your skin burn. His hands traced the curve of your waist, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, trailing lower with each breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something almost reverent.

You tried to focus enough to respond.

“Let me guess… the first Thanksgiving we spent together?” you teased, remembering the turkey you had made just for the three of you.

Dean shook his head, his lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“Nope… my second birthday with you.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head.

“What? What was so special about that birthday?”

Dean smirked against your skin before lifting his head, eyes locking onto yours.

“I remember watching you spend the whole afternoon making a pie just for me.”

You rolled your eyes. “It was just food, Dean. I don’t see the connection.”

Dean chuckled. “It wasn’t about the food. It was the fact that, after all that, you stayed up just to sing me happy birthday at exactly midnight. Because you said it made it more special.”

Your face flushed.

“Well… it does make it more special.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You woke me up.”

“Are we gonna argue, or are you gonna kiss me?”

You didn’t wait for a response.

You pulled him down, crashing your lips into his with a hunger that rivaled his own. His hands moved quickly to the buttons of your shirt, fumbling slightly in his impatience before finally undoing them.

When his eyes raked over the newly exposed skin, his jaw tensed, pupils blown wide.

“Jesus Christ, you look fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it, raw and unfiltered.

Dean didn’t give you time to react. His mouth was back on yours, slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was savoring every second. His hands moved along your sides, fingers skimming your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

His lips traveled lower, down your throat, over your collarbone, and lower still, each kiss softer than the last, teasing, torturous.

You were dizzy, overwhelmed, every nerve in your body attuned to his touch.

His hand reached for the button of your jeans, unbuttoning it quickly.

His fingers opened you with ease. You saw him lick his lips in a movement so fast that if you had blinked you wouldn't have noticed.

He slowly, carefully inserted a finger into you. All his movements were filled with affection and love that made you melt under his touch.

Your head tilted back against the pillow, a sharp gasp escaping before you could stop it.

Dean groaned, his movements fastening slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with want. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

“Dean,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath, needy and desperate. “Please—I want it now.”

Dean smirked, the kind of cocky, infuriating smirk that made your stomach tighten. He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, teasing.

“A little desperate, are we?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’d like to call it eager,” you shot back, rolling your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Dean chuckled, his fingers grazing over your hip, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. “Smart ass.”

“You love my a—”

The words died in your throat the second you felt Dean slide another finger inside you. Your breath hitched, your back arching slightly, heat pooling in your core.

Dean’s eyes darkened, his gaze fixed on your face as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“You feel so damn good, baby,” he murmured, his voice husky, thick with something possessive. “You’re sucking my fingers in like it’s my cock.”

A sharp gasp escaped you, your fingers tightening around the sheets.

“It could be your—”

Dean shot you a look, a warning, the kind that made your stomach flip. Automatically, you clamped your mouth shut.

His lips curled into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

Without warning, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you could even protest, he was on you again, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, desperate and unrestrained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, his hands mapping out every inch of you like he was memorizing the way you felt.

His hands moved, grabbing the hem of his shirt and discarding it across the motel floor. Your hands roamed over his back, nails digging in slightly as you pulled him closer, needing more, needing everything.

"Dean," you whispered, and that was all it took.

His breath caught, his pupils blown wide with something dark and hungry. His hands moved to his belt, fingers working the buckle open with urgency.

But before he could go any further, your hands covered his, stopping him.

His eyes snapped up to yours, concern flickering across his face. "What?" His voice was rough, husky. "You okay?"

You swallowed, your heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. You weren't hesitating—you knew exactly what you wanted. Your gaze softened, lips curling into a small, teasing smile.

"Can I suck your dick?" you asked, bluntly.

Dean blinked.

"You what?"

"Can I... suck your dick?" This time, your voice was quieter, almost uncertain, but the intent in your eyes was clear.

Dean’s mouth parted slightly, like his brain had short-circuited.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before covering his mouth for a second, as if trying to get a grip. “Of course you can, pretty girl. Only if you let me do the same.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression.

"Like... at the same time?"

Dean smirked. "I suppose you're familiar with the number sixty-nine."

You burst out laughing, your forehead falling against his shoulder as your whole body shook with amusement. Dean laughed with you, the moment light yet still buzzing with heat.

When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with that damn smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Come here,” he murmured, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips.

Then he kissed you, and this time there was no hesitation, no teasing.

It was deep, consuming, the kind of kiss that stole the breath from your lungs and left you dizzy. His hands explored, memorizing the curves of your body, tracing fire along your skin. He pulled you onto his lap, pressing you down against the hardness of him, making you gasp into his mouth.

"You feel that, sweetheart?" he whispered against your lips. "That's what you do to me."

You whimpered, grinding down slightly, and Dean let out a strangled groan, his fingers gripping your hips like he was barely holding on.

"Fuck, you're gonna kill me," he muttered, before flipping you onto your back, his lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, lower—

And then he was gone, shifting down the bed, his mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

His hands moved to your thighs, parting them with ease.

"You still sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough, edged with restraint.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

"Dean," you breathed. "Shut up and get to work."

Dean chuckled darkly, his grip tightening.

"Yes, ma’am."

And then he did exactly that.

Dean shifted his body, leaving his crotch above your face.

“Damn”

“Thank you” he said, you laughed again.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you slowly lowered the fabric of his boxers, freeing him completely. His cock was long, thick, and already aching for you. The sight alone sent a fresh wave of arousal pooling in your belly.

Before you could react, you felt the first hesitant stroke of Dean’s tongue against your cunt—tentative at first, almost testing the waters. The sensation sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your spine, making you groan softly.

"Just like that," you murmured, voice dripping with approval before you finally wrapped your lips around his cock.

A deep, guttural moan escaped Dean's throat, a sound that vibrated straight into your core. His whole body tensed beneath you, his fingers digging into your thighs as if he was trying to ground himself.

Your spit coated his length, dripping down as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His cock throbbed against your tongue, and a part of you—some sinful, smug part—loved knowing you had this effect on him.

Dean’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue pushed deeper, licking into you with new urgency. It was messy, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough. He buried his face between your legs, his nose pressing against your clit, groaning as if he was drunk on you.

Everywhere, he was surrounded by you. He could taste you on his tongue, smell you, feel the way your legs trembled under his touch. It was intoxicating, overwhelming—like being worshipped just for existing.

The more you moved, the more he lost himself in you. His tongue flicked over your clit in tandem with the bob of your head over his cock, and he let out a muffled curse against your cunt, his hips jerking up slightly.

"Shit—" he groaned, voice wrecked. "You're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his cock, and Dean choked out a curse, his grip tightening even more.

Your rhythm quickened, lips gliding over him with purpose, and Dean matched your pace, his mouth working you open with relentless hunger. His hands spread your thighs wider, keeping you right where he wanted you, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of you pulling away.

The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure—his groans, your whimpers, the wet, filthy noises of tongues and lips working in tandem. The tension that had been brewing between you for years was finally unraveling, raw and unfiltered.

Dean’s breath turned ragged, his movements becoming erratic. You could tell he was close—his thighs tensing beneath your hands, his moans turning desperate.

"Fuck, baby, if you keep going like that—" His warning was cut off by a deep, shuddering groan as you took him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat.

His body trembled beneath you, and you knew he was about to fall apart. It was okay, because so were you.

"I'm about to—" Dean's voice came out strained, ragged with pleasure.

You nodded, your lips still wrapped around him, determined to take everything he had to give. A deep, guttural groan tore from his chest as thick, hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. At the exact same moment, his mouth latched onto you even harder, and the sheer sensation sent you over the edge. Your body trembled as your release coated his tongue, making him groan into you.

