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nicolewritesthings · 2 months ago

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Love potions & babies

Summary: Steve thinks his witchy girlfriend put a spell on him, so he crashes her babysitting gig

a/n: had some free time today and this idea came to me! Just a one shot with boyfriend steve.

Two dumb, horny teenagers in love; Steve Harrington x reader

—————————————————————————

Fall was your favorite time of year, especially in Hawkins, when the leaves turned and the air chilled.

You were always into the macabre, the occult things, partly because your mom fully believed in psychics and astrology, and partly because you found it funny when Steve called you his little witch.

This sentiment came out more during the fall of course, when your “witchiness” was at an all time high.

You made Steve watch all your favorite horror movies and read your favorite ghost stories. You told him the cycles of the moon and he even learned his birth chart, well he had it written down in his wallet in case you quizzed him.

He loved this spooky little side of you that not many people saw. To everyone else you were the typical girl next door, cheerleader - which really through Steve for a loop, the town’s best babysitter.

Which is what you were doing Friday night instead of hanging out with Steve. You were watching the Conrads’ six month old baby while they went on a date night.

They had a nice house at the end of your block. Big tv, tons of movies, and endless snacks, a babysitter’s dream. Their baby, Elsie, was the easiest baby you’ve ever watched. She fussed when she was hungry or tired but that’s about it.

So the two of you played on the family room floor while reruns of Bewitched ran on in the background. Witchy, yet family friendly.

Over at the video store, Steve was listening to Robin vent about her latest interaction with Vickie.

“She’s nice, but not like nice nice to me,” Robin rambled on, “like only nice in a friend way.”

Steve scrunched his eyebrows together, “are you also being nice to her in a friend way?”

Robin paused, genuinely stumped by this question. She goes back to think about their interactions and groans, “maybe. Shit, should I flirt with her? Or is that coming on too strong?”

“Just do whatever comes natural,” Steve smiled, “she’ll get the hint.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, “not everyone can flash their smile at a girl and make her swoon, Harrington.”

“I smile at one girl only, thank you very much,” he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Whatever, this is never going to work and I’ll die alone,” Robin huffed dramatically.

Steve tilted his head, thinking about you and your books and fake magic. “What if you do a love spell?” He asked, half joking, half serious.

Robin eyed him, “your girl is really rubbing off on you, dude.”

Steve shrugged, “I’m just saying, this manifestation stuff works. She wanted more money to buy concert tickets and then she gets a baby gig. Or like the time she really didn’t feel good about the chem exam and boom, the teacher postpones it.”

He’s elated now, thinking of all the times you used your witchy powers to make things happen for yourself. He knows it sounds ridiculous, but because you believe it, so does he.

Robin smirks, “is that how she got you then? A love spell?”

Steve pauses. He had never considered that possibility. That would be crazy, wouldn’t it? Spells don’t work and magic isn’t real. But you did really want those Stones tickets and by the grace of god you got them.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed as he contemplates how you two got together. It all seemed pretty normal, you had been helping your neighbor Dustin when his little “pet” turned into a demidog. Next thing you know, you and Steve were stuck in a school bus with a bunch of kids you used to be babysit, fighting a pack of otherworldly creatures.

You knew this spooky shit was real.

Then you were paired with Steve as lab partners which led to a whole semester of bickering and watching those damn kids. He didn’t know exactly when his feelings for you turned from platonic to something more. But as his graduation approached, your actions toward each other progressed past friendly.

Stolen glances over homework, study sessions turned into late night burger runs, movie nights with the kids, cuddling when they all fell asleep. Consoling him when he didn’t get into a single college and talking over what his future could look like, how he had so many possibilities.

A small part of you was glad Steve wasn’t moving away from Hawkins any time soon. You got another year with him, which is selfish you knew that. But you had more time to simply just be with him, in whatever way that was.

Then summer came and it was hotter than usual. While plenty of memorable things happened that summer, Steve shamelessly can only remember your bright red bikini straps, pushing them to the side and rubbing tanning oil on your already sunkissed shoulders. The smell of coconut and chlorine still fresh in his memory.

You spent the whole summer at either his pool or at the mall while he worked, not wanting to be apart for more than a few hours.

The more Steve thought about this, the more it started to sound like you did put a spell on him. But no, that was just your charm, the way you always had a light touch on him, your damn Cherry red bikini.

Then the thing with the Russians happened and the mindflayer came crashing in and Billy died and the worst night of your lives came to an end. He drove you to his place where you patched him up and climbed into bed together, barely talking and still stunned from the events of such a long couple of days.

Steve thinks that if you were to cast a spell on him it would have happened then. In his bed, you wearing nothing but his shirt and boxers, pressed into his side, limbs tangled up in one another. You looked up at him with those big eyes and told him you loved him. You weren’t sure if you meant it platonically or something more but Steve didn’t care. He knew exactly what you meant because he felt it too. In the face of almost losing you, he knew he was in love and couldn’t resist any longer. So he cupped your face into his hands and leaned down, kissing you like you’d melt away if he wasn’t holding on. Kissing you like it’s the last thing he’d ever do.

Steve snapped back to reality and looked at Robin, eyes wide, “oh fuck maybe she did cast a spell on me.”

———————

Back at the Conrads house, you handed blocks over to Elsie as she threw them down beside her. The sun had started to set but she was still wide awake. Maybe this baby was going to be harder than you thought.

You stood up to make another bottle just as the doorbell rang, causing you to jump. You eyed Elsie like she would know who would be knocking.

You checked the peephole, finding your boyfriend going for another knock. You smirked, opening the door, “well well, couldn’t spend one night away from me, could you?”

Steve gives you a quick peck on the cheek and lets himself in. You sense a bit of panic from him as he paces into the front room.

“Did you put a spell on me?” He blurts out.

You stare at him, confused, shutting the door slowly. Elsie babbles from the floor next to him. Steve looks down quickly, almost shocked at the baby’s presence. Like he forgot why you were in your neighbors’ home.

He cracks a polite smile at Elsie, “oh, hey, how you doing?”

You laugh at his pleasantries, acting as if he’s talking to an adult and not a literal baby. But Steve’s not joking around. He’s serious as can be when he poses the question again.

“So did you? Put a love spell on me?” He asks, the panic evident in his tone.

You chuckle, “what the hell are you talking about?”

He crosses his arms, “I’m being serious.”

You eye him, straightening up a bit. You don’t want to belittle him or disregard whatever this manic episode was, so you continue on, treading lightly.

“I’m not actually a witch, Steve,” you step toward him, reaching for his arms.

He looks down at you, almost pouting, “but you always say you can do this witchy shit. Manifesting and intuition and all that.”

You pull his arms open and wrap them around you, pressing into him. You sneak a glance to Elsie, who happily slaps her blocks together. You look back up at Steve and smile, “I mean, I guess I’ve been manifesting you since I was a little girl.”

Steve looks at you, confused.

You continue, “I would always dream about what my future man would be like. Tall, nice hair, stroooong.” You drag out the last word as Steve lightens up, gladly accepting your compliments.

“Smart, funny, rich,” you laugh. Steve rolls his eyes, “yeah, yeah.”

You gently hold the back of his neck, playing with his hair, “seriously though, I’ve always dreamed of falling in love with someone like you. Little did I know he was just a few blocks away the whole time.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” he quotes the words you say way too often to him, making you smile big.

“See!” You kiss him quick, “you’re starting to really get it now!”

You pull away from him and turn your attention back to Elsie, sitting down and taking her into your lap. Steve joins you on the floor, awkwardly waving at the baby. She smiles toothlessly at him.

“Shouldn’t she be asleep by now?” He says, looking at his watch, “honestly I thought these people slept all day.”

“These people?” You laugh, astonished at your boyfriend, “but yes, she should be getting sleepy by now.”

You stand up, rocking her in your arms but she’s too distracted to sleep. Instead, she stares at Steve, eyes wide and completely enamored by him.

You smirk, “someone’s got a fan.”

Steve takes off his shoes and leans back on his elbows, getting comfortable. He ignores the baby and eyes the stack of movies, “they got anything good?”

“I thought you were good with kids?” You tease, rolling your eyes and trying to lull this baby to sleep but she is not having it. Elsie reaches toward the floor at Steve who looks up at the two of you.

He pauses, taking a mental photo of this moment. You holding a baby, hopefully his baby one day. God you would look hot pregnant, that’s a new one for him, he thinks.

“You look good with a baby,” he smirks, “hotter if it were mine.”

You grown, “gross, Steve. Be normal and help me put her too sleep.”

He groans, “is this how our future will be? Me trying to fuck you and you’re all busy with our ten kids?”

You shove him with your shoulder, “first of all, language. Secondly, ten kids? You’re out of your mind.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll settle for seven,” Steve shrugs.

