#Psych gif hunt

[obsessionsrulemylife]

Random Psych Gifs

None of these are mine. Credit to the makers. (36 Gifs)

[im-ovulating]

I think Tate should pin reader to a wall and fuck her. W me deserve a treat this Halloween season, and slutty Tate is such a nice thing.

(A/n: I think that's the best idea you've had yet. Slutty Tate is really all I need in this life🫠)

(Forgive the writing rust, it's been a minute)

(Not proofread)

(Pretend it's still October for me, yeah?)

Word Count: 1,611

Summary- Run, baby, run.

Warnings: Chasing, Unprotected Sex

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Tate Langdon x Fem! Reader: Run

-------------------

"Oh, my fucking god, Tate!" You screech as you use the banister to make a sharp turn. Tate thunders down the stairs after you in that stupid mask he found.

"C'mon~" He rasps out. "Don't you wanna play?~"

You round the kitchen island, circling it to keep distance between you. His vocal fry makes your cheeks burn; the innuendo in his phrasing doing nothing to help the heat.

"Don't -" You cut yourself off with a scream as Tate all but lunges around the island at you.

And you're running again, through the living room, past the home office, until you spot the basement door in your peripheral. You shoot off towards it, ripping the door open and sprinting down the stairs. You use the support pillars to your advantage, losing him in the maze that you call a basement.

You can hear his heavy steps as he taunts you. Boot clad feet clicking and echoing through the dark room.

"Y/n~" He singsongs. "Come out, come out wherever you are~"

His voice is muffled by the mask.

You slip around the last outcropped wall and plaster your back to the brick.

A shiver runs up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck stands on end as it suddenly goes deadly silent. The only sound in the damp room is your ragged breathing that gets poorly muffled by your hands.

Why did you think the basement was a good idea? You've done nothing but effectively trap yourself.

You're a sitting duck down here. Your best chance at escaping him is if you can manage to get back up the stairs and make a break for the front door. In theory, it's easy. The door is just a few paces to the right of the basement. But this is a ghost you're dealing with - nothing is that simple with him.

Nonetheless, once you steady your breathing, you start inching your way back to the steps.

Thank the gods you decided to put off putting your shoes on; your socks make your steps silent as you scoot around a corner. Your eyes adjusting to the pitch black does nothing to quell your paranoia; if anything, it merely heightens it. The knowledge that you could turn your head at any point at be face to face with your pursuer has your heart frantically beating against your ribs as if aching to smash through the bone. The quiet roars in your ears as you strain to hear even the slightest shuffle in the dark.

Wait-

No. That was your pulse in your ears...

'Where is he..?'

Every step you take feels like it's being watched like a hawk, and, at this point, you don't know if you're just psyching yourself out or not. Something moves in the corner of your eye, but when you whip around, you're met with nothing.

'This isn't funny anymore...' your mind unhelpfully supplies.

Taking a shuddering breath, you make up your mind and call out into the pitch.

"Tate? Please, this isn't fun anymo-"

A hand covers your mouth, an arm snaking across your stomach to drag you back. You thrash, desperately trying to rip the hand off. Your protests remain muffled as your captor pins you face-first to the nearest wall.

"Gotcha~" Tate quips, his breath fanning your neck. "Are you scared, baby?"

So, he ditched the mask... 'Finally,' you can't help but think.

You shake your head despite the answer being an obvious 'yes'. You can feel his cock pressing into your ass, getting harder with each passing second.

"No?" His hand slips from your mouth to your jaw, tilting your head back, "Liar."

With that, Tate slams his mouth to yours, hungry and not afraid to satiate himself.

You know it's wrong. That being hunted down and caught shouldn't make you feel this way, but it does. It does. It makes your tummy get all hot and fuzzy - makes your head cloudy and hazy.

And Tate knows it.

He knows this dirty little secret of yours and loves to entice it. Because, just as much as you love the chase, he loves the hunt.

The arm around you slides down until his hand can slip into your pants.

"Not only are you a liar -" he murmurs into the kiss, "- but you love that you're scared. I bet you're soaking through your panties, too, aren't ya?"