The pleasure was dizzying, all-consuming. Your moans mixed with his, lost in the heavy, humid air of the motel room. Every nerve in your body was buzzing, oversensitive, barely able to handle the aftermath of everything you'd just felt.

Dean pulled away first, his breath uneven, his hands still gripping your thighs like he needed something solid to hold onto. Slowly, he shifted, moving up to hover over you, his emerald eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His lips were swollen, wet, glistening with the taste of you.

He reached for your face, his thumb swiping at the saliva on your lower lip with a tenderness that felt almost out of place after everything you'd just done.

"You okay?" His voice was low, husky, but there was something softer beneath it—something vulnerable.

You nodded, unable to speak, still lost in the haze of pleasure. Instead, you pulled him down, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. He tasted like whiskey, like heat, like you, and for a moment, the world outside the four walls of that room ceased to exist.

Dean groaned into the kiss, deepening it, his tongue sliding against yours with unrestrained hunger. His hands roamed your body, rediscovering every curve, every dip of your skin like he was memorizing you. There was nothing hesitant anymore—no more second-guessing, no more resisting.

This was years of tension, of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken words, all unraveling in the way he pressed you down against the mattress, in the way your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist.

"You drive me fuckin' insane," he murmured against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. "You know that, right?"

You smirked, brushing your nails down his back, reveling in the way his muscles tensed under your touch. "I had a suspicion."

Dean chuckled, but the sound was cut off when you rolled your hips up against him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

"Jesus, sweetheart—"

"Dean," you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair. "Don't stop."

And he didn’t.

He captured your mouth again, hungrier this time, as if he was afraid this would all slip away if he let go. His hands slid between your bodies, fingers teasing at the last pieces of clothing that still separated you. Finally taking what was always meant to be his.

Dean's cockhead dips between your folds, teasing your entrance with agonizing slowness. A desperate, keening moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him. You're dripping, your slick coating him, making it easier for him to push in—just the tip at first, stretching you open inch by inch.

"Fuck, sweetheart…" Dean's voice is hoarse, strained with restraint, like he's holding himself back from completely losing control.

Even with just half of him inside you, your breath is already coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in, silently begging for more. And Dean, never one to deny you, pulls back just enough before slamming forward with a deep, firm thrust.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, your fingers clawing at his shoulders. He groans at the way you take him, the way you clench around him like you're made for him.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters, his forehead pressing against yours as he buries himself deeper, stretching you until the burn melts into pleasure. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His thrusts are precise, each one landing with an intensity that has you seeing stars. Every movement sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, each stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

You're already shaking, the pleasure mounting too fast, too strong. Your hips roll against his, chasing more, needing more.

"Dean," you whimper, your voice wrecked, hands grasping at the sheets beneath you.

He tightens his grip on your hips, shifting the angle just enough to push even deeper, dragging another cry from you.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with lust. "Take it, sweetheart. Let me hear you."

You can barely speak, reduced to moans and gasps, your body wound tight like a string about to snap. Your legs tense, your muscles locking up as the coil in your stomach tightens, tighter, until—

"Dean!" you sob, your back arching as pleasure consumes you, your release hitting so hard it steals the air from your lungs.

Dean groans at the feeling of you pulsing around him, and that’s all it takes for him to follow. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, before he buries himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering moan.

He collapses onto his forearms, his body still trembling with the aftershocks. His breath fans against your skin as he presses his forehead against yours, grounding himself in you.

"That's it," he murmurs, kissing your temple. "You did so good. God, you should see yourself right now… you're so goddamn beautiful."

You can’t help but smile, the exhaustion settling into your limbs as the warmth of his words wraps around you like a blanket.

"Thank you, Dean," you whisper, curling into him. You know better than to overthink this—to question what it means. Because the man lying beside you? He doesn’t do confessions, doesn’t do mornings-after. And if this is all you get, you’ll take it.

Dean presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, so tender it makes your chest tighten. Your eyes sting, emotion creeping in where you least expect it.

He looks like he wants to say something, his mouth parting, his brows drawing together in that way he does when he's struggling with something real, something serious. But before he can get the words out—

"What the hell—" He suddenly stiffens, eyes snapping toward the corner of the room.

You blink, barely able to keep yourself from slipping into sleep. "What?"

Dean's jaw drops slightly, his expression shifting from post-orgasmic bliss to sheer disbelief.

"Is that a goddamn fairy?"

"You look oddly happy," Sam commented as he walked past.

"Okay, asshole move," you shot back, rolling your eyes. "Am I not allowed to be happy that we found a way to get your soul back?"

"Oh, I get it—you just want your boyfriend back," he said, smirking.

The word boyfriend made your stomach twist uncomfortably. If Sam actually got his soul back and everything went back to how it was before… things were going to be awkward. Really awkward. Considering you had just fucked his brother.

Sam walked into the motel room, searching for something you didn’t really care about. Your mind had been thoroughly occupied with someone else since the hippie incident.

Speaking of Rome…

Dean walked in, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, carrying himself with that same cocky ease that could knock down even the strongest walls. His presence alone felt like a gravitational pull, one you had no business indulging in—but damn, was it tempting.

He gave you a small nod in greeting, his gaze lingering just a second too long.

"How'd you sleep in jail?" you asked, biting back a grin.

Dean smirked. "Had better nights."

The words hit deeper than they should have, sending heat creeping up your neck. The memory of two nights ago burned behind your eyes—his hands on your hips, his breath against your skin, the way you whispered his name like a prayer. You forced yourself to swallow it down.

Sam walked back out, his own duffel bag in hand, completely oblivious to the tension crackling between you and Dean.

You slid into the backseat of the Impala, letting out a small yawn.

"Still don’t get why you woke up so early," Dean muttered as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

"To gloat," you teased, stretching your arms behind your head.

"Uh-huh. And you’re just gonna pass out again in a couple of hours."

You opened your mouth to argue—but damn it, he was right.

Dean caught your expression in the rearview mirror and smirked, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. His fingers tapped lazily against the steering wheel before he spoke, his voice casual—too casual.

"Guess I’ll have to find another way to keep you awake, huh?"

The words were innocent enough. Sam didn’t react, didn’t even seem to register them. But the way Dean said it, the way his eyes flicked up to meet yours in the mirror—

Yeah. You weren’t done with him.

And worse? He knew it.

[0tenshi]

🌻Positive Result ~ The Eulogy of Someone Still Alive (TW: discussions of death, physical and mental illness)

HEY!! It's been a bit since I wrote one of these. I kind of wanted to do one for Neuron Explosion Show, but I feel like I don't have much good to say about it. At any rate, NES is a bit of a successor to Positive Result despite having been released first. I wrote Positive Result first and in a far longer amount of time and put a lot more thought into it, that's for sure.

This song has been a long time coming for me. I'm not super open about my own mental state online as a safety measure since I am still young, but my music has always been a way for me to... unleash what I feel without guilt, if that makes sense. I'm quite a reserved person despite wearing my heart on my sleeve, but the lack of pressure with music really draws me to the craft as a whole. After all, most of my listeners do not know me on a personal level (nor should they). Those who do know me, however, are able to get a better insight on me through listening to what I have to say in a way that doesn't put as much direct burden on them as talking face to face would. Perhaps my mindset isn't the healthiest, I am aware that it's cowardly. But it's one of the only ways I am able to process my own emotions, trauma, and regrets while I navigate my young adulthood as of now.

That being said, I'd like to talk as openly as I can about the meaning of Positive Result here. This song features a feeling that I know all too well: pure, unfiltered panic. Powerlessness. An extreme sense of mortality.