You roll your eyes, “I’m not sure you could handle even one.”

Steve knew you were right about that. He was used to watching the kids, sure. But they were older and self sufficient. He’s maybe met two babies in his life and the first one was his cousin’s who wouldn’t stop crying and pooping. So he wasn’t exactly excited for the whole infant part of having kids.

You pushed Elsie toward him. Steve stuck his hands out, “oh no. You’re getting paid for this, not me.”

You insisted, “it’s a test. If you can put her to sleep, I’ll consider having your babies. One day.”

Steve’s eyes locked with yours, a dirty thought popped into his head and he gave you a look you knew too well.

“Okay, deal,” he smirked, “but instead of having my babies one day, you let me put one in you tonight.”

You gasped, pulling Elsie back into you.

“Steve! We’re still teenagers,” you exclaimed, shocked at his insinuation. Of course you thought about your future with Steve, marrying him and having kids. But that was exactly that - the future. You couldn’t possibly have a kid now, during your senior year while you both lived with your parents. Christ, they would kill you. Both his and your parents would literally kill you.

Steve chuckled, cocky as ever, grabbing at your hip and pulling you closer, “ I know, but thinking of you having my baby is really doing something to me. Like imagining you all pregnant because of me, because you love me enough to make a baby with.”

“You’re such a sap,” you shook your head, “and a perv.”

“You love me,” he ran a hand through your hair. You nodded, god you did love him.

Elsie squealed between you two. You huffed, tired of holding her and Steve noticed. He sighed, reaching toward the baby, “c’mere. Just tell me what to do.”

You smiled, handing her off to Steve who awkwardly took her in his arms. You adjusted her position, making her more comfortable as Steve hesitantly started rocking her.

“Like this?” He asked, cautiously eying Elsie who melted into his arms immediately.

“Yeah, you’re doing great,” you encouraged, stepping back to take in the scene.

Okay, now you understood why Steve was so into the baby making thing. You couldn’t help but stare as he held Elsie in his arms, rocking and cooing her to sleep.

Steve was a natural with a baby, of course he was. He rubbed his nose against her head, softly humming, the melody faintly familiar but you couldn’t place it. He wore the black band shirt you got him, the one with tighter sleeves and slightly cropped above his waistband.

He looked funny, really. Way too young to be a dad, with his worn in denim - god he looked good in those jeans, and messy hair. But again, you got what he was feeling earlier. Excited by the promise of the future with each other.

Before you both know it, Elsie falls asleep soundly in Steve’s arms. His eyes widen and he turns to you, whispering, “holy shit! I did it!”

“You did!” You whisper back, smiling wide.

Enamored with his new accomplishment, Steve continues to rock Elsie. He turns to you, noticing your loving gaze. But he catches something in your eye. A familiar look you give him, the one he only catches when you want him.

Like when you’re at a party and suddenly buzzed and bored with everyone there, only wanting to be with your boyfriend. Preferably on a bed, but the bathroom will do. Or when he’s fresh off the basketball court, sweaty and panting, getting praise from his teammates and other students but only beelines for you.

Steve knows that look. That dirty little look.

“So, about that deal,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, letting logic guide you with this one. But it is rather fun to tease him.

You smile, “let’s resume this conversation in ten years, Harrington.”

Steve stares at you, overly content with your answer. He’s no better than a dog. The only thing running through his brain - she wants to have my babies!

Maybe you did put a spell on him, he thinks. Never in his life has he seriously thought about having children with someone and yet here he is, making ridiculous propositions while holding some stranger’s baby.

So yeah, maybe you did do your love potion magic. But thank god you did.

He cracks a smile, “promise?”

You don’t respond. Instead, lean up to kiss him softly. Definitely a promise you plan on keeping.

#steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington blurb #steve Harrington one shot #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfiction

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babydollshifter · 17 days ago

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How I Manifested My SP After a Year of Struggle, Chaos & Misunderstanding the Law

(buckle up, this is a lil wild)

Let’s start with the fact that… I didn’t even know this guy. I had never spoken to him. Not once. I just randomly started crushing on him one day — and honestly?? It was so random that I wouldn’t be shocked if HE manifested me first. I was minding my business.

My friend used to know him, so I’d been hearing stories about him for like… two years? And I knew we went to the same school, but I’d never seen him until suddenly—BOOM. There he was. Real. Breathing. Cute. And I was like “ok wait why is my heart doing things??”

Naturally, I spiraled. I started stalking his TikTok reposts (don’t do that, it’s not cute) and realized we liked the same stuff. He seemed fun, lowkey goofy, just my type. So the crush got worse. But here’s where I messed up: my mindset? Absolute garbage.

I kept thinking, “He’s too shy. I’m not good enough. He’d never like me like that.” I was literally setting myself up to fail. I messaged him once — got nothing back. Because duh, I was already assuming he wasn’t gonna answer. I knew about the Law of Assumption, but I didn’t really understand it. I’d visualize him, then be like “but what if it never happens” five seconds later.

Every day I thought about him. Every day I got mad that it wasn’t working. I kept saying I was manifesting him but deep down I was still waiting for proof. Still doubting. Still lowkey begging the universe to show me something.

Took me a YEAR to realize the problem was me. I was saying “he’s mine” while still looking at the hallway like a heartbroken NPC every time he walked by. I had to change that.

So I did. I stopped looking for signs. Stopped stalking. Stopped overthinking. Every time he popped into my head, I was like “yep, he’s already mine, moving on.” And I finally started believing it. I worked on myself, built up my confidence, and didn’t even try to “manifest” him again.

And guess what? HE messaged ME. Outta nowhere. Apologized. Explained stuff. Total plot twist moment.

I wasn’t even shocked. I was like “well, finally.” Because once you actually believe you’ve got it, it has to show up. That’s how it works.

AND NOW??

We’re literally perfect. Like not even being dramatic — he treats me so well. He always checks in, sends me memes, compliments me out of nowhere, and actually listens when I talk (10/10 bare minimum KING behavior). He flirts with me like we’re in a teen movie and makes me feel like I’m the only girl on earth. He’s soft with me in private but funny and chill around others. AND he remembers the smallest things I say?? Ugh.

We joke around, go on little walks, sometimes just sit in silence and it's still perfect. It’s not forced. It’s not stressful. It just clicks.

The version of him I wanted? He’s literally that now. And honestly, I’m not even surprised — I became the version of me who had this. That’s the real secret.

So yeah. Don’t give up. Don’t spiral. Stop begging the hallway to make eye contact. Act like it’s already yours — and then it is.

Now go live your Wattpad story.

#loa tumblr #law of assumption #loassumption #loa success #reality shifting #law of manifestation #loassblog #sp success #babydollshifter #manifesting #success story #loablr #manifesation #dream apartment #robotic affirming #affirm and persist

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etesians · 8 months ago

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“I’ve just had a thought.”

Kei looks up from his phone, eyes drooping, the hour you’ve spent lounging on the couch rendering him immune to the fact that his neck is bent at a disastrous angle against the armrest. It has you pulling him forward, taking the pillow from under your neck to stuff under his, but it’s a fine trade. Now you can lay against the warmth of his chest and settle into what Kei calls the pre-nap—or, what he used to call it, back when he was still too embarrassed to simply say that he wanted cuddles.

“Woah, careful there," he can't pass up the opportunity to start with. Then, "Good kind or bad kind?”

You hum. “Sickeningly domestic kind.”

“So… good,” he decides after a beat, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Those long, gentle fingers you love slide into your hair, and it’s a wonder how they’re always able to sate an itch that only manifests itself mere seconds before the touch, just so they can be rubbed away by him and him alone; suspiciously wizard-like. “It’s not like I’m opposed to any of that… Since it’s you.”

Aww.

“Honeycakes—” you coo obnoxiously, disguising his name in the endearment, which gets you exactly what you'd expect—the full moon's circumference of his palm eclipsing your vision, his grip light as he smushes your face around for a while, unable to rid himself of the urge. When he lets go a minute later, you share a mirrored look of contentment, all stupid smiles and rolling eyes, before you settle your ear over his heart and he resumes massaging your scalp.

Whatever video he was watching drones on in the meantime. Something about a supermoon coming up and dropping temperatures… Partly rainy with a high of seventy-three degrees and a low of sixty-eight and—wow, he really got sucked into watching the weather channel... Such old man behavior. But it’s quiet enough to tune out against the steady drum in his ribs, so you both leave it be.

“Your idea, baby.”

“Oh, right. So I was thinking—y’know, when we start buying stuff for the house…”

“Mmhm?”

“For utensils, what if we found the same forks you grew up using, and the same spoons I had, so that our future kid'll have pieces of both of our childhoods already built into theirs? It’d be like our own little mismatched set.” "You're right..." It's quiet for a moment. Then Kei blows out a breath, his mind positively sunnier with the image. “That is sickeningly domestic.”