His fingers finally reach your folds, easily stroking you with all the slick that's shamefully accumulated. "Knew it~"

Tate breaks the kiss and pulls his hand out. Lifting his hand to your lips, he barely has to mutter out an 'open' before you're accepting the digits into your mouth.

You can feel his dark eyes boring into you as you suck your own juices from his fingers.

"Good girl..." His thumbs along your jaw with his free hand before pulling his digits from your mouth.

Tate turns you around and pins you to the wall once more before leaning down to kiss you again. It feels like he's devouring you; eager to eat you until there's nothing left for him to take. His tongue slips past your lips, tasting all you have to offer and still some. It's when he starts to work at your jeans that you pull away.

"Down here?" You ask, as you attempt to catch your breath. Tate makes that easier said than done by shifting to focus on your neck.

You can feel the shit-eating smirk that spreads against your neck as he mumbles out a "Why not? You had no problem soaking your panties down here."

He belts out a laugh at your offended gasp and as much as you want to snark back, you can't deny that he's right. So, instead, you huff out an "Asshole" as you relax against the wall. Wasting no time, Tate shoves your jeans down until you're able to kick them off; after unbuckling his own, he hikes your leg up and lines his cockhead with your entrance with an almost evil grin.

"Tate, don't you fucking dar-" You're cut off with a yelp as he shoves himself to the hilt with one motion.

"You love it," he grunts. And you do.

He pulls out to the tip before thrusting back in. Again and again, he builds up to a frenzied rhythm as the wet sounds of your arousal echo through the basement and all you can think is how glad you are that you're the only one home.

You can feel the staccato of your heartbeat as it mirrors his trusts.

You can barely breathe with how hard he's slamming into you, but he still has you all but clawing at his back, so it's not like you can complain. He isn't much better with how he's basically growling into your neck, sucking and biting a pattern into your skin as he fucks into you.

"How are you still so fucking tight?" He groans out, grinding his cock into you before pulling out. Tate flips you around once more before pushing back in.

Your cheek scrapes against the wall with a few trusts before you're able to get your palms against it. Using your new leverage, you start to press back, meeting him trust for thrust as he draws out grunts and groans from both of you.

The hot, wet slide of him in your cunt has your brain going empty of anything but Tate and the growing need to cum. You can feel the steady build up, the tension mounting in your muscles as he guides you closer and closer to the edge.

You're not even sure what sounds your making; all you can hear is the heavy breathing and growled curses that Tate is releasing. His hands snuck up to play with your tits at some point and with each tug and pinch, your back arches more and more as electricity starts to crackle in your veins.

"God, I'm close," you pant out. "Please, Tate..."

You feel the tip of his nose trail up your neck as he inhales your scent. "You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" He mumbles once his lips meet the skin just below your ear.

He slips one of his hands back down to your clit, "Then cum."

With one last tug to the sensitive nerve, your vision blurs as you cry out his name. The static in your limbs shoots out, spreading through your fingers and toes and tosses your head back against his shoulder. You don't even register your legs going out until Tate's arm tightens around your waist, keeping you up as he chases his own release.

"Hold on, baby," He rasps, "Just hold on for me a little longer-"

The continued stimulation keeps your eyes shut as your forced to take what he gives. Any rhythm he had is gone as he pounds into your cunt like an animal; you could cry out in relief once you feel his hips start to stutter. And you do. As soon as you can feel the thick, hot ropes of his cum pump into you, the tears fall; the overstimulation makes your legs quiver, but ecstasy still hums in your veins.

You don't register the muttered praises Tate presses into your shoulder until your breathing evens out and your heart stops hammering in your ears. "You with me, Pretty?"

Nodding, you test your legs, finally taking the strain off of Tate, though his arm stays firmly locked around your waist. Blinking the remaining blurriness from your eyes, you turn your head to face him before getting pulled into a kiss.

"There she is," he whispers against your lips.