I was officially diagnosed with OCD when I was around thirteen, but my symptoms started at a very young age, manifesting mostly in the form of health anxiety. The first instance of this I can recall was how at six years old I would check my lung capacity over and over again, convinced that my breathing was constrained and there was something wrong with me. Checking myself mentally and physically for symptoms of something arbitrary and untrue was routine for so long, for so many years, that I thought it to be normal until I discovered the nature of OCD. The disorder is ravenous. It's time consuming. At times, it is inescapable. It is scary. It is completely irrational. And it's shaped me and my personality in many ways.

"I can't halt the fear

To appreciate

everything I seem

seem to have today

(Now I am contorting wildly, feelings clashing, overwhelming)

And I can't control

what's controlling me and

living while I'm dying every day

(Understanding math so vague, I graph a picture of a morbid day)"

Positive Result features my struggle with the part of my OCD that makes me fear contracting and dying of a physical illness. A lot of the lyrics allude to cancer specifically, ("Even though I cannot sense it, I can tell that my cells are revolting/Turning paradigms to sickness"). The imagery of physical cells "revolting" is something I wanted to portray sickeningly straightforward. I considered using the word "turning" as well, like rotting, or like a multiplying cancer, but "revolting" felt more akin to the betrayal I feel when my mind tries to convince me that my "paradigms" are turning to sickness. In this case, "paradigms" also refers to cell mitosis and the multiplication of cancer cells. "Felt only by these hands of mine" refers to the sense of feeling something or seeing something, a symptom, an imperfection, anything, that isn't actually there.

My episodes of panic with my OCD have lasted me months at a time before. At times, they leave me feeling that my fear will last an eternity.

"With a fear that lasts an eternity, counting one, two, three, to the metronome of destiny

In love with earthly frequencies, the ripping sound of frantic waves

It's growing, flowers exploding, round and round, they're breathing, eating me alive"

Now, the visceral earthly imagery in the chorus is more evocative than meaningful. The thought of a flower exploding, wrapping around you, breathing and eating you alive is an uncanny enough thought. But it's the way mortality feels to me. It's the way I imagine slowly dying. Even though I have never been close to that state physically (knock on wood) getting a very scary phone call from a doctor some years ago got me well acquainted with the proximity that we as animals have to the dirt beneath us. ("Letting go and letting blood can never be rehearsed/Oh, you know I'm gonna claim that I'm only getting worse!") That last line in the yelling section in particular refers to the endless requests for reassurance about my own potential, unreal conditions and my inability to believe the people that told me I would be okay.

I'm also really proud of the next little section where the lines, "This survival rate, forever it is plummeting/these statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me," pop up. This refers specifically to checking compulsions via looking up symptoms on the internet/checking survival rates for various illnesses (I used to do that a lot.) This section also alludes to the loss of control, which, in reality, might be the scariest part of the fear of illness for me.

Also, notice the repeated rhyming of "me" with itself. ("Can't you answer me/those looking down on me"... "These statistics aren't re-re-reassuring me"..."Heal me"). When you're stuck in your head, it's quite impossible to live outside of yourself.

"'Cause the world never pauses for the cowardly

It pushes past the plagued and pageless poet’s elegies

But after all, the only person that's without disease

is only six feet deep"

This section refers to the world seeming to move on without you when you're trapped in panic, along with a slight reassuring thought that 'everyone goes through some sort of illness.' Also this interpolates Glass Pen hey guys ahahahahha, I also reference Cryin' Cryin' with the background line "Don't try to fight what you can't see," interpolate an unreleased song with [ REDACTED ], and reference Neuron Explosion Show with "I don't think I'm gonna make it out/with an ardent voice I scream it." I may or may not be going through an inspiration phase of someone I look up to who motifs a lot ahahahhahahahahah

"BRACING FOR IMPACT, WHAT’S REAL IS PLAIN TO SEE

'THESE THOUGHTS ARE JUST PROTECTING ME'

THE BIBLIOCLAST

TO MY OWN STORY"

The line "'These thoughts are just protecting me'" being in quotes specifically refers to something I learned in therapy about the nature of OCD brains and anxiety. How your brain is constantly trying to protect you despite there being no immediate threats to speak of, sometimes none at all. Also I'm really proud of the line "The biblioclast to my own story"!!! I'm a sucker for a good big word.

And that's really the core of Positive Result as a song. I hope it resonates with y'all however you decide to interpret it! In the scope of MACHINA MORI (which you should check out RIGHT NOW BTW) I see it as staring your mortal self in the face and being afraid of what you see. There's nothing comforting about being mortal. At the same time, there's everything comforting about being mortal. But, yeah. It's scary, it is. However, for me at least, even as I live side by side with this disorder, I'm a certified Lover Of Life and no amount of fear will ever change that for me. Despite how hopeless my music has been sounding lately, I hope you are aware that I, as a person, am not one to let go of hope.

Be prepared for what I have in store for this year. Big things coming!

~Kain Angel, 2/15/25

Thank you: Mage, Io, Tomi, Olay, absolutely every one of my friends, MM TEAM

[maggotfurby]

Ticci Toby:

         (Solitary  confinement: Feelspasta)

          Written by MaggotFurby

(Trigger warning: if you feel incredibly upset grab a tissue or offended while reading this pasta, you can scroll pass it. as it contains scenes of emotional betrayal and heartbreak; reader discretion is advised)

Tobias Erin Rogers; now a twenty-eight year old man who lived his life free from escaping authority along with his girlfriend, Natalie. Those two were inseparable, a power couple as some would say… But even though their love was strong, as depressing as it may sound. It did not last long.  The incident happened over a year ago, it was getting close to Valentine’s day and it was their tenth anniversary. Toby was preparing to ask her the famous question since he had saved up a bit of money by smuggling money from the dead victims wallets after he killed them. Toby wrote the words in his head of how he would propose to her in an appropriate and healthy manner without acting like a nervous wreck. 

So far, things were going along just fine with Natalie. Her partnership with Toby was great, of what she could ask for…until she had a dream where that love turned into something sour. Clockwork often had vivid dreams/realistic nightmares that put her into a dark, and somber mood. The dream was that Toby, like father like son, verbally and physically abused Natalie. The pushing, shoving, punching and yelling seemed too real to handle.  Natalie was a victim of abuse in the past, so it was nothing new.  She started to have doubts about her relationship with Toby, since she tried to help him forget his past and dealing with severe depression. He wouldn't budge. One time, Toby accidentally scolded Natalie when she interfered with the hunt, wanted to lend a hand. The victim Toby was trying to kill got away scott free.

His tone was full of murderous malice as he was in the middle of a psychotic episode. That sure made Natalie visibly upset and she ran off away from him. Toby got his composer back and chased after her, frantically apologizing for what he had done to her.  He tried to calm her down but Clockwork pushed his hand away from her and scolded right back at him, saying “how dare you speak to me that way, what have I ever done to you?!” while having angered tears poured out from her one eye. 

Toby stepped back and dropped his head down, the wave of guilt flooded his face as he stressfully twitched . “Natalie, I'm so sorry…I didn't mean too…please I'm sorry” Toby whimpered in shame, full of sincere regret. 

“Please don't be upset with me…I promise I won't yell at you again, I swear…! I'm sorry!”.

“Tobias…” Natalie replied. She would use his full first name whenever she felt incredibly upset or feeling annoyed.

“Look… I know what you did was wrong but what you said to me back there…that really hurt, Rogers. I thought you knew me. I've told you about my past, and yet, you've made it return with that sentence alone…” 

“please…I'm sorry, Natalie…” Toby said back, trying not to break down right in front of her. 

“Toby, I'll be fine. It'll take a while for me to forgive you, but not right now.” 