You open your mouth to defend the idea—because it is a good idea, notes-app worthy, even—when he tacks on, “I’m not saying no. God, you’re just so cute sometimes...” the words followed up by him pulling on your cheek. “Is that why you kept hovering by the drawers when we visited my mom? ‘What if’ my ass—you already found them on google, didn't you?”

Your bubbling laughter gives you away. Because he’s right—they’re in your amazon shopping cart as you speak, just waiting on his two cents.

“What about chopsticks, then? And knives. And spatulas.”

Spatulas? You raise a brow.

Kei only shrugs in response.

“The rest can be new. I don’t want all of it to be us holding onto old things,” you pause. “But my star curtains are non-negotiable.”

“They have holes in them.”

“Those are the cutouts! And you even said they were pretty when the light’s seeping through them.”

“Okay, yes, they are pretty," he relents, setting his glasses down by his phone. Silencing the weather report with a slide of his thumb. “But furnishings aside, we’d still be missing one thing…”

“Tsukishima Kei, I know exactly what you’re thinking…” You find yourself being rolled onto your back, his pupils pushing the golden-brown of his irises to the outer rims as they dilate. “And the answer is no.”

“What?” Kei smirks, almost sing-songy as he trails kisses down your collar. He’s not actually gunning for that part of your life together yet. Key word—yet. You’d both agreed to preserve the first year of your marriage for just the two of you. Figuring out the ins and outs of buying a house together and all the legalities that came with it had been hard enough on its own.

Everything after your one-year anniversary, though, is completely fair game.

“You’re the one who brought up a little Tsukishima…”

#tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukki #tsukki x reader #tsukishima fluff #loml #happy birthday to the most number one charcter ever #my sweet angel boy (28) (old man)#I WANT TO GIVE HIM A DINOSAUR DAUGHTER #ONE OF ME IS CUTE BUT 2 THO #I MIGHT (Will) LET HIM MAKE ME JUNO

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15-lizards · 1 year ago

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AGOT Dash simulator

⚔️ ser-bran Follow

Going climbing again today!! Trying the highest tower in Winterfell 😝

⚔️ ser-bran Follow

hopital

☀️ dornedaydreams Follow

JON ARRYN DEAD 🦀🦀🦀🦀

🍇redwhined Follow

Girl what did he do to you

☀️ dornedaydreams Follow

Old and busted

🐉 conquerors-girl Follow

That new Khaleesi in the grass sea is fourteen. She should be learning her letters from a septa!

🐉 conquerors-girl Follow

Just found out she’s pregnant…I need Drogo to get Rhaegar’ed IMMEDIATELY

⬛️ bro-in-black Follow

Mormont just gave the 5’6 fourteen year old asshole bastard who’s been here five minutes his ancestral sword. I will take us all out with wildfire

🕊️littlestbird Follow

Was snooping for the spider today and I overheard Lord Ned asking about a book of noble family lineages and physical traits after whipping his head back and forth between Robert and Queen Cersei’s kids for like five minutes straight

🕊️ littlestbird Follow

Which could mean nothing

🍋 ladyjonquil Follow

First tourney today guys!!! I’m sososo excited the knight of the flowers literally gave me a rose! If he wins I might be his queen of love and beauty omgfggnnd

🐺 nymeriiia Follow

LMAO TWINK DOWN!

👁️thosuand-eyes-and-one Follow

Lost thirty dragons betting on Ser Jamie for the twelfth time. Can someone who’s good at budgeting help me. my family is dying

🐈‍⬛ lordpounce Follow

🦀 KING ROBERT DEAD 🦀

⭐️ lancel-the-lancer Follow

🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀

👑 lannisportlady Follow

🦀🦀🦀🦀

🌲 house-whoare Follow

Lmao y’all are acting like Jofferys any better when there have literally been reports of him skinning cats alive

🐕 thehounddawg Follow

How do those Baratheon boots taste

🌫️ quite-quiet-isle Follow

THE PRINCE IS LITERALLY A BARATHEON

🏹 flea-top Follow

I hate this stupid city watch job so fucking much. Someone manifest an execution or something so I have some entertainment while I walk the parapets by the Sept of Baelor

🏹 flea-top Follow

By the mother this can’t be happening

🔥 Targupdates Follow

Exiled princess Daenerys Targaryen has been seen stepping out of her husbands pyre with three dragon hatchlings on her shoulders

Keep Reading

🦁Lann1girl Follow

Guys please don’t buy into this type of stuff, do your own research. These gossip accounts are a bunch of targ loyalists. Dragons died out during the dance please do not spread false information!

🧜‍♀️ womanderly Follow

Cersei Lannister isn’t gonna fuck you man

🔥 red-rhollor Follow

ALL WILL BOW TO STANNIS BARATHEON, TRUE KING OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS. IT HAS BEEN WRIT FOR CENTURIES IN FIRE AND IN ICE, HE IS THE PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED. HE WILL BANISH THE DARKNESS.

🐦‍⬛ wallravens Follow

????

🪷lys-living Follow

Girl what

🌊 father-rhoyne Follow

Is there lead in the dragonstone water

🌞 sunspearsss Follow

So glad to witness episodes of true psychosis on this website

🌏 westerosi-heritage-posts Follow

Heritage post

#asoiaf #asoiaf shitposting #nymeriiia is aryas burner thank you for asking

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rubylovessharks · 9 months ago

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Hiiiii! I just stumbled across your blog and I’m in love. (Me rn-😍😍😍) Anywayssss, would you be willing to do some sfw/nsfw head-cannons for the seven demon brothers from obey me? If not all seven Asmo, Beel, Belfie, and Levi are my faves! Thanks so much in advance if you don’t want to do this I completely understand and my feelings won’t be hurt.

Please remember to drink plenty of water and get plenty of rest. With luv, Madzzz. 💜💜💜

^^^^Btw this is me manifesting you see this^^^^

omgg ofc i can!! (try-) alsoo thanks for the whishes, staying healthy is super important, so you should too! :D <3 gn!mc x the demon bros ;) considering the fact that you havent specified the gender of the mc im doing gender natural if thats ok- ok! so! sfw and nsfw hcs!!

so sorry if this wont be what you were hoping :(

Lucifer

🩷sfw🩷

can we all agree that this guy when he gets drunk he becomes clingy af?

he just sends you a bunch of messages telling you to come over

and when you do come over he's just laying in bed there, eyes half closed and face red.

anyway you get the point. when Lucifer gets drunk he wants to cuddle you for a few good hours

drunk times aside- normally your actual dates are more active.

by which I mean either you two talk about random stuff or Lucifer takes you somewhere

❤️nsfw❤️

the only time I think Luci will be willing to get fucked is when he's drunk. but you do need his consent waaay beforehand. as you should irl too

other then that he doms all the time.

I feel like he'd be into bdsm

i kinda think he'll be into rope stuff. he seems like the type who'd want to tie you up, but also in a pretty way ;)

also spanking.

Mammon

🩷sfw🩷

the typa guy who'd give you gifts saying he "coincidently" found it(asifhewasntlookingforthebestthingtogiveyou) and the moment someone sees you with it and asks about it and you say that it's from your boyfriend he becomes the happiest ever <3

also is really into pda, like he won't admit it- but he NEEDS to hold your hand in public. how else will people know you are his???

Mams is also really into kisses. like any kisses really- forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hand kisses, nose kisses ANY KISSES

unfraternally he'll sometimes come to you to ask to borrow money.... but he'll get you back

with a kiss on the cheek and the possibility of taking your walking privilege...

❤️nsfw❤️

switch, leaning to sub

the last thing I said about your walking privilege is true. Mammon thinks he just needs to fuck you hard enough as payback for letting him borrow some money

and with the stamina he has, it's totally enough to fuck your brains out ;)

I think he's into cuffs, won't matter if it's on him or on you, but if they go on his hands it has to be roleplay

what roleplay? cop stuff :3

Mams acts as an inmate or robber who just got caught, and you as a cop who is arresting him or punishing him

kinky stuff ya know?