(3 years and I still don't know how to end smut🤪)

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

[apocalypseornaw]

Us Again

Sam Winchester x Reader

Needing help on a case you're forced to call in the Winchesters. You never thought it'd end with you and Sam finding your way back together.

It's like 90% smut

The solid wall connecting with your back knocked every ounce of breath from your lungs. You groaned and rolled onto your hands and knees, struggling to get air. You heard Sam and Dean both shout your name and saw the creature moving towards you. You grabbed your discarded machete and pushed yourself to your feet, eyes on the monster you yelled “GET THE KIDS. I GOT THIS”

This thing was something new, none of you had run across it which was why you'd called the Winchesters in to begin with. It was taking kids, feeding off their youth. You were hoping decapitation would do the trick. You flipped the long blade in your hand and waved a hand at it “C'mon then ugly. I don't got all night”

 

You winced a bit as you followed Dean into the door of their hotel room. Yours was adjoining and you'd left the door unlocked between your rooms. Dean eyed you as he dug a first aid kit out considering he'd gotten a slice across the arm and Sam had gotten caught across his left shoulder.

“How ya feeling?” He asked and you nodded “Right as rain Winchester. Now sit down and let me see about that arm” you glanced back at Sam “and I need to check your shoulder too” Sam gave a sharp nod, lowering himself into a chair at the table opposite Dean. 

—-----------------

You hadn't wanted to call them in, years had passed since you hunted with them. The last time had been about a year after you and Sam broke up. You could feel his gaze on your back as you began cleaning the wound on Dean's arm. It wasn't too awfully deep but it might do for a stitch or two just to make sure it stayed closed. 

You busied yourself with the task at hand in an attempt to ignore the memories flashing through your mind. You still loved Sam just as much as the day you'd left but you couldn't tell him that. Too much time and too much pain had passed. The two of you had only recently gotten back to the point of talking as friends. You couldn't risk losing him again or Dean for that matter because regardless of how close you were with the eldest Winchester he'd choose his brother every time.

You finished Dean's stitches and taped over it so he could shower then stepped back from him “All done” he nodded, his eyes flickering between you and Sam. The question was clear in his eyes so you gave him a small nod before turning to face Sam “Ok, um you're gonna have to take your shirt off for me to check that shoulder” 

He met your eyes for a second then cleared his throat and looked away before standing to take off his flannel then slipped his shirt over his head. It had been a while since you saw Sam shirtless and christ he'd put on more muscle than before not that he was lacking then. You had to mentally kick yourself to not stare at his chest. 

He sat back down, turning the chair so you could get to his shoulder. You cut your eyes at Dean and he was watching the two of you with something near amusement written across his face. Damn him shouldn't he be playing the protective brother at least? You and Sam had broken each other's hearts at one time. 

—---------

You gingerly touched the area of Sam's shoulder that was sliced. It was deeper than Dean's but should only take a couple stitches. “Just sit still, I need to clean it” you nearly whispered before grabbing the wound cleaner. 

Sam sat silently as you cleaned his cut. The feeling of your hands on his skin was nearly overwhelming. He was glad Dean had stayed in the room because this entire hunt had been hell on his psyche, from the moment you called for help he knew it would be. The kids you all hadn't been able to save, the new creature that needed to be added to the lore, the way he felt seeing you get tossed to how he now felt with you bandaging him up like old times except now you wouldn't kiss the area after bandaging it.

“You ok?” You asked once you started stitching him. He nodded “Yeah, I'm good” he felt when you snipped off the thread and taped over it like you had Dean's. The fingers of your right hand lightly teased through the hair at the nape of his neck and he sucked in a harsh breath at the familiarity that wracked through him. Fuck he missed you.

—----------

You weren't sure what had driven you to run your fingers through Sam's hair but it was almost as if your body had run on muscle memory alone. You'd heard the way his breath caught and your knees had weakened. You needed to get a shower and go to bed so you could hit the road bright and early.

“You can um put your shirt back on if you want” you spoke then began packing up the first aid kit. Before you could finish Dean's hands covered yours “Uh uh sweetheart. You took a hard hit one of us needs to check you over” you met his eyes and saw the unspoken challenge there. 