A few days passed by and they were back together and forgave each for what happened.  Toby was preparing to meet up with Clockwork over by the hillside later that night to surprise her with a lovely dinner date. Her response over text was typical, she barely used emojis because she wanted her conversations to be serious. It was almost around 8pm, Toby patiently waited for Natalie to visit over at the picnic Toby spent hours preparing for. He wore an outfit that was formal and well kept; a black formal suit. He combed his hair making it less messy than before. He set a small table with a single candle lighting the romantic scene. 

He sat down and waited for her, one hour turned to two…two became three…

Toby was beginning to feel worried, did Natalie get distracted with another hunt? Maybe she was late because of that…? 

Toby was about to stand up from his seat and instantly stood up when he finally saw Clockwork walking around the corner of the woods. strangely, she still wore her usual outfit. Whenever they're on a date, she would often wear a long black dress and wore a pearl necklace Toby gave to her for her birthday. 

“Rogers…this looks…nice?” Clockwork said in her chill expression with a hint of curiosity.

“ looks like you outdid yourself, you look professional”. 

“Aw, don't mention it…I tried to make it special” tried to sound confident if it weren't for his constant ticks. “I've been planning this for a long while…” 

“It seems like it” Natalie replied. “But, Toby…” She was almost going to tell Toby the sad news about their relationship but Toby happily interrupted her with a sincere and caring voice while gently holding her hand. 

“Natalie…I love you. Sure, I've made mistakes in the past but tonight. This will definitely make it up for it…” 

Toby reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small velvet blue box. 

“T-toby…? What is this?” Clockwork said in confusion. Instead of infatuation what Toby expected from her.

“What…? I-its a ring…I got it for you” Toby responded with a hint of concern in his tone, almost sounding confused as well. Inside was an emerald diamond crested engagement ring. The most gorgeous ring you could've ever had. 

“...Toby, please…we need to talk…it's about us” Natalie slowly lets go of Toby's hand. Toby closed and placed the ring box back inside his pocket. “What's wrong, Natalie. Was there something I did that upset you…?”

“No…it's not you, Toby. Look, what you did was romantic and all, but I think this is not really worth our time together… I've been thinking about this for a long while now and made a decision for myself.  I'm sorry, I don't want to continue any further with our relationship.” Natalie confessed.

Toby was silent, his eyes widened when she told the painful truth. 

“I know…you're upset with me. This is what I was expecting. But you probably knew it would not last long, Rogers. I do appreciate you wanted to patch things up about our relationship but…it's your troubles from your past, Toby. No matter how hard I try to fix the problems, you always deny and push me away from helping you. It made me feel like I was nothing but a burden”.

As Clockwork continued on with her sincerity, until Toby responded in a saddened yet angered quiet voice. “Why…? Why do you want to get rid of me so badly? How did I make you feel like a burden when all I ever wanted was some closure… We've been together for ten years, Natalie…TEN YEARS.” 

“Toby, I'm sorry…! I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm just telling you how I really feel…-” 

“So what…? So you can just run off and leave me alone and make me feel miserable again? I thought we were meant to be together… but turns out I was wrong…” Toby stopped and withheld himself while facing away from her with disgust and betrayal on his face.

“...Toby, please I-”.

“Leave.” 

“Wh-what…?” Natalie replied in a near crying tone. 

“please…just leave. It's over, we're done” Toby said coldly. 

Clockwork abruptly got up from the table and ran off into the far woods with heavy tears rolling down her face. 

Since she left, Toby went into an emotional outburst. He angrily threw the table over and stomped on the candle, extinguishing the small flame. Then he punched a nearby tree, he pummeled his fists into the bark so much that his hands were covered with broken shards of wood and splitters. Some pierced through his pale hand as blood oozed out. 

After the unnecessary self-inflicted injuries, he catched his heavy breath, his face still filled with anguish and sadness; tears heavily fall from his eyes. 

“God… why do you hate me so much…? Toby said to himself as he sat down on the ground as his back laid against the exact tree he injured himself with.  He curled up into a fetal position and cried loudly. His throat strained and raw from his screams of sorrow, as the birds flew away when they were spooked by his extreme meltdown. 

He curled up himself tighter, his eyes tight shut. Then a blinding light caught him off guard from his depressing moment, a police helicopter hovered over him with its spinning blades blowing rapid winds surrounding his location. 

“TOBIAS ERIN ROGERS. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE COUNTESS MURDERS AND AVOIDING LAW ENFORCEMENT. PLEASE COME FORWARD AND COMPLY. IF YOU CHOOSE TO LEAVE, YOU WILL BE SHOT DOWN. STEP INSIDE THE HELICOPTER” The loud speaker shouted by one officer inside the copter. 

Toby looked up at the hovering craft, knowing he would be sent away for a long time. So, he had to choose to fulfill their word. He stepped forward and placed his arms up in the air in surrender. Two other officers climbed out and detained Toby and carried him inside the helicopter. Suddenly, Toby got clobbered in the back of the head by the cop behind him. Before Toby passed out, the cop muttered under his breath “This is for my son, you fucking bastard…” 

Toby woke up in a daze, his sight blurry for a few seconds. Around him, he was surrounded by padded walls and he was constricted with a straight jacket. He couldn't move his arms at all due to them being locked within the jacket. 

He grunted with frustration as he struggled to remove himself from his constraints. Only fueled his anger even more.  “H-Hey…! Someone? Help! get me out of here! Get me the fuck out of here!!” 

“Toby…? My son, is that really you?” a familiar voice spoken through the intercom from the roof part of the padded cell. 

Toby turned his head at the glass window attached to the cell… The person was his dear mother, Connie. 

Connie looked older now, in her late 50's and still wore her favorite green sweater she would often wear. 

Toby: …M-mom? 

Connie: Yes, honey…! It's me, sweetheart. Oh, I'm so happy I finally found you again…I've missed you so much. 

Toby: What happened…? Where am I…? Mom, please. Get me out of here, I don't belong here…!

Connie: Toby, sweetheart… You're in a mental institution. The police found you last night and detained you here… Honey, I can't just let you go, it is against the law to do so. You're not well, son. You've been through so much. 

Toby: …I thought you loved me, mom…

Connie: Honey, I still love you. But murdering people doesn't solve problems, son. You need to stay here. I know that sounds harsh but this is for your own good.  But I can visit you every weekend and check up on you so you wouldn't feel alone. 

Toby: …I'm always alone…

Connie: Pardon?

Toby: I've been alone since my sister died, mom. Don't you remember? Not only that…Natalie left me.

Connie: Who's Natalie, sweetheart? 

Toby: You…wouldn't get it. She's in the past now. 

Connie looked up at her son with great sympathy and responded back. 

Connie: Oh, honey… I'm so sorry.  I know, heartbreak is fairly common, son.  

Her conversation cut short when a staff member stepped up next to Connie.

Sm: Alright, ma'am. Visit time’s over. 

Connie turned back to her son before walking with the staff employee. 

Connie: Goodnight, son. See you next Saturday… I love you. 

His mother left. Now Toby was alone again. He fell back onto the padded floor and stared up at the padded ceiling. His head ringed, a loud, screeching ring pierced through his ears. Slenderman was trying to locate where he was. 

“N-no…! Leave me alone…leave me alone. You ruined my life…! Please leave me alone!” He screamed and screamed. Two institution staff members rushed him and pinned him down. One of them jabbed a syringe into his leg. A sedative that made Toby cease and fell asleep cold. 