I feel like he'd be into getting his cock milked as you ride him for hours upon hours

maybe has a choking kink? towards him I mean- he's too scared to choke you to death.. but there is a possibility that he'll choke you when he fucks you out of jealousy

Leviathan

🩷sfw🩷

gaming dates <3

canonically Levi isn't really one to like going outside so it makes sense that he'd prefer to hang in his or your room (mostly in his)

it'll take him some time until he'll actually be comfortable to be all touchy and physical.

but i like to think that even then he'd be more simple and not all clingy

aquarium dates ♡ once in a while, when he's actually ready for the outside world

he finds aquarium dates to be a little bit fun once or twice a year

but yeah it's mostly just gaming dates and dates where you watch anime and such-

AND cosplay dates

mostly ruri cosplay dates, but still cosplay dates as a whole ♡

❤️nsfw❤️

like with physical touch it'll take him a long time until he'll be ready for sex

he'll be all blushy and, sorry, kinda sweaty when sex is mentioned.

he's just so not used to it :(

LEVI IS A SUB.

well switch technically- but he's more in the being fucked out of his mind position then the fucking you out of your mind position

but how do you get him in a domy mood? probably either by making him jealous, or in a more competitive mood.

what do i mean? well just egg him on, tell him that you can totally win this game round, and the next one, and the next one. well you gotta win for it to actually work- but still. the more you do it the more upset he is

it doesn't work all the time, but he has a bit of a competitive side ;)

he's a kinda kinky guy, he'd probs be into things like tons of praise but with a mix of humiliation (to both sides)

like if you were to tell him that he's been soo good for you and what he does is probably sit on the floor while his mouth and face is being used for you to get off

Satan

🩷sfw🩷

reading dates :D

can happen in his/your room, but can also happen out in a cat cafe or a park outside :3

and if you aren't a person who likes to read Satan is willing to read for you once in a while

you and him will definitely take in cats without Lucifer's agreement, you'll just keep them in Satan's room or your's and take care of them there.

you, him and Belphie are out to get Luci. and if it's just the two of you without Belphegor it feels like a date idea for Satan :p

from time to time you'll hear Satan talk on and on about different research stuff that he's into for the time being

and you'll tots be hearing this guy talk a lot about his detective books

❤️nsfw❤️

cockwarming while Satan reads.

is there more to say? like do ya'll need an explanation????

this is getting in a more kinky-noteverydaykinks territory but can we agree that Satan is into collars?

it just seems right idk. like it won't matter to him who's wearing it- he likes wearing them, and seeing them on his s/o

another switch, i mean i like to think that most of them are switches.. but like I'll still say it every time.

leaning into dom territory, but he won't mind being fucked into oblivion

angry sex. who knows what might've started it but if he needs to take out his anger on something your hole will be number 1 (ofc he you say you dont want to he wont- everything is consensual)

also into roleplay stuff, probs petplay. kinky stuff

Asmodeus

🩷sfw🩷

first thing I'm going to say is painting nails dates. spa dates. any beauty care dates will happen.

and you can't escape it :)

he WILL post you on any of his social medias with captions that say things like "look at my lover ♡ aren't they the cutest!?" :3

I think Asmo will be the type of person who'd like to get gifts as a receiving love language, and as a giving love language it'll be physical touch

i feel like as a whole he likes being physical, I mean have you seen this guy?? but I think he feels more special when you buy or make him gifts <3

❤️nsfw❤️

THE KINKIEST GUY EVER

like he literally is the avatar of lust. like doesn't that make him kinky enough??????

switch and it's literally is 50/50 with sub and dom with him

toys. toys all the way. when he doms he uses toys, when he subs he uses toys. toys are something he really likes

of course there will be times when he doesn't want to use them and really get more lovey dovey ♡

during sex you two may switch between sub and dom at least once.

Beelzebub

🩷sfw🩷

shares with you anything he wants to eat ♡

it'll probably be half eaten if he already has his hands on it but he tries his best to control himself so you'd at least have even the smallest of bites <3

he sometimes accidentally bites you, like not super hard and painful but there are times it leaves a mark-

can and will give you piggyback rides if you ask him

when you two go to a restaurant and in typical Beelzebub fashion he eats too much and the bill is huge he'll tell you he'll be the one paying, even for your share.

COOKING DATES!!!!!!!!

sure he might eat half of the ingredients- but he'll try his best to not eat it all so you two can have a finished product ♡

❤️nsfw❤️

I know everyone says this but it's true. this guy eats you out like a pro.

and it doesn't matter if you have a pussy, a cock or anything else- it doesn't matter. he knows how to put his mouth to good use. and he can go FOR HOURS and not get tired. it's like his favorite thing♡

we all know this man is packing. probably has the biggest dick of them all(maybe diavolo's is bigger who wants to help me measure :))

and he's so sweet when you try to take him ♡ ♡ ♡

he'll tell you things like "You can do it" "I know..it is pretty big...but you took it before!" with such a sweet smile you know he says this not to make fun of you, but because he actually thinks you can take his huge cock ♡

Beel will proooobably lose control and kinda start fucking you like an animal in heat after a few while of fucking

but after that he does such nice aftercare!

Belphegor

🩷sfw🩷

naps all the way :3

you are the pillow. you can't say anything but yes.

I like to think that he has dreams about you, and if he dreams of something that he's actually willing to do in real life he'll ask you if you'd like to do it :D

when you two do go out he likes to hold your hand, for more then just pda. he might fall asleep while standing and walking from time to time, so you can notice if he fell asleep or not.

do you know what I think you two might do? go to bed stores and try out the beds :3

❤️nsfw❤️

sadistic fuck. (affectionate)

he's a dom, even when he's half asleep.

I think he'd kinda tell you to ride him even when it looks like he's about to fall asleep, and the moment you stop he's immediately awake telling you to continue

will degrade you, like he's real mean

he does like the idea of chocking you but ya know.. might take a while....probs a few years-

well anything too dangerous will take a few years until he feels like he can actually do anything to you..

he's into anything that can and will humiliate you

he'd be into somnophilia but towards himself

maybe towards you? with consent ofc but mostly towards himself

why? cuz he can and will fall asleep during sex. and if it's something like you riding him he'd be totally fine with you still going even when he falls asleep.

#lucifer obey me #obey me x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #obey me beelzebub smut #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor smut #obey me satan smut #obey me lucifer smut #obey me mammon #obey me mammon smut #obey me leviathan smut #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus smut

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sizzleissues · 1 year ago

Text

Its May.

Okay so this is in the same AU I had last year its just changed and evolved while also being the exact same. Except now I have 15,000 words of it written, like 7,000 words of planning and lore and hours upon hours of research that I will be pointedly ignoring. Will be posting more stuff this month about the AU and my hopes and dreams for it

Also slight art improvement check? I’ll put their original mermaid designs below the cut.

It’s Marinette as a mermaid and … its not Adrien or Chat Noir but a third worse thing (Catwalker but in the purest manifestation of it being a curse and not who he wants to be) I will be making designs for mer!Ladybug, and mer!Adrien as its own thing later on.

Okay if you want to indulge me look below the cut

Old mermaid designs first. I am going to be talking about my design thoughts, thoughts and ramblings about this AU and what I’ve been up to. You have been warned

As you can see, some things have changed but neither design I hated, I just wanted to go further with it.

My brain is quite specific about mermaids and how I want them to generally look. I wanted to distinguish biological merfolk from transformed humans by having them being anatomically different. So Adrien has a vertical tail instead which is also way faster underwater. His transformation is quite distressing for him and very chaotic. Of course when he accepts it he’s not so raggedy.

Marinette similarly avoids her life as a mermaid by becoming human and I wanted her mermaid design to hint toward her fascination with humans. She wears a top she fashioned from human fabric she found in a sunken merchant vessel. In general all other merfolk either forgo clothes or wear things fashioned from materials available to them. There’s deep fear of humans and human things so even though human clothes are available to them (off dead bodies but…. Whatever) they choose to difference themselves as much as possible. The same taboos don’t exist for them and their bodies are already adapted from the temperature of their environment. Adrien has stray bits of netting and seaweed on him because he’s not exactly the best at controlling his speed and often crash’s through fishing nets and patches of seaweed resulting in stuff being caught on him.

A lot of their designs are still being worked but I’ve definitely pushed them the right direction!

On to the AU. You might have seem me cryptically talk about something I’m writing the past few weeks. This is because it’s been in my brain since last May and been on and off writing it since then. I decided I’d talk about it once May came back around but and then when I finished writing it, start posting sneak peaks and more spoilery art until it was fully edited and I felt confident in it to post with an aim for it to finish posting once May rolled around again. Oh god.

It’s set in the late 1700s in a fictional version of France that’s actually fragmented over a bunch of islands. I have done more fashion research than I ever thought I’d do and in the end we will still be taking creative license but know I do know what they actually wore! I ALSO did a butt tonne of research about sailing ships and turns out they are super complicated and now I know too much and yet too little still about them. It should be super fun and action packed if I can manage. Have some really good scenes already in my head I know you’ll love. We’re already three ships battle deep and I’ve only written four chapters. (It chills out for a bit after that)

This is entirely self-indulgent by the way. I’m writing this for me, you guys are just a bonus. I literally don’t care as long as it satiates my rabid need for the fic that only lives in my brain at the moment. Saying that, I do want to put my best foot forward.