Either you put you and Dean both in an awkward position by having to take your shirt off in front of him or you ask Sam to check you. “I'm fine Dean” he raised an eyebrow then leaned up to speak around you “Sammy why don't you go in her room with her and check her back out. If something seems broke holler for me but I think it's better you do it since you have seen her naked after all” 

“You're as subtle as a heart attack” you mumbled then looked back at Sam who seemed determined to look anywhere but at you “I'm fine Sam really” he finally raised his eyes to you “Are you afraid your boyfriend may find out?” 

You felt your face warm at his words. You and Marcel had broken up nearly a year ago. You hadn't loved him, hell you hadn't loved anyone since Sam. Marcel and you were still friends even if when the two of you broke up his reasoning had been “Baby you never got your heart back from Sam. I can't compete”

“I haven't had a boyfriend in a very long time, Sam. You want to check me out and confirm what I already know, come on then” you grabbed the first aid kit and turned on your heel. Before you made it into your room Sam was catching the door.

—---------

“Go!” Dean urged Sam, who nearly jumped out of the chair, to follow you. You were single? Why had you broken up with Marcel? You'd seemed happy with him.

He followed you into your room and watched you slam the first aid kit down on the table then start to strip your jacket off. He shut the door behind himself then was acutely aware of your actions when you slipped your shirt over your head and stood facing him clothed in just your jeans and a dark green sports bra. It took everything he had to not let his eyes graze over your body. 

“Sam? Are you gonna touch me or stare?” You asked after a moment and he knew he had blushed lightly. He hadn't touched your skin in a very very long time and wanted nothing more than to but the thought of touching you only to see if you were hurt then the two of you going separate ways come morning hurt. 

“Yeah, sorry” he said and you turned with your back to him, moving your hair out the way. Purple bruises had formed across your back already so he started at the nape of your neck with intentions to work down, checking everything.

—-----------------

Sam's rough fingertips started at the nape of your neck. His thumbs worked the base of your neck, feeling for any cracks and effectively massaging the sore muscles there. Your eyes fluttered shut and you bit down on the inside of your cheek to not moan.

Damn him he knew your body so well even after this long. He worked down further, kneading the flesh and checking across your ribs and spine to ensure nothing was broken, asking every now and then if anything hurt.

When he reached the top of your jeans he tapped your hip “Everything looks good” you swallowed hard twice before turning to face him “Told ya” 

His eyes went from your face down to your chest and the realization you were still in just your bra hit you “Guess on that note I'm gonna shower” he nodded “Ok” neither of you moved, frozen to the spot.

—----------------

“Sam” you spoke his name in nearly a whisper and the next moment your lips were crashing against his. You were sure who initiated it but his hands went to your hips pulling you flush against him as your hands slipped around his neck pulling him down closer to you. 

When you broke away to catch your breath the two of you stared at each other, chests heaving “Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to walk away” his voice was deep with lust and made your stomach do a flip “No” you replied pulling him back to you.

He groaned into the kiss before picking you up in one fluid motion. His hands hooked under your thighs so you wrapped your legs around his waist grinding down against him. He carried you over to the bed and laid you down gently before slipping his shirt back over his head and tossing it.

You worked to kick your boots off as he did the same. Once you were both down to jeans he climbed onto the bed hovering over you as he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss. You barely remembered his injured shoulder as you clung to him, wanting him as close as possible.  You loved this man with everything you had, you'd left because he couldn't say he loved you and it hurt too much but being away from him for so long had hurt too so you decided to give yourself this.

He moved from your lips, kissing down your jaw then to your neck when he sucked on your pulse point hard enough to mark you your back arched off the bed pressing your breasts into his toned chest. His hand touched your bra and he glanced up at you for permission. You smiled and pulled it up and over your head, baring your chest to him. 

He lowered his mouth to your left breast, rolling the nipple between his teeth and you moaned loudly. His right hand came up to knead the other breast, the action pulling another moan from you.  He knew you too well. His mouth, the size of his hands, the tickle of his hair against your skin. Everything had your nerves in overdrive. 