                       One year later…

The day was the same as any other day. Tobias Erin Rogers, now twenty-nine years old. Still held captive at the Denver mental institution for the unwell. He was resting at the corner of his cell, his eyes shut, as he tried to fall asleep since he hadn't slept in days. His mother came by for the usual weekend visit, the same old responses back and forth. 

But that day…was different. After his mother left. Toby tried to fall asleep in peace. ‘til he heard a small movement from the window. He picked up his head and tilted his sight towards the direction of where the sound was coming from.  His half-lidded eyes gazed up and saw a young woman. It wasn't Natalie, nor his mother but a young twenty-four year old woman. She was about 5’3ft, wore a dark purple denim jacket with a raggedy black t-shirt along with black jean pants and black shoes. Her skin was pale but slightly peachy, had strawberry blonde hair with tired, bright hazel emerald eyes that complimented well with her jacket. She was holding the microphone that was attached to the outside speaker. Toby slowly got up and walked over towards the mysterious visitor, gazed down at her with a look of eccentricity. Her name tag read “Caryn”. That was her name. 

A moment of silence passed when the woman first spoke:

Caryn: Hi…you must be Toby?

(This is a prequel pasta for Rescue mission 1 & 2, thank you for reading ) 

(note: I cried while writing this 😢)

[thecluelessdoctor]

Unhappy Campers is indeed a disgrace of an episode and made me hate both Moxxie and Millie even though I used to love them both and their relationship before it. What are your thoughts on it?

Oh my god someone who agrees.

I was already pretty wonky on how much I liked M and M, but after unhappy campers it just put a weird taste in my mouth.

So many things about their relationship were forced for plot reasons that never get addressed, and are suddenly fixed because of one shitty apology from Moxxie.

Like we had ZERO signs of Millie having depression!! Nothing!! And in a show like this, thats something you need to at least make watchers think is a possibility!! And then, even after Millie basically says she has depression and mentally is really bad, Moxxie does NOTHING!!! NOTHING. not until Millies stupid big show that had no plot relevance what so ever, where makes a shitty apology, and Millie immediately forgives him!! Yes I understand you shouldn't hold grudges, but this was a serious thing!! Moxxie was being selfish (which is REALLY out of character) and being a complete asshole! It kinda sucks too because a line in Moxxie's song in the final of season one was 'i'll never take you for granted' and what does he do?? Take her for granted!! But the thing is, the show didn't show this as bad, feeding into it even more!!

The episode in general sucked from the horrible, horrible jokes, to poor writing, to plot, it just sucked.

Another thing that makes me so mad about this episode is how it completely sweeps what the hell happened to Stolas under the rug!! Like in the beginning I originally thought Blitz was breaking into the hospital Stolas' was in!! That would have made for something interesting if they keep wanting to feed into stolitz!! Personally I don't think stolitz should be a thing, at least not in the way how Helluva boss is trying to make it happen. It feels way to forced, and it's incredibly wrong because Stolas as a person and character is HORRIBLE.

Or! If they REALLY wanted the whole barbie plot line, THEY SHOULD HAVE FOCUSED THE EPISODE ON BLITZ. Moxxie and Millie did not need to be in this episode! All they needed to do is have blitz send them on a solo mission as a explanation for why they weren't there.

Anyway, overall this episode put a really bad taste in my mouth so now I want to watch m and m fall. Well I've been wanting to watch their relationship get worse because depth

I swear I'ma rewrite the episode that how much I hate it

[lunacias]

(Silence. CARPENTER tries to rally HAYWARD's spirits. She's afraid she's going to lose him.)

"All three of us - we can all go on living, Hayward. Just like you said."

[thegodcomplcx]

the almost people establishes that the doctor is the person that amy holds in the highest regard and that she will not accept anyone that isn’t him, that she will be outright hostile to anyone who commits the crime of not being him enough. and this episode also tells us that the doctor will take her devotion and he will use it against her. and she’ll forgive him for it.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy....

[arovalentines]

even now i cling tightly to my glass slippers

[ceiling-karasu]

Squirrel and Hedgehog Shipping Polls

I’m heading out to the Caribbean this weekend for a family vacation, so this poly ship should make for a warm discussion from the suggestions and prompts in the tags.

The captured Field Mouse from episode two, and his hedgehog Guards.

[doctorwhoisadhd]

what if i. rewatched captain jack harkness

[six-tooth]

anyway feeling very normal about this scene

the fact that after a long, unpleasant day of absolutely nothing going his way and constantly being reminded of how much everyone else dislikes him, he's too tired to keep his act up and seeks out a genuine conversation with the one person whom he hasn't interacted with through the entire adventure

Pomni about to answer sincerely before realizing it's Jax and changing her approach, either out of caution or uncertainty by him being so... casual

she braces for one of his usual remarks/jokes but is surprised when he answers with neither, simply letting her know how he's doing as well

finally, when he's called over for another task, he's still visibly annoyed but follows through without much protest and waves goodbye to Pomni, who is undoubtedly confused by what she just saw.

there have been a couple of instances where the series shows us that Jax is being affected by the circus more than he lets on, and they were really focused on during this episode.

this got me thinking about what Goose really meant by him "getting worse"; most people (myself included) interpreted it as his actions gradually escalating to a point where it could result in conflict with the rest of the cast, but after this scene and near the end where he leaves and gets in his car, it could be understood as his repressed emotions finally catching up to him and turning his mental well-being for the worst. It could also be a mix of the two

now this is the part where I put my delusional cap on, but there has been a significant build up to Jax and Pomni's relationship through the whole series, the most notorious one being:

his hand missing from Pomni's moment of realization that the other people she's been trapped with are trustworthy and care for her. You obviously can't blame her for coming to this conclusion, but I think that's exactly what made this small interaction a lot more important

Jax has been pushing others away and masking his emotions for who knows how long, and one of the primary focus and messages of TADC is connections with others and how important they are, so for them to show us Pomni seeing Jax have a brief moment of vulnerability, I do believe it's reasonable to think that they will eventually develop a relationship with some amount of significance, maybe even something close to a friendship

but yeah, feeling very normal

[satoruan]

COMING DOWN w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) BDSM (Sukuna's only), master!Sukuna, punishment, spanking, pussy job, cream pie, praise, fingering, explicit content  

FEATURING: Ryomen Sukuna, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Nanami Kento 

Author’s note: I fear I can only write stern Sukuna, also the way word deleted this and I had the spend my morning rewriting it…

☾ GOJO SATORU 

“Mm–fuck, oh fuck angel, I’m cumming!” Gojo whines, shooting his load into your abused cunt. You arch your back deeper, shoving your face into the pillow. “Fuck, princess—fuck—feel s’good,” He collapses onto you, heaving. 

You whine at his weight unable to stay up. Satoru falls with you. 

“S’ so good princess, you’re always s’good to me.” Satoru spills, drunk on you. You whimper, tilting your head to kiss his cheek. He nuzzles into you, murmuring out incoherent praise.  

“Toru, you’re too heavy, get off.” You try and fail to shrug him off.  

“Mm—don’t wanna, so comfy.” He slurs, and you know if he doesn’t get up within the next five minutes you both are going to fall asleep covered in sweat, tears, and cum. 

“We gotta wash up ‘Ro. C’mon the quicker we clean up the quicker we can cuddle and watch the next episode of our show.” Satoru protest for a several minutes before kissing the side of your face a few times and lifting himself, his cock slipping out. You gasp, suddenly feeling empty. Your pussy clenched in attempt to keep him cum in. You turn to watch a naked Satoru walk over to grab the baby wipes on the dresser. 

“C’mere baby, lemme clean you up.” 

☾ RYOMEN SUKUNA 

“One more, little girl.” Sukuna grunts, his heavy hand on your back rubbing soothing circles. He brings the belt down again. You gasp, voice hoarse for all the screaming and crying you’ve already done. 