The next thing I will be posting for this is their human forms and more blabblerings about that. For I am insane and all.

#miraculous ladybug #sizzle sketches #miraculous #miraculous fanart #ml fanart #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #mermay #mermaid au #Ml art

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theseinfernalangels · 1 month ago

Text

Random Headcanons (1)

Liam was also good at drawing and had a keen eye for detail even before he manifested farsight.

Speaking of farsight, he manifested it because his greatest desire was to be able to see Sloane and keep an eye on her.

In turn, Sloane is a siphon because she wishes she could imbue Liam back to life.

Sawyer has three sisters — he’s either the oldest or the second-born (which has NOTHING to do with a project I’m working on).

Ridoc gets his humor from his dad, and it’s equally terrible, if not worse.

Also, Ridoc has a big, fat crush on Brennan but won’t say anything because of Vi.

Dain is the type of guy who reminds teachers to collect homework and all of his classmates hate him for it.

Rhiannon turns out to be a total neat freak and when she gets her own office (bc she WILL be a Wingleader) everything will be so organized, it even scares Vi.

Imogen, even if she likes to present masc most of the time, really loves jewelry and has a collection from before the Apostasy — including her 23rd birthday gift from Quinn, which was a pair of matching necklaces. After Quinn dies, she takes the necklace and keeps it in a little wooden container.

For more context ⬆️ I have a Tyrrish culture headcanon where 23 is the year girls become women in spirit.

Bodhi does the little koala thing when he sleeps where he latches onto whoever is next to him. If you try and move, I’m sorry — you’re stuck until he says otherwise.

Every member of the Iron Squad has some form of ADHD. This is canon and I will not be listening to criticism.

Brennan used to pick on Mira until Lilith taught her how to punch stuff. After that, the roles were reversed and Brennan became Mira’s living punching bag.

#fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame #onyx storm #fourth wing imagines #fourth wing headcanons #violet sorrengail #liam mairi #dain aetos #sawyer henrick #ridoc gamlyn #rhiannon matthias #imogen cardulo #brennan sorrengail #mira sorrengail #sloane mairi

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anim-ttrpgs · 5 months ago

Note

Eureka is an absolute masterpiece of a ttrpg with so much thought and care put into it. I really can't say enough good things about it. I do want to know if you have made/plan to make any other ttrpgs? I would love to see more genres besides supernatural urban mystery from you because of how quality your work is (but it's completely understandable if you have no plans to do other things).

Thank you! It’s taken us years to refine Eureka’s rules to this level of polish, and I do think it shows! A warning to all other aspiring TTRPG designers, though, don’t make your first project something this big! Keep it short! Not “one page rules” type of short, but don’t be like us and make your first real project a full-on trad TTRPG with this many different moving parts.

If you have aspirations to make something as crunchy and fleshed-out as Eureka, maybe try to execute the concept in a more simpler “OSR” style, and then after you’ve gotten more experience under your belt, maybe made some money and/or gotten a team together, then maybe try that concept again with more crunch. Call it “Advanced [Your Earlier Game Title]”

As for the future of A.N.I.M., we are planning to continually release adventure modules for Eureka, and probably also add-ons like extra Traits, Monster Traits, etc. I would love to include some playable monsters from cultures outside “the west” too, but I wouldn’t want to half-ass them, I’d want to give them as much research, attention detail and themes, etc. that I’ve given to all the other monsters. That’s just a lot harder when the best sources aren’t always in English.

Speaking of shorter games, I already wrote a little tiny game on the side called Edge Hedge Arena.

This is a game where you google “[Your Name] the Hedgehog”, choose one of the many Sonic OCs that are likely to come up, then give them stats and battle them against those of other players using the rules provided.

Since I basically have no more rules to write for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and I’m mostly just waiting for other members of the team to finish working on their parts, I’ve partially moved on to working on A.N.I.M.’s next big game, too!

We’ve learned our lesson, it’s not going to be anywhere near the page count or crunch level of Eureka, even though you know I love crunchy games. Well, actually, it’s probably only slightly less crunchy than Eureka, but it’s about much more specific scenarios, so it’ll still overall have less mechanics. The scope is much smaller.

This is a dark comedy/satire game that kind of takes the Forgotten Realms “evil sexy matriarchal bdsm slavery society ruled by warriors who fight in lingerie” dark elf concept and asks the question of “What kind of society and circumstances would actually produce this?” (Though it doesn’t actually take place in Forgotten Realms or any other D&D setting)

And then makes the comparison to 20th and 21st century American capitalism. “No, these aren’t slaves, they aren’t chained up and are allowed to leave any time they want. But they only get food so long as they keep working, and if they disobey then can get beaten.” It started out as a joke, but we are probably going to add "media literacy" to the list of requirements alongside dice and stuff hahaha, like, the ability to understand that the world of this game is not supposed to represent the author's idea of a perfect society. We might add that to Eureka too.

Silk&Dagger is about class, gender roles, different ways that forced labor can manifest in a society, and most importantly surviving all of those things.

Going forward to understand what I’m saying you have to know that in this setting, “Drow” is a title, referring to the ruling warrior caste. Most Drow are dark elves, but not all dark elves are Drow. This society is structured a bit like ancient Sparta, with a very small ruling caste of warriors, and a very large servant caste. Social mobility between these castes is possible, but rather than getting into it in detail and making this post super long, let’s just say that many servants consider themselves temporarily embarrassed Drow.

A typical “party” in Silk&Dagger is will consist of one Drow PC and any number of servant PCs working for her. There are regular chores that need to be done around the palace, which provide challenges, but scenarios will also throw major issues into the mix.

A Drow’s Reputation is everything, if the Drow PC’s Reputation stat reaches 0, that is the failure state for the entire party, because it basically means no more food. (Even the servants, for lore reasons that I also won’t get into)

So a typical scenario will be like “Somebody very important is coming to visit, but the lower floor of the palace is starting to flood for an unknown reason.” We’re going to have multi-part tables where you can randomly generate these, but we will also have more in-depth adventure modules for it in the future.

We ran a playtest the other day basically based on this scenario. The intended comedy of the game really came out as we kept switching perspectives, with the Drow upstairs having to constantly come up with new ways to impress her guests and explain away that splashing sound while the servant worked down below trying to find and plug the leak.

So, the PCs will have to deal with all that while also making sure that all the chores get done, and the kicker is, they can’t easily communicate with each other. The massive gulf between the two castes is the real enemy here, along with the behavioral expectations placed on each.

They could’ve gotten a head start on dealing with the flooding if the servant had had permission to speak earlier and could’ve told the Drow that the lower floor is flooding, but

There’s a big list of behaviors that a servant has to fulfill when interacting with a Drow, which are basically designed to be impossible to follow and just get them in trouble, and a Drow who doesn’t strictly enforce this etiquette risks losing Reputation for it.

On the other side, Drow also have to constantly embody a list of six features, which basically means acting as evil as possible, their Reputation depends on it.

One other unique feature of Silk&Dagger is that it is a two-GM game. One GM does most of the normal GM stuff, while the other GM represents the ever-present societal expectations weighing on all the characters, subtracting Reputation points and important things every time the PCs do something that makes them look bad in the eyes of this society.

There may come times where PCs will just have to take the hit to get things done, or find clever ways to make it look like they’re upholding the status quo while secretly treating each other like equals when nobody’s looking.

You can expect, like, an alpha or beta version of this game to come to the patreon in probably January or February, and maybe even itchio if it is far along enough by then. It was actually supposed to be out on the patreon in December, but some personal issues and illnesses really held it up. I am really going to try and make it less than 200 pages.

I'll end the post with one of my favorite little bits from the setting/lore. One of the reasons that Drow dress like that is because it helps them identify each other by thermal vision in the pitch black tunnels. Unique patterns of covered and uncovered skin serve as a sort of personal heraldry.

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but you can still check out the public beta on itch.io to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, etc.!

You can also follow updates on our Kickstarter page where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more, you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy earlier, plus extra content such as adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

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cloverapple · 4 months ago

Note

hiii! i came across your blog yesterday, and i love your advice. that's why i feel like you would be the best person to ask these questions that I've been having for the longest time (sorry, long read ahead).