He released your breast then kissed down your stomach, stopping at the top of your jeans. “Tell me you want me” He spoke against your skin, eyes holding yours. “I want you” you whispered and his eyes shut for a moment and you saw him swallow hard before he nodded to himself. When his eyes opened there was that same hunger there but mixed with a need you felt in your soul. 

He made quick work of your jeans and panties before continuing his path. When his tongue barely grazed your clit your fingers flew to his hair tangling themselves in it. 

—---------------

Sam wasn't sure what was sweeter, your taste or the sounds falling from your lips. He knew what it took to push you over that edge and enjoyed feeling your body shake and you came on his tongue. He worked you through it until you pushed his head away. He leaned back from you, slipping a finger into you to replace his tongue. You clenched hard around his fingers, cursing lightly when he added a second and curled them up to hit that spot inside of you that he knew would have you seeing stars.

Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, the sound of his name being moaned from you was everything. He could feel when you were close right before you came, soaking his fingers and the bed under you. When he pulled his fingers out he held your gaze and he slipped them into his mouth, licking them clean.

“Sam, take your fucking jeans off please” you begged and he could feel his cock twitch at your words. He stood up and slipped his jeans and boxers off. Your eyes trailed down his body and he saw you lick your lips “I want to return the favor but fuck I need you inside me”

—---------- 

He groaned at your words “I need to be inside you” he replied climbing back up your body. When he reached your lips you pulled him into a kiss, rolling your tongue against his, tasting yourself on him. When you felt the head of his cock teasing at your entrance you clenched. He eased into you, both of you moaning at the sensation “Fuck you're so damn big Sam”

He buried his face in the bend of your neck, laughing lightly against your skin “I'd say sorry but I'm not” after a moment the pain of the stretch gave way to pleasure. You rolled your hips up to meet his and he groaned “Fuck baby” you smiled when he looked up at your face “I've missed hearing you call me that” he grinned before leaving a rough kiss on your lips “Hold onto me baby. I want to feel that pretty little pussy come around me” 

—-------------

The only sounds in the room were skin meeting skin and both of your needy moans. Your nails dug into his forearms as he drove into you from behind. You were on your stomach, pillows under your hips to give him just the right angle as he drove into you. He'd already made you come too many times to count. You were breathless and could feel your body shaking but you were taking everything he had to give. 

His thrusts were starting to falter and you knew he was close. Sam had always had a remarkable stamina and the ability to hold his own release in favor of pleasuring his partner but you needed to feel him come, to have him fill you completely. “fuck Sam. Please tell me you're close” you sounded wrecked, completely fucked out. 

He moved the hair from your neck, kissing your pulse point “getting tired baby?” You nodded “I need to feel you please” he groaned at your words his thrusts getting harder and harder “Fuck I've missed you…I love you baby fuck I love you”

Before you had time to realize what he said he buried himself deep inside of you, coating your walls as he came. The feeling pushed you over that edge one last time. You knew every muscle in your lower body would be jello. When he pulled out you gasped from the sudden feeling of emptiness. 

He kissed your shoulder “Gonna clean you up” you felt the bed dip as he stood up. A moment later he was back and you felt a warm washcloth between your legs. Once he was sure you were cleaned he discarded the rag and helped you turn onto your side. 

He laid down next to you, pulling you over on his chest “Need anything?” He asked and you shook your head sleepily. “Just sleep” he chuckled and kissed your forehead “Get some sleep darling. I'm right here” 

The first thing you felt when you woke was the delicious soreness throughout your body. Christ, you'd forgotten Sam's stamina. You moved around but felt a strong arm tighten around you. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind. Had Sam meant it when he told you he loved you? 