“All done, now c’mere.” Sukuna orders you up from your position across his lap, manhandling you until you wrap around him. 

“M’sorry, m’sorry, won’t do it again I promise, I'll be good now.” You cry into the crock of his neck, overwhelmed with emotions. You feel embarrassed, guilty, and cared for all at once. Only Sukuna can make you feel such contradictory emotions. 

“Shush, it’s okay little girl, I know, you took your punishment like a good girl you know that?” He gently grabs the side of your head, forcing you to look up at him. You have to blink a few times before you can see his face. “Proud of you.” He smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips—swollen from biting down so hard. 

Your heart flutters at the praise, you may not like getting punished but the soft moments after when Sukuna whispers sweet nothings to you will always make it better.  

“I love–” You hiccup. “L-love you Ryo.”  You rub your cheek on his warm palm, ready to fall asleep and start the new day on a clean slate. 

“I love you too little one, you know what to say.” He shakes your head with his hand, the other starting to rub soothing circles on your thighs. “Thank you for my punishment master, I understand why you did it and I appreciate you for correcting me.” 

“Good girl, now lay down on your stomach while I rub this cream on your ass alright?” 

☾ NANAMI KENTO  

“K-Kento—” You moan, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders. 

“Shush, it’s okay love, let it happen, you’re alright.” He whispers into your ear, jackhammering his fingers into your wet cunt. You cry into his now-drenched shoulder, as Nanami finger fucks you to another orgasm. He whispers sweet nothing as you come down from another high, and collapse on his chest.  

“That’s right Love–jus’ relax for me.” he says, as he pulls his fingers out of your pussy and wraps his strong arms around your waist.  

“You relaxed now sweetheart?” 

“Mhm, thank you, Ken.” 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” He rubs your back, patiently waiting for you to tell him what caused you to come home on the verge of a breakdown. 

“I-I don’t wanna. It’s embarrassing.” You mumble ashamed that you let your co-workers get to you. 

“Nothin’ you say will ever make me judge you sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.” He reassures. 

“I know Kento, thank you for always bein’ there for me.” 

“I love you, sweetheart. That means I'll always will there whenever you need me to be—in any way you need me to.” 

“I love you too Kento. Do you think we can go get some ice-cream then I can tell you what happened?” 

“Of course we can Love.” 

☾ GETO SUGURU 

“That’s it sweet girl–mm fuck–that’s it.” Geto grunts, sliding your pussy over his cock before lifting you and releasing his load on your thighs. You gasp at the sight of your boyfriend cumming on your naked thighs. Suguru sighs, the grip on your hips softening after several seconds. 

“Suguru—” 

“I know baby, I know.”  He reassures, bringing his hands underneath the hoodie you’re wearing. He caresses his hands up and down your sides. You blink sleepily about to fall into Suguru’s big chest before you remember the sticky mess between your tights. 

“Sugu, ‘m dirty.” You pout. He grins up at you. 

“The prettiest dirty girl I’ve ever seen.” 

“Suguru!” You slap his chest. He laughs ever harder, grabbing your hand to sprinkle kisses on your knuckles.  You smile down at him. He looks like the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. Long black hair sprawled against the white pillow. Intense brown eyes that look up at you like you’re the only girl in the world worth his time.  

“Let’s get clean up dirty girl–C’mon, up we go.” Suguru picks you up by the waist and carries you to the bathroom. He sets you down on the counter before he grabs a clean rag.  

“Thank you, baby.” You whisper as you wash him clean your thighs. 

“No, thank you for bein’ so good to me sweet girl.” He stands up to kiss you sweetly. “Never thought I’d get so lucky—you’re the best girl, my best girl. Love you s’much.” 

[nereidprinc3ss]

ghost in the machine

in which spencer reid coaxes reader out of an episode of extreme dissociation after a triggering therapy session

angst, fluff warnings/tags: established relationship, accidental mild injury, blood, unspecified trauma, but at the very least implied past emotional abuse, anxiety, reader has ptsd and is in #denial about it a/n: I'm hellaaaa chill sometimes I just lose hours of my day if I think about my childhood too hard

It’s normal for you to get home and immediately wash your hands—a habit you picked up from Spencer. So you walk through the door, and you close it, and you take off your shoes and you hang up your coat and he calls hey from the couch. 

You don’t respond. Or do you? You’re not sure. But you’re washing your hands, and then as you go to dry them, you notice your coffee mug from this morning, still sitting on the counter. 

I should wash that, you think, and so you pick it up and you take it back to the sink. 

Sink. Sink equals washing hands. 

You’re washing your hands again. 

What did you mean to do?

Dishes? Right. The mug is… gone, seemingly, but there’s a knife in the sink, too—you pick it up, and you’re about to rinse it off, and then it’s clattering from your hands. Somebody is pulling you back from the sink. 

Someone is saying your name a whole bunch of times. 

You turn, blinking, and there’s Spencer, glowing softly in the yellow light of the kitchen. 

He looks so concerned. He strokes your cheek but you feel it less than you seem to observe it from a distance. Says your name one more time, eyes softening a little. 

“What?” You murmur, as if in a trance. 

He blinks. 

“You dropped a mug. You’re bleeding.”

Well, that’s news to you. It seems like a preposterous claim, but you look down, and sure enough—that coffee mug which had disappeared from the sink is in pieces on the floor and the tile is smeared in red. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Are you okay?”

“I’m bleeding.”

His brows furrow. 

“Yes, I see that. Do you remember breaking the mug?”

The mug. Oh, yeah. Now that you think about it—yeah, you do remember dropping it. Watching it break into a hundred pieces. That noise, of dishes breaking and clattering—suddenly you inhale deeply. 

“I broke it,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I broke it—”

The memory of the sound is cacophonous, deafening and completely inescapable. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Nobody’s upset at you. It’s just a mug.”

But that doesn’t make it any easier to lower your shoulders from where they’ve tensed to your ears, because once a dish breaks, there’s always a second of terrible, tremulous silence, before it explodes and somebody is screaming, painting every wall in the house with their rage. You squeeze your eyes shut. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, you whisper, wordlessly, just as you did so many years ago. 

“It’s just a mug,” he says again like that will help. “I’m gonna clean it up, okay? It’s gonna be like it never even happened.”

And that does provide some comfort—the fanciful idea of undoing. Of closing your eyes against the something terrible and wishing it away like you’ve always done and having it actually be gone when you open them. Spencer must be magic. 

“I’m gonna clean it up, but I want to make sure your foot is okay first. Is that okay?”

You take a deep, shuddering sniffle and nod, but that warm fog is pouring down the corridors in your brain like smoke in a maze. It obscures everything. Your feelings. The pain. The fear, thank god. There must be shards in your foot. Spencer apologizes from below as he peels off your bloodied sock, where he’s pulling the first aid kid from under the sink and working on you, but you don’t feel the pain. You don’t feel anything except the pressure of the bandage around your foot as he stands. 

He says your name again. 

“Hm?”

You’re scaring him. That much is evident from the look on his face. You wish you could stop, but it’s like you’re in a dream again. The brief clarity that moment of panic had provided is gone. 

“Can we just—can we go sit down?” He asks, already putting a hand on your waist. Sure. Why not. He supports your weight as you hobble around the broken mess on the ground and all the way to the couch. Oh. It’s too soft. Too forgiving. You sink into it too deeply, like you’re being swallowed, or breathed into a pair of monstrous lungs. 

Spencer is crouching in front of you, pushing hair from your face. 

“What’s going on, baby?”

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’m fine. I just… dropped… a mug.”