I've studied LOA for the past 2 years or so, and even though i have a good understanding of it, there are some things that always trip me up when it comes to shifting.

how do i deal with waking up to the 3d? yes, by assuming that you are in your dr and that you shifted last night. that's the most logical answer. but even though i know that, sometimes it is a lot easier said than done. for example, a few days ago i wanted to manifest shifting by simply deciding i could shift on command and that i am there. i could be 100% sure the day before that it would happen. the whole day, and even a few days after that I'd stay in that state of being a master shifter, and i would feel amazing because of it. but it's like there always comes a point where i wake up to the 3d and i get discouraged (yes, i acknowledge that i am manifesting that reality by saying this, but i finally have to get this off my chest). my thoughts get all messed up and i start spiraling, returning to my previous state. i start questioning myself a bit and feel down. the main reason for that being time.

it took me so so long to figure out this issue about myself. I'd be like: how long is it gonna take? when will it happen? i know i have it in the 4d but when will it appear in the 3d? having it in the 4d isn't enough, i need to have it in the 3d right now. stuff like that. i find it very difficult to formulate my thoughts, but basically I'm in a spiral of:

watching a video/reading a post about LOA/shifting that reminds me of how easy it is -> applying LOA to shifting/any desire in a way that feels good for a few days at most -> starting to question myself after a few days because it hasn't shown up yet in the 3d (which is caused by me forgetting the role the 3d plays and how LOA works) even though i did everything "right" (e.g. letting go of control or the outcome, deciding, not wavering, etc.) -> falling back into a state where i question how i can shift, what i am doing wrong, etc. -> repeat

how can i break out of this cycle?

i think the main problem here is time and in general the 3d.

i know that the 3d is not a measure of my success, only made up of my current assumptions etc. i know that. but it's like i forget it once i step into the state i wanna be in and stay there for an extended period of time.

i always hear people say that "time isn't real" but i still don't really know what that means, how to apply it or how to internalize it. i really need that mental "click" to finally understand it and use that concept in my favor. because my problem is that with manifesting/shifting, after a while i start asking questions about why it's taking so long the 3d. for example, most nights i fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my dr (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning. but when it doesn't happen eventually, i start to question why, because since time comes from consciousness aka me, it should work in my favor.

I'm honestly so lost right now and i would really appreciate some help because I'm spiraling again. I've known about shifting since 2020 but only realized how ridiculously easy it is after joining tumblr this year and yup, i acknowledge that i am desperate to shift, preferably right now. it's not something i admit to anyone or myself because that's basically continuing to tell a story i don't want to experience (a surefire way to fail), but it is unfortunately the truth as of right now.

thank you for reading, i know this was a lot to get through!! (*^^*)

So pause for a second, because I’m going to tell you something I hope to ingrain in the mind of everyone who sends me an ask—and that you need to remember before reading everything I’m about to say:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT. The ability is inside you right now. The moment you read this, your mind already knows how to shift. Everyone does.

The moment you accept this, you solve half of your problems.

And then you tell me, "But if I know how to shift, why isn’t the 3D reflecting that?"

Well, yeah. You painted the house, and now you’re sitting there watching the paint dry.

Look, watching the 3D closely and looking for results isn’t a problem for some people. Some can assume, “I’m already in my DR,” open their eyes, and BAM—they’re in their DR.

Some people assume, “I will shift tonight,” and just like that, they shift that night.

Some people let go of their DRs, stop putting them on a pedestal, and they shift.

Some people clutch their DRs close to their heart until their knuckles turn white—and they shift.

It sounds a lot like you’re forcing yourself into a method of applying the Law of Assumption that doesn’t serve you. Why?? If you recognize that your issue is focusing on time and constantly checking the 3D, work around it. Remove time from your shifting journey.

I don’t like assuming I already have something, then checking the 3D and not seeing it there. Hell, I can shift on command, and yet, if I were to lay in bed right now and tell myself, “I’m in my DR,” I guarantee you I wouldn’t shift. Why? Because that doesn’t work for me.

My dude, change the way you affirm. If affirming in the present (“I already shifted”) doesn’t work for you, change it! Say, “I’m going to shift.” If even that hasn’t been working, let go of implementing time into your affirmations.

Change “I’m going to wake up in my DR in the morning” to “I’m going to wake up in my DR at some point because I KNOW I can shift.”

Change “I’m in my DR right now” to “I can’t wait to be in my DR.”

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions, because that’s clearly the problem here. Instead of trusting that you’ll shift tonight, trust yourself because you already know how to shift. Or trust your mind because it knows how to shift. Trust your awareness because it knows how to shift.

“I fall asleep with the assumption that I'll wake up in my DR (while letting go of control and not wavering) the next morning.”

If this were completely true, you wouldn’t be sending me this ask. You wouldn’t be doubting yourself as much as you just did in everything you typed. Truly letting go means releasing the need to see results in the 3D.

So, take time out of your assumptions. From now on, say “I will shift.” Or say, “I already know how to shift.”

Your brain then goes: “……???….uh….” looking at the 3D all confused “When? We haven't shifted!”

And you tell it, “It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m going to shift eventually.”

Now, let’s say hypothetically, one week passes and you haven’t shifted. One month passes, and you haven’t shifted. Two months pass, and you haven’t shifted.

And then you come back and say, “Clover, why the heck haven’t I shifted yet? It’s been (insert amount of time). You told me to remove time as an expectation, so why haven’t I shifted yet??”

And I’ll smile at you and ask, “So you’ve been counting the days?”

Let me tell you something about letting go—and hypothetically, ignoring the 3D.

Treat your ability to shift like your fortune. You have a fortune sitting in your bank account right now, and you’re rich. Do you think a rich person checks their bank account every hour to confirm they’re still rich?

"Well yeah, Clover, because a rich person’s reality already reflects that, they’re sitting in a mansion with all their riches."

Your fortune, what makes you rich, is your ability to shift. You already know how to shift. Shifting isn’t something you learn how to do, just like breathing isn’t something you learn how to do. Just like chewing isn’t something you learn how to do. It is an integral part of every human being. If you have awareness, then the ability to shift exists within you.

You don’t learn shifting—you learn yourself.

You learn what makes you shift. What makes you manifest easily. What makes you assume easily. What kind of affirmations your subconscious doesn’t argue against. What makes your self-concept skyrocket.

Because everyone is different, everyone shifts differently. What works for Person A might not work for Person B. What works for Person B might not work for Person C, and so on.

Even my reply to you, it might not resonate with you. But that’s not my fault, and it’s not yours. If that's the case, your job is to look elsewhere—and, in the best-case scenario, look internally because that’s where the answers always are.

Let’s go over your fix options because I just yapped a lot:

YOU ALREADY KNOW HOW TO SHIFT.

Remove time from your affirmations and assumptions. Removing time from your shifting process makes it so you have nowhere in the 3D to look.

Stop paying attention to the 3D and pay attention to yourself because what’s going to shift is your awareness, not the damn 3D. Every time you catch yourself thinking, “Oh, but it’s not showing up in the 3D,” remind yourself:

A) You already know how to shift.

B) Shifting is something you can do.

C) It could happen at any moment, so why should anything else matter?

If you were promised a million bucks from a 100% trustworthy source, would you spiral?

One more thing before I wrap this up:

It could be that actively using the Law of Assumption isn’t what works best for you. Maybe you work better with visualizing. Maybe you induce the feeling of being in your DR or being a "master shifter." Maybe subliminals work better for you. There is a world of options out there, and it is completely useless to force yourself to do something that's only bringing frustration in the end. Because there is no singular way to shift. There is no singular way to manifest. And sometimes—for some people—while the Law of Assumption is always true, focusing on it directly isn’t what serves you.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting methods #law of assumption #shifting motivation #shifters #reality shifter #shifting realities #reality shift

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uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years ago

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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ramblinscramblin · 6 months ago

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Hi! I loved how you wrote Sniper in the dating headcanons post. Your characterization of him is on point!

Could I please request how Sniper would act in the first instances of dating the reader? Thank you so much, have a good day!

→Honeymoon phase with Sniper!

Genre: slice of life, fluff, the slightest of angst

Characters: Sniper ofc

Eek!! Thank you so much, it’s so very obvious how much I favor him, haha! Let’s get this show on the road!

Sniper

Gets most his cues from you, he’s not so used to being in long committed relationships like the two of you have agreed on, so he’s mostly following your lead.

He can seem pretty apathetic in relationships at first, you have to really understand him as a person to know his true feelings and idiosyncrasies.

Early into relationships he almost pretends that he isn’t dating you, doesn’t make many alterations to your relationship besides occasionally holding your hand and kissing you.

He’s absurdly awkward, but he hides it by being quiet, can’t say the wrong thing if you don’t say anything at all amirite.

“Hey Snipes do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

He looked at you for a moment before answering “yup.”

You’re gonna have to be okay with planning all the dates and carrying all the conversations for a little while.

Incredibly insecure during intimate moments, not just during sex, but like just private moments between the two of you.

Always afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, this manifests mostly as inaction, but may make some jokes at his expense about it too. Mostly under his breath comments, things said in a laugh, he would die before he was honest about how he felt.

You may allow him to make the jokes as a sort of way to alleviate his stress, or alternatively you could express that you don’t like hearing him say that kind of stuff about himself, in which case he will stop immediately.