As if your thoughts got too loud he stirred behind you so you turned in his arms to face him. The uncertainty on his face seemed out of place after how he'd fucked you the night before “Why'd you leave me?” He asked and you sighed “I thought you didn't love me. You would never tell me you did and after a while that wears on you”

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them the sadness hurt your heart “I've always loved you just after Jess I was just so afraid to lose someone again” “I never wanted to force you into anything” he nodded then smiled “I meant it last night. I love you, I've always loved you and always will. If you give this a second chance I promise you'll never doubt my feelings again. You're it for me. My heart is solely yours” 

You were silent for a moment then smiled “on one condition” he nodded “anything” “You always talk to me about what's going on in your head, you trust that I can take care of myself and if I get hurt you try not to blame yourself”  “Deal” you nodded “In that case kiss me” “Yes ma'am” he laughed before pulling you into a kiss.

[hrefna-the-raven]

I want to thank you

Masterlist - BG3 masterlist

Words: 2302

Warnings: drunkenness, smut (18+)

Summary: Driders shouldn't get drunk unless they stumble upon intoxicated prey...what happens in the woods, stays in the woods 😏

Your group had finally made it out of the shadow-cursed lands. Despite the protests of your companions, you decided to let the drider Kar'niss tag along your merry group of misfits. They hadn't glimpsed into his mind, seen what you've seen, so naturally they wouldn't understand your reasoning but you simply couldn't leave him to his death at Moonrise Towers, especially not after he'd decided to defy his queen and help you defeat Ketheric. And, as you journeyed together, engaged in peculiar conversations along the way, you unexpectedly grew fond of the drider's company. Approaching the first bigger village, you decided to set up camp. While your companions sought solace in the comforts of a local tavern, longing for a soft bed, you chose to remain on the outskirts of the forest, keeping Kar'niss company as he dared not reveal himself within the village. Setting up a modest tent, you kindled a small fire and couldn't help but smile as Kar'niss skillfully spun his web between the trees.

"I'll quickly head to the tavern, have a few drinks, but I'll be back quickly", you said to Kar'niss.

"Yes, yes", he mumbled somewhat distractedly, "we need to hunt, we need food, go, we'll be busy."

"Remember to not kill any villagers", you warned him sternly, receiving only a nod in response.

With sorrowful eyes, he watched as you made your way towards the village.

Two drunkards staggered towards the forest, belting out an odd melody at the top of their lungs, swinging their tankards and occasionally taking a sip. The commotion caught Kar'niss' attention, prompting him to approach them cautiously while remaining hidden in the shadows. A smile tugged at his lips as he observed them walking straight towards his web. Easy prey, he thought, licking his lips hungrily, his arachnid instincts awakening. He made his move, his eight legs carrying him silently towards the trapped men. With a swift motion, he pierced their drunken flesh, letting the crimson elixir flow into his insatiable mouth. Kar'niss moaned with delight as their blood touched his taste buds, savouring its distinct flavour that was both sweeter and more tantalizing than anything he had ever experienced. The more he drank, the hazier his mind became, intoxicated by the unfamiliar warmth that coursed through his body. Relinquishing his hold on the men, he ran his tongue across his lips, relishing every last drop of blood that clung to his face.

As Kar'niss attempted to navigate his way back to his tent, he was taken aback by the surprising turn of events. His own body seemed to betray him, causing him to stumble and sway, his numerous legs becoming tangled in a rather clumsy display. Amidst the chaos, he found himself overcome by a mixture of laughter and tears, as these emotions washed over him like a powerful wave crashing against his fragile psyche. He almost felt like being thrown back to his earliest days as a drider, when he struggled to control his unfamiliar form. However, this time, along with the sensation of warmth, there was an overwhelming sense of joy that spread throughout his chest.

You rushed towards the woods, feeling guilty for lingering at the tavern longer than planned. Your footsteps abruptly halted as you caught sight of your little camp. Next to the fire you saw Kar'niss lying on his back, which immediately felt wrong, he'd be too weary to let his guard down like this. Concern gripped you as you heard him sobbing, prompting you to sprint towards him.

"Kar'niss, are you alright? Are you injured?", you called out, but all you received in response was a playful giggle.

A peculiar scene unfolded before your eyes. He lay on his back, his eight legs lazily sprawled to the side, occasionally twitching as he sniffed one of your tunics. He clutched it tightly to his chest as though it were the most precious treasure in the world.