“You didn’t remember or notice that you dropped the mug until I pointed it out. You washed your hands twice. You were about to try and wash a knife without a sponge.”

“No, I’m just… I’m tired. It’s…”

You trail off again, any further attempt at a meager excuse walled off a thick swirling fog. It’s like you’re trying to walk but you can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you. You can hardly think, let alone speak. 

Spencer frowns deeper. 

“It’s what?”

You pause for a long time. 

“Um… Don’t remember.”

“You’re scaring me,” he whispers, and again you wonder why, only you can’t really wonder at the moment. “Did you hit your head? Where did you come from?”

“When?” You ask. 

“Just now. When you came home, where were you coming from?”

“Diane. I was, um—I was at therapy.”

“No stops on your way home?”

“No,” you say. You’re pretty sure. You actually have no memory of what happened between leaving Diane’s office and walking through the front door. 

“Did you feel okay before you started therapy?”

“… Yeah.”

“So this started after?”

“What?”

“Your inability to put a sentence together, honey. You’re really out of it.”

“Oh.” Your eyes sting. It feels like an insult. “‘M fine.”

He reaches up to cup your cheeks. 

“What did you and Diane talk about?” He asks gently, a little less anxiously, like he’s figured out what’s wrong with you. 

At this, your mouth goes dry. What was before swirling fog has become a hulking black wall of solid obsidian. There’s nothing. 

“Um…”

“Can you remember?”

Something hot traces the length of your cheek from your eye. 

“No,” you whisper, sounding utterly distraught. “No, I can’t remember. I can't remember anything.”

More tears are coming now. How could you forget? You’re trying so hard to remember. How did you even get home?

“Okay. That’s okay, angel. You don’t have to remember.”

“I’m sorry. Something’s… wrong…”

“Don’t be sorry. I think you just got really overwhelmed at therapy and now your brain is trying to protect you. Can you tell me what you’re feeling in your body?”

Your… your body?

Nothing. It feels like nothing. 

“Why don’t you try and take a deep breath? I’ll do it with you.” He brings your hand to his chest, and your finger twitches against the hard abalone button. His chest expands, and you try to do the same, letting the cool rush of air down your throat. The room spins. 

“Woah,” you mutter, suddenly hyper aware of your breathing. 

“Slow down. We’re okay. You’re safe.”

He leads you through a few more deep breaths and you manage to get to a place where they don’t feel so precarious and unsteady. Your head sparkles with fresh oxygen and everything is too much. After a moment you’re settling your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. Spencer rubs soothing lines up and down the side of your legs. 

“How do you feel now?”

“Not good,” you whisper. “My foot hurts.”

He hums. 

“Technically I shouldn’t let you take Ibuprofen because it’s a blood thinner and you have an open wound, but I think it’ll be okay just this once. You okay if I go get some?”

You nod, rubbing at your eyes with your palms until you see stars. The brain fog hasn’t lifted, but it’s thinned considerably. 

He comes back a few moments later with two round pills and a glass of cold water. The shock of it in your hand zaps your brain and you almost drop it but Spencer seems to have anticipated this so he hadn’t let go of the glass yet. He administers the pills once your hand is steady and you take them, feeling the river of ice down your throat and into the pool of your stomach. It seems to travel outward, extending into every reach of your body, bringing the sensorial world back to the forefront of your consciousness. Spencer must notice the goosebumps because he’s unfolding a blanket and wrapping it around you tightly, before pulling you into his arms where he sits and tucking your head beneath his chin. You let your eyes flutter shut, embracing the warmth, the pressure, the soft fabric against your skin. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you murmur. “I don’t… feel right.”

“That’s okay. I know it feels scary, but nothing’s wrong. I think you maybe talked about something that’s really hard to talk about when you weren’t quite ready. Sometimes when that happens, your brain tries to protect you from perceived threats by dissociating. It makes thinking straight really difficult.”

You frown. 

“How did I… How’d I get home?”

He strokes your hair. 

“The parts of your brain responsible for procedural memory aren’t as impacted during episodes of dissociation. But it’s actually not uncommon for people who don’t have PTSD to forget their commutes. It’s called highway hypnosis.”

“I don’t… I don’t have PTSD,” you insist. When Spencer doesn’t answer for a long moment, only continues stroking your hair, you swallow. 

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, angel.”

“Okay,” you whisper, like a child too weary to argue. He kisses your head. 

“It might be good for you to take a nap,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. “I bet you’re tired.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know everything,” he says simply—a line borrowed from you. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? I’m gonna order from Tandoori, and you’ll fall asleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat, and we can watch your show.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“So assertive.”

“I’m thinking I can get away with it right now.”

He’s only teasing. You cuddle closer. He holds you tighter. 

“I’m the boss. And I want Thai food.”

“There she is,” he murmurs, rubbing your back over the blanket. The warm saccharine sweetness of his tone dizzies you, muddles your mind more pleasantly this time. Your heart rate slows. Your breathing goes back on autopilot. The rise and fall of his chest rocks you like the sea. Just at the cusp of sleep, he whispers one more promise. Of safety. Of love. 

When you wake up, you’ve forgotten all about it. 

But there's pad Thai on the table, and the kitchen is devoid of blood or broken glass. 

[adieutristana]

kissing headcanons / arcane women x fem! reader

summary: headcanons for what kissing arcane women would be like.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest.

tags/warnings: fluff, mentions of making out, mentions of poor mental health. could be suggestive in some spots.

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is a very playful and spontaneous kisser. she’ll cut you off in the middle of a sentence just because she couldn’t resist, your lips are right there after all.

✧.* there’ll also be times she’ll just swing a leg over to sit in your lap and begin kissing you without warning. jinx is honestly the human embodiment of free will. if she wants a kiss, she’s gonna get a kiss.

✧.* honestly, it really depends how jinx is feeling when it comes to her kisses. when she’s happy to see you, she’ll leave a trail of kisses all over your face before ending on your lips. when she’s tired and feeling relaxed, her lips will softly brush yours as she hums.

✧.* when she’s upset or on the verge of an episode, she’ll kiss you deeply, hands firmly grabbing your top or shoulders just so she can be reassured that you’re actually there.

✧.* morning kisses with jinx. she’s usually up before you are, and most of the time, she’ll let you sleep. there is the odd occasion though where she’ll decide it’s too long of a wait, and she’ll wake you up by peppering kisses all over your face, giggling the whole time.

✧.* “g’mornin’ toots! i didn’t wake ya up, did i? oh, oops!”

✧.* there’s also the times when jinx wants to go slow. it’s not very often, usually preferring to plant her lips onto yours boldly. but there will be times when her lips gently capture yours, her tongue gently prodding at your lips for entrance. she savors these.

✧.* jinx loves when you brush her bangs to the side and kiss her forehead. it makes her freeze up for just a second every time, before she becomes visibly flushed (which is a rare occurrence.) she’ll deny it until she’s out of breath, but you think you’ve cracked the code.

✧.* “wh- i am not blushing! stop it!”

✧.* she doesn’t really talk during kisses, preferring to be present in the moment. she will tell you, very boldly, how much she wants to kiss you, though.

✧.* “can i get a kiss from my pretty girl? pleeeeaaase?”

vi;

✧.* vi is rough the majority of the time. she’ll thread her fingers through your hair or tug on your top, crashing her lips into yours desperately.

✧.* still, she can be soft when she wants to. usually when vi is physically exhausted, all she wants is to be close to you. she’ll gently place her calloused hands on your shoulders, leaning in ever so slowly to capture your lips in a kiss.

✧.* “mhm.. i’m fine, baby. just tired. i missed this.”