He would do whatever you told him to do, even if he protests against that idea to the moon and back.

Whenever you initiate physical contact with him he freezes, like full on holding his breath. He’s afraid that if he moves you’ll stop.

One night he was sat at the edge of the bed, just sort of staring zoning out as he is one to do.

You came over hands on your hips before gently racking a hand through his hair, bonus points if you call him handsome or something of the like.

Will totally blue screen, face bright red and just stopped his tracks. Whatever thought he was having vanishing into thin air. Secretly praying you don’t notice because if you do you’re going to think he’s weird and stop.

“Relax a little Snipes, this is supposed to be the fun bit,” you say gently.

“I-I’m relaxed, mate. All too relaxed.”

“Right, right.”

He’s pretty shit at communication as I’m sure you’ve gathered, will bottle things up until it all boils over, I could see it causing some problems later into the relationship.

Just be patient, it’s worth it.

He’s pretty clingy right off the bat, again hides this in his own way but it’s glaringly obvious. You’re the only person he’s been able to tolerate this long he’s pretty eager to keep you around.

You stood up on the couch, patting your thighs as you did so.

He flicked his head towards you in an instant “where are you going?”

“Oh,” you turned towards him, surprised as his silent strike has suddenly come to an end “just to the kitchen.” You pointed over you shoulder with your thumb.

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen, waiting for you against one of the counters, staring at the floor. You just kind of blink at him confused for a second. This is his van. The kitchen is quite literally a foot away from the couch and he still managed to follow you. He’s so sick.

Still calls you mate even well into the relationship, only starts calling you “darl’” and “love” about a year into your relationship. Even then he still probably calls you mate a lot.

He’s just really smitten with you and is absolutely trying his best.

Omg THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST THIS WAS A DELIGHT TO WRITE. I love this FUCKING dumbass so much. (≧∀≦)

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 sniper #sniper x reader #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #x reader #headcanon

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sos717 · 8 months ago

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i guess you don’t answer anymore but i’m hoping you at least read this because it’s genuine and i feel like i have nowhere else to post this. i just want someone to hear me. ignore this if it’s too long. i want to thank you for your posts. they are the only writings that have truly resonated with me ever since i discovered the law, neville, states, being, whatever we call this thing. but i’ll be honest i’m giving up today. i discovered the ‘law of attraction’ in 2019 when i was 18 years old. it is now getting to the last quarter of 2024 and i am 23 where i’ve evolved in understanding to where i found ‘nondualism’. i went from law of attraction -> law of assumption & neville goddard -> robotic affirming -> mindset fixing & joe dispensa -> states & edward art -> nondualism. however… i have never manifested a single thing in my life. i used to be filled with anxiety when i said this. fearing these words would cause it to keep going on but i don’t even want to fear anymore. it’s just the truth. your posts taught me that i don’t have to fear my words anymore anyways. i’ve had a dream for a long time. i don’t believe i will ever reach this dream anymore. along with that dream i also just really wanted good for my family and i. you know the basics like financial freedom, happiness, mended relationships. but throughout everything i’ve learned i could never make it work and i’m just done. i guess i will return to living a normal life and just hoping i make it. i hope i find happiness or just.. anything. i’m just letting go of it all because i feel like things shouldn’t be this hard. even going to caleb’s channel and watching his recent ‘your manifestation isn’t taking long, you are’ video…. i’m just… exhausted. i just dont know how to do this and i don’t think i can take life anymore anyways. but yeah i just wanted to say thank you. even though i could never find success, you taught me who I Am. and i’ll forever be grateful for your wisdom even though you’re a bit younger than me. i hope you find continued success and live a happy life. sincerely

THIS IS JUST THE FIRST PART TO THE HUGE POST, PLEASE TAKE YOUR TIME

After what felt like months away from tumblr I really dove into self-inquiry fully, and of course still am, and I promised you guys a mega post so here’s the initial information so far. There is more to come.

IM SORRY IF THERE ARE ERRORS IN GRAMMAR OR SMTH I WROTE THIS AT MANY DIFFERENT MOMENTS THROUGHOUT THE DAY!! FEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS, ETC BUT PLS DONT ASK BY RESPONDING TO THIS POST, ITLL CAUSE SO MUCH SPAM ON THE FEED AND MY ASKS PAGE

Hello! Yes I have started looking back into my inbox (THERE ALLOT OF ASKS 😭😭🫶) but I absolutely plan on answering as many as possible, and because your post resonated with how I used to feel, I want to answer yours first.

So to begin with, It makes me so happy to know that what I’ve written has some kind of affect (that being positive). I can’t remember if I told you guys how old I was but I must have cus you seem to know 😭😭, yes I’m 19 we’re very close in age, this moment in life is when allot of us who figure out this stuff lean into it more because we realize how much of a leg up we have if we just “apply” the teachings this early on.

So first what I want to say to you is, no, your not giving up on a dream and neither are you going to live a normal life, I’ll make sure of that, this beautiful world that we step into gives us so much insight on what we inherently are. But I need to remind you and everyone else, this is not some big secret that has to be practiced, it’s a look at what we are and always will be. You have purpose and you deserve to be happy and enjoy a life that’s easy and fulfilling. I apologize in advance because this is going to be a pretty long post!! 🫶🫶

Let’s get rid of the labels and titles we’ve given these understandings as if they are for someone to learn and master. No one masters manifestation, no one will ever master manifestation and I truly don’t care for how many “success stories” they have, it doesn’t hold proving value of what they are (notice how I didn’t say who), we are not who’s, but that’s for later in the post.

The reason I’ve stepped away from the concept of manifesting is because it is inherently lack and separation based. No matter the teaching, they all seem to glorify the idea of getting and achieving which puts great pressure on success stories and all that rubbish. (Not me turning British) 😝😝, okay sorry, so yeah this also goes for nondualism, I don’t associate a title with what I learn, it’s not NonDualism it’s actually just self discovery in disguise of a teaching. But for this exact reason I don’t think to myself “I need to learn NonDualism better”, nononooooo I made this mistake wayyy to much due to the sole fact that I came in with the expectation that this would now teach me the secrets of manifesting. This is kind of the set up to more desire and lack, which is actually the opposite of the self-realization “journey”.

So, when you say you have never manifested anything in your life, I say this with incredible pleasure, that this is impossible, I know I know, before you start thinking to yourself that youve heard this before but I don’t think people go that in depth as to what that even means. So, your life and your problems, are not actually problems.

Self-realization is not the journey for the person to become consciousness, but to understand that you ARE consciousness to begin with. You does no reference a someone, but “ “.

This is going to be, quite a post so PLEASE hang in there. And I just want to add in, this is still not a seperate being trying to understand that it’s connected to conciousness, no, you as conciousness, infinite knowing, are so involved with the content that you appear as, you’ve tricked yourself into thinking that you are just 1 thing of the content. Let me use my first example.

We have given ourselves the greatest interpretation and key to knowing ourself, and that’s dreaming.

Every night, we sleep, HOORRAAYYYY, now let’s get into the details because this is where the magic happens and it clicks.

Take the moment before a dream appears, recognize that when the eyes are closed there’s this presence. Not the darkness, the presence. Something, but not a thing.

Stay here and forget the rest of the world exists for a moment. Now there is only this presence, it’s knowing, it’s being right? Now there’s no actual material but regardless, it is, something. This isn’t something out of this world it’s literally, you. From this, knowing or no-thingness, comes expressions, absolutely infinite potential, this is registered as a dream, but, before the dream in any way can be experienced, there always has to be some type of interpreter/lens, this comes in the form a person or better yet, senses. Of course, there’s nothing to the senses or the person but whatever it’s formulated from, which was that presence/knowing. The activity of this infinite potential that is the knowing, (you asleep) appears, only with the help of a pov/sight.

Nonetheless, it plays out, it plays stories of absolutely anything, for no reason at all, and as it does, we get lost to it, it starts to become real, and without even realizing it, it’s no longer a dream but something we’re experiencing, now you are the character in the dream and you naturally play out the dialogue and storyline and explore the fields, magic towers, and laugh and dance and make friends, and then you wake up.

When you wake up, you recognize “oh, nothing was actually happening”, now of course, when your the person in the dream it is very real, but even then, is it? Knowing what you know, there wasn’t actually a place with dialogue, no character of its own experience or life, no actual forests or fields and magic, no one actually laughing and dancing or friends, but simply the appearance of that. The illusion.

And it’s not that it’s only a formulation of you when you realize it is, but it always is, the dream doesn’t only become an illusion or “fake” when you wake up, it’s naturally just fake, REGARDLESS of how it seems to be. And regardless we sleep every night knowing that we’ll forget it’s a dream.

So I think you can see where I’m headed with this, I’m going to use the example Rupert Spira uses but twist it a bit.