"Kar'niss?", you cautiously inquired as you knelt beside him.

His gaze shot upward, quickly shifting towards you as a grin spread across his face. Attempting to raise himself, he gave up halfway and slumped back onto the ground, emitting an amused sigh.

"Our beloved queen has returned," he slurred, his words drowned out by a heartfelt sob. "We've missed yoooouuuuu."

"What happened to you? Have you eaten? Are you feeling unwell?" you inquired.

The drider inhaled the scent of your tunic once more before carelessly discarding it to the side, causing it to land directly in the fire. Great there goes my last clean untorn tunic, you thought to yourself. Distracted by your last precious piece of garment catching fire, you didn't notice that the drider finally managed to turn around. He lifted himself up, only to lose his balance once again. His upper body came crashing down upon yours, burying you beneath him. You gasped for breath, realizing how close the two of you had suddenly become. His torso pressed against yours, his hair cascading down on either side of your face and the tip of his nose nearly touching yours. Seven eyes were fixated on your blushing face as Kar'niss suppressed a groan that rumbled deep within his chest.

"We've grown fond of you, new queen, you saved us", he whispered, "we-I want to thank you."

Leaning in, he clumsily pressed his lips against yours. Surprisingly, you found yourself moaning into the kiss, which he interpreted as an invitation to deepen it with his tongue. It never occurred to you that Kar'niss would know how to kiss, but it made sense considering his previous life and the charm that still radiated from his face, probably being popular among female drow back then. Squirming beneath him, your hands gently pushed his face away, breaking the kiss as you gasped for air, still trying to process what was happening in this moment.

"She doesn't desire us, we are not deserving, we apologize," he muttered, attempting to retreat, but you refused to release him. Instead, you delved into his thoughts, seeking the memories of this evening. You witnessed the presence of two men from the tavern, observing how Kar'niss consumed their blood before stumbling towards your tent. It finally dawned on you: he was drunk, completely and utterly inebriated, without any restrictions, fear or doubt holding his true self back, baring his vulnerability to you.

The irony of the situation amused you; amidst all the trials you had faced, being trapped beneath an intoxicated drider who held affection for you was definitely an unexpected turn of events. With the connection severed, Kar'niss playfully nudged your cheek with his nose, demanding your undivided attention once more.

"We saw your memories too", he whispered, "secret glances, racing pulse, concealed thoughts."

Your eyes widened in shock and fear, realising that he had rummaged through your mind as well, finding feelings you'd planned to keep hidden.

"You desire us-me, you desire me", his voice sounded so fragile in this moment, "despite this curse, shattered, undeserving, ugly, you desire me."

His lips quivered as he tried to grasp onto your feelings for him, his heart aching as it experienced the love and desire it believed it would never feel again. You pulled him closer to you, your lips meeting his in a more intense kiss this time. Kar'niss moaned, feeling your hips pressing against his, your connection reigniting, both of your desires intertwining in a flawless symphony of lust. His hands delicately caressed your body, as if afraid that his sharp claws might accidentally tear your skin. Moans of pleasure escaped from your mouth, occasionally muffled by his passionate kisses, as you felt something firm pressing against your clothed arousal. Your curiosity led your eyes to glance downwards, where you noticed a long hard skin coloured member nestled between two plates, just above the point where his drow and spider forms merged. A question formed in your mind, but before you could ask, he released you from his embrace and moved away. 

"We were her ultimate failure, condemned to this existence, never to experience love, yet burdened with desires and the potential for intimacy", tears streamed down his face as he revealed the truth. You focused on flooding his mind with your love for him, the deep affection you held, and the burning cravings to be with him in his current form. Looking into his eyes, you severed the connection with one final statement: she was mistaken, I desire every part of you.