✧.* hair was briefly mentioned, but please put your hands in vi’s hair when kissing her. she will positively melt. putty in your hands.

✧.* as i’ve previously mentioned, vi isn’t the best at communicating her emotions, but she’ll kiss you to take the edge off. it’s a temporary stress relief, isn’t it? and she gets to be close to you. a win-win.

✧.* vi has been clearly upset or stressed more than once, trying to figure out how to verbalize those feelings before she just gives up and kisses you, putting her full body weight into it.

✧.* you can, at times, taste a bit of whisky while kissing vi. it’s one of the things that make her so unique, that smell coming off her just the slightest bit.

✧.* vi loves to hold you close to her while kissing. she’ll hold you flush to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other firmly gripping your hip. it makes her feel more secure, being so close to you.

✧.* vi loves to talk to you while kissing. little ‘i love you so fuckin much’s and ‘you’re perfect’ whispered against your lips, her voice low and smooth.

✧.* “look at you, just wanna kiss you so bad…”

✧.* vi would absolutely love if you kiss her wounds ‘better’ after patching her up. she’d act like it’s stupid and childish and she doesn’t like it, but you can see right through that.

✧.* it probably sounds weird, but i think vi would sometimes have her eyes slightly open while kissing you. yes, it’s a bit awkward, but she just wants to see you.

mel;

✧.* god help you, mel adores kissing. kissing, kissing, kissing.

✧.* if you like that, perfect! if not, too bad. and she’ll probably take it personally.

✧.* mel doesn’t do pda, but the second she has you behind closed doors, she’s ushering you to sit down so she can finally get her lips on yours.

✧.* mel will kiss your knuckles, she’ll kiss your temple, kiss you upon greeting and parting with you.

✧.* although as mentioned, mel doesn’t do pda, if there’s a time at a gala or conference where she’s simply overcome with the urge to kiss you, she’ll grab your wrist without warning to drag you into the next room and desperately kiss you.

✧.* “hush, they don’t matter. i just need to be with you right now.”

✧.* this woman needs no excuses, she just loves you so much and craves that contact.

✧.* you already know mel would leave so many lipstick marks on you. of course, if you’re going out, she’ll scramble to grab a rag and wipe the stains off your skin. but if it’s just the two of you for a while, she’d adore you wearing the marks for a little bit.

✧.* “you look just darling like that. who would’ve thought my lipstick would look so good on you?” she teases with a cheeky smile.

✧.* mel loves to take kissing slow. she doesn’t particularly care for chaste or brief kisses. she wants to take her time with you, enjoy you while you’re here.

✧.* so don’t rush her. if she feels like you’re trying to go too fast, she’ll let you know as much.

✧.* won’t talk during kisses, but she’ll lightly chuckle and hum into them. mel will make little noises to let you know that she’s enjoying herself.

sevika;

✧.* sevika is surprisingly pretty gentle most of the time. with you, the one she loves, she doesn’t want to hurt you. that’s not to say she won’t accidentally manhandle you, she’s very strong, after all.

✧.* of course, she can be rough when she’s feeling like it, and if you ask her to be a little more harsh, it’s like a switch flips.

✧.* sevika is a busy woman, so she doesn’t always have a lot of time to be attentive to you. when she does, though, believe she’s savoring every moment.

✧.* “i waited for this all day, yeah? come here.” she’d say, patting her thigh.

✧.* please sit in her lap. not only does sevika love holding you in general, but having you in her lap while kissing her will have her on cloud nine.

✧.* sevika will have one hand holding the back of your neck, her mechanical hand wrapped flush around your waist to keep you close to her, pressing long, hungry kisses to your lips.

✧.* on the flip side, sevika will lay beside you, her eyelids heavy of sleep and a calloused hand gently cupping your cheek. she’d lift your chin up to softly kiss you, letting out a relaxed sigh through her nose.

✧.* sevika not only talks to you while kissing you, but teases you.

✧.* “you’re this desperate for a little kiss, eh?” and “patience, hun. don’t worry your pretty little head, i’ll give you more.”

✧.* sevika just likes to see your cute reactions. whether that’s your eyes widening, your breath hitching, or you averting your gaze to try and hide your expression.

✧.* the latter of which, she won’t tolerate. she’d grab your chin and turn your face back to her. sevika wants to see you.

✧.* sevika would melt if you kissed her hands. she doesn’t know why, but it just feels so tender to her.

caitlyn;

✧.* she prefers long, lingering kisses. caitlyn usually does prefer to be in control while kissing you, though.

✧.* caitlyn will mostly only give you short kisses when upon greeting you and parting with you. otherwise, she likes to take her time with you.

✧.* call her pretty while kissing her. not only will it cause her to press into you further, but it gives her a good ego boost.

✧.* “caitlyn, you’re so beautiful, you know th-“ you mutter, before you’re cut off by caitlyn’s plush lips on yours.

✧.* caitlyn likes to have her hands on your waist while kissing you. there’s no particular rhyme or reason why, she just has her hands there. it also allows her to move you freely if she so wishes.

✧.* she’s a busy woman, but constantly stressed and has so much tension built up. poor girl, her shoulders and jaw are always so tense. but you’ve figured out that kissing you is a huge help when it comes to caitlyn releasing tension.

✧.* caitlyn would come home, visibly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to get some rest. before she opts to get ready for bed, though, she’ll come up behind you, turn you around, and begin slowly kissing you. kissing up your neck, landing on your lips and savoring the moment.

✧.* “long day, dear. forgive me if i was too forward.”

✧.* she’s not sorry at all, just trying to talk to you.

✧.* caitlyn is used to getting what she wants. of course she’ll never overstep your boundaries or do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but she’s very convincing. even if you’re not sure sneaking away from a council meeting to be swept off your feet by your girlfriend is a good idea, caitlyn has a way of looking at you. a look that says, ‘just trust me.’

✧.* caitlyn’s lips are very soft, and you can almost always taste some kind of strawberry or vanilla chapstick whilst kissing her.

✧.* caitlyn is also a big charmer. she’ll bring your knuckles to her lips, gently kissing them while looking you directly in the eyes.

✧.* “a charmer? you’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

lest

✧.* lest is also somebody who likes to take her time. it’s rare that she gets time to herself these days, so every moment she does get with her beloved, she wants to take full advantage of.

✧.* lest absolutely purrs into kisses. quite literally. you can tell that she’s enjoying herself because her lips will be on yours, both hands gently grasping your cheeks as she purrs deeply. it’s adorable, honestly.

✧.* she’s rather serious and stern on the surface, but you get to see the more playful side of her. lest purposely leaving lipstick marks on your face while wearing a smirk, giggling into kisses…

✧.* lest absolutely knows her way around relationships and kissing, so she’ll tell you exactly how she wants you to kiss her without fear.

✧.* “hold my shoulders. yes, love, like that. a kiss, then?”

✧.* lest would definitely take her scarf off just so she can use it to pull you into kisses. she finds your surprised reactions adorable, and the more you get used to it, the more she loves it. she’s grown to associate that scarf with you.

✧.* she likes to talk to you while kissing, as well. her voice is so low and soothing, it’s like you’re under a spell every time she opens her mouth.

✧.* “you’re beautiful… oh, stop. you flatter me. i’ll have to shut you up then, i suppose.”

✧.* lest doesn’t really have a preference as to control. she initiated the first few kisses, but she’ll gladly let you initiate them and take control every now and again. it’s nice to let go and relax, she trusts you.

✧.* sleepy kisses with lest. her job takes a lot out of her, being with customers all day, she’s usually drained by the time she’s finished. but nothing completes her day like crawling into bed with you, trailing kisses up your jawline and hearing your satisfied hums.