You go to sleep in Australia and dream yourself in the streets of Paris, and you take on the identity of John, you don’t actually become John and experience the streets of Paris.

Now, John drinks coffee and he feels the sunlight warm his skin, sees the greenery, feels the wind, all of it. But despite the way it all seems the sunlight, the sensations that John has, is not actually real, and neither is John. John isn’t actually feeling anything, he doesn’t exist and there is no Paris being traveled. And it’s not John that realizes/awakens to the understanding that he’s fake and this is all a dream, it’s you, asleep in Australia that realizes it as you modulate/formulate as the streets of Paris, the coffee, and the greenery, and John, understand?

The activity of that presence, if you recall when we talked about closing your eyes, formulated as something that seemed so real, and that doesn’t give any reality to the dream itself, because there is no separating the knowing from the content known. Without the “space” for it to appear or form from, how on earth would there be the content? A bigger step forward is to realize that there isn’t even an actual dream occurring but it’s all the self knowing presence of, well, knowing. I want to add something very important before moving on.

Knowing does not happen for the purpose of pleasure, we naturally deconstruct false ideas like this as we go, but something you MUST understand about the nature of existence is, none of this is appearing for the purpose of ant experience, there isn’t actually an experience. No one is enjoying nor hating the illusion, it is simply an appearance.

In the same way that the aware/presence before the dream appears from it simply is, in this way, we are. It’s like saying the TV screen plays a movie and experiences it, or does it for the purpose of experience, no that’s silly, knowing has no inherent motive, it is, you (infinite knowing) don’t “happen” for a purpose, never mind happen at all, you are, and in this do you take form of something, your self aware nature of course knows the content of your own being, but that doesn’t mean the illusion can enjoy itself, or that you enjoy or experience the illusion, it’s just a plain appearance, and that’s it.

For example, when you close your eyes on this next demonstration, truly try to grasp the essence of what I’m trying to explain.

Bring from the nothingness/knowing when you close your eyes, a blue vase, know it in every aspect you can, incorporate every sense you can (even taste if your a little freaky 🫦🫦😭) and make it as present as possible. After you open your eyes I have a question for you. (I’m serious, do the damn practice it’ll help you) please take as much time you need to truly get in there (not too long I can’t wait all day)

okay hey, your back, now answer me this, from what did this immersive appearance take reality from? You and I know that there’s no actual vase despite its presence, no matter the vibrant or dull colors, no matter the feel, rough or glossy, its taste 🫦😭, its feel, etc. So what was the substance that formulated this? If you guessed knowing, your soooooo correct, if you didn’t it’s okay you get brownie points 🫶. But yes, now I need you to understand this verrrry clearly, the vase was not real!!!! Yet it appeared that way! This is AN ILLUSION SURPIRISISIEIEIEIEIEIEISISBWHH- yes. No matter how much you want to convince yourself and go back to the vase and its appearance and its feel or colors or any aspect of it, it wasn’t ACTUALLY happening and that means it didn’t take place for anyone or anywhere!!! All there was present was knowing, from knowing forms vase and every seemingly alternate way that it is known, feeling is a form of knowing, literally every sense is just a form of knowing. Every sense that was “used” to understand the vase was all just aspects and appearances of knowing, the color, the sounds, the taste, the feels, they didn’t formulate anywhere else, but nonetheless appeared as immersive and real because YOU BECAME FOCUSED ON THE CONTENT OF THE APPEARANCE RATHER THAN RECOGNIZE THAT IT WAS JUST APPEARANCE. And even though the content of the appearance you formed as became the focus, it still didn’t change the objective fact that there wasn’t someone actually there and experiencing it in any way.

The knowing in/on which appearances formulate is not something different than the appearance, there is nothing to the illusion but its reality, and its reality is knowing. In this way, the illusion couldn’t even be described as something real or taking place, as if it could exist apart from the source of it.

Knowing this is also knowing there is no such thing as the knowing OF, we never know of things or of experiences as if they are something seperate and exist seperatley from knowing itself, that’s literally impossible. Moving forward

You are not the person/character, and it’s not that you are a limited being and you have to wake up to the idea that you are infinite knowing, you have to realize that you were never something seperate, and that this is simply the modulation of your being, and it’s not a someone it’s more of a something.

Let’s starts stabilizing this.

To all of the experiences across centuries, theres one constant amongst the billions of people who’ve lived and are now and that is, I Am. We might not know for certain about anything else ever in this entire universe, and we might not even know who or what we are but for a fact we can say, yes, I am.

There’s no true word that can describe the infinite essence of being, so we use knowing or conciousness or god, all completely the same.

So, to every experience, without an ounce of doubt, there can be the claim, I am. This is knowing, and only from knowing comes the statement, because we must know we are in order to claim that we are. I think something that can capture this is a newborn, imagine yourself to be newly born, mere seconds I mean, eyes closed. You have no understand of anything, no thoughts, no memories, no identity, your pure experience is simply being/knowing, and I don’t mean the action of knowing, that’s not a real thing. Knowing is inherent, you don’t force it.

Going back to experiences. Any experience that is recognized, any seeing, and hearing, tasting touching, and of course feeling, is assumed to be the experience of the body and this is therefore falsely established as “me”, in doing so, we forget our true nature of freedom and limit our understanding and abilities to the limitations of the body.

I’m now going to help you realize the body is an interpreter, and not of a world that’s happening somewhere in time and space, but that the world is the interpretation/modulation/illusion/dream/appearance of our shared infinite being, AFTER being recognized through the interpretations, (sensations and perceptions). This also means that it’s in no way an actual measurement to what you fully are.

What experience is there to seeing? Better yet let me narrow it down, there is nothing to seeing as if there is someone doing the seeing. Seeing simply is. There’s no one to do it, just what is. There is sight, how is there an acknowledgment of the sight/seeing? There must be something to it that gives the understanding “oh I’m seeing this”. (Hint, it’s the same thing that let you know, that “I Am”). Knowing, yes, not knowing as an action, that’s not real, people don’t know, knowing is the essence of what we are (we are not people). But just wait for that. So all there is to sight is knowing, and I don’t think I have to do this but you can say the same about absolutely every other sense, because every single “experience” absolutely requires knowing. Without knowing, “experience” never is, I think we can all acknowledge that.

There is no such thing as the experience of being a human, Why are we deciding that this is what’s it’s like to be humans, we know humans we acknowledge humans but there is no such thing as being a human, in the same way that there’s no true way that there is something to being a fox or a bird or a rock, it’s only with labels are these ideas decided.

The only thing you’ll be able to muster up is memories, emotions, etc, but that doesn’t make it the inherent experience of being a human. Our first and only experience of what we are is knowing, and then knowing that we are, that’s it. In the same way that a babies first experience is not “I am a baby” or “I am a human”, rather it’s just knowing. If being human was our nature, that’s all we’d recognize, and from the very beginning. Our experience does not actually change from being/knowing, we simply forget that there is the knowing, and decide to focus on the body to be “me” or “human”.

You don’t need senses to know you are. Knowing is something unimaginable. Go ahead and try to find it by closing your eyes or even with them open. Can you grab or touch the knowing. Can you recognize its dimensions or what its appearance is? How old or young is it?

Do me a favor and find the edge where knowing starts and stops.

Let me know when you find it because you never will.

Even when you try, it’s only conciousness itself that searches for its own parameters.

By recognizing that your truly not the body, or this person you as knowing have pretended to become, the made up problems of the person disappear, well actually, you realize that there is no person that has problems, only an idea. Only the idea that I am someone and something is happening to me, I am something seperate and need saving. There isn’t actually a seperate self, the seperate self is the activity that you as knowing are, when you become involved with the content and forget your true nature. And what’s truly the main takeaway from this is that, even when it seems like you’ve lost it and now you have to restart and understand it all over again, you as knowing haven’t gone anywhere, your the one pretending to be something lost, and not on purpose, but because you involve yourself too heavily in the appearances without recognizing where they originate from.

From what we know so far, I hope in some way you’re able to recognize that there is no one doing manifestations and having success stories. You ARE the manifestation and it will NEVER be any other way, whether we recognize it or not, that’s the beauty. So no matter if we go on about this appearance of life and say we don’t get it and move on, you as conciousness will continue to play the roles, because there is no off switch to this.

I’m hope this has been able to start untying the blinds over your “eyes” and you’re starting to somewhat understand the truth of what you/we are. This is only the beginning and it’s only going to get more incredible and beautiful from here. But for now I’m shleeepy hehehe, I’ll talk to you soon, never ever give up on your dreams!!!! 🫶❤️❤️

#blommp717 #nonduality #manifestation #manifest #non dualism #nondualism #advaita vedanta #master manifestor #law of assumption #law of attraction

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