Perhaps it was the lingering influence of the alcohol or the consequence of the emotional barrier finally shattering completely, but it awakened a primal desire within Kar'niss. A wild instinct overtook his entire being as he pounced on you, violently tearing your garments apart with his razor-sharp claws. Before you could even process a fleeting moment of sadness for yet another piece of clothing shuffled off this mortal coil, his hardened length pressed against your wet folds. Your gaze shot upward, witnessing Kar'niss losing himself in the throes of pleasure. His many eyes shut tight, his mouth agape, and his tongue flicking over his lips as a deep growl reverberated from deep within his chest. The scene before you was captivating, etching itself into the depths of your being. A resounding moan escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily bucked, causing him to slide effortlessly inside you.

More moans escaped your lips, blending with the passionate cries of his name as he stretched and filled you entirely. Both of you gasped for breath and remained motionless for a brief moment, relishing in the sensation of being so perfectly intertwined with both your minds and bodies. Kar'niss slurred unintelligible words, his eight legs struggling to support him as one arm wrapped around you, pulling you close against his body. With great effort, he managed to stand up, still burried deep inside you, but the intoxication was still taking a toll on his coordination and he stumbled forward. Barely avoiding the nearby tent, his other hand slammed against a tree trunk for stability, causing your back to collide with the rough bark. The sudden movement caused Kar'niss to slide even deeper inside you, evoking a shared groan of pleasure. Your inner walls tightened around him, on the brink of orgasm from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Desiring more of him, your fingers curled around his neck, drawing him in for a passionate kiss. Your tongue eagerly explored his mouth, intensifying the connection between you. Kar'niss's body moved with a swiftness that surpassed his thoughts, struggling to grasp the euphoric situation he found himself in. His hips immediately began thrusting into you at a brutal pace. His heart threatened to burst from his chest as exhaustion spread through his body, yet every fiber of his being was determined to persist. Eventually, his legs trembled and gave way, causing both of you to collapse onto the tent, tearing it down in the process. In a desperate attempt to maintain balance, Kar'niss's claws slid off and left deep marks in the tree bark. However, neither of you cared about the chaos surrounding you as he continued to ravish you relentlessly while you moaned loud enough for all of Faerûn to hear you. In between panting breaths, Kar'niss uttered your name as his length twitched inside you as he filled you with his seed. With two final thrusts, he pulled out just before your own orgasm consumed you.

You were about to huff in protest when he forcefully pinned you to the ground, growling fiercely before he settled between your legs and his tongue eagerly began to flick at your clit. Your mind spun as you felt him suck on you, his tongue delving deep into your entrance to lick up the mingling of your fluids with his own.

"Gooooood....moooore", he mumbled against your wetness before sucking at your clit once more.

You could feel your climax approaching rapidly again and just as you were about to reach it, he thrust two of fingers inside you, pushing you right over the edge of pleasure. You cried out his name, your hands grasping onto his hair as your legs twitched and trembled. Kar'niss chuckled softly, gently lifting you up and stumbling unsteadily towards his web in the trees. He settled down, cradling you in his arms, ensuring your safety so you wouldn't fall.

You couldn't recall the exact moment you drifted off to sleep, but as you awakened to the animated discussions of two awfully familiar voices, it dawned on you that you were not inside your tent and the sun had already risen. Startled, you bolted upright, oblivious to the fact that you were entangled in a spider's web among the branches. Without warning, you tumbled forward, nearly letting out a scream until an arm swiftly caught you, pulling you back against a comforting form. When you turned your head, you discovered Kar'niss nestled in the web, still sound asleep while holding you tightly with a contented smile on his face. As you glanced down, you noticed Gale and Astarion standing by your tent. Gale appeared visibly agitated, gesticulating wildly, until the pale elf's eyes met yours, his face adorned with a self-satisfied grin.

"Oh I know exactly what kind of animal went on a rampage here last night", the vampire chuckled, "but rest assured, she is not present. It is likely that she slept elsewhere and will join us shortly at the tavern."

"How can you be so certain?", Gale huffed, crossing his arms.

"Gale, darling, I simply know", Astarion smirked, taking Gale's arm and leading him back to the village.

As they walked away, Astarion turned his head one last time to wink at you. It was clear that this day was going to be a tedious one, filled with questions you had no desire to answer.

Tags:

@orionspaperwork

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it. 

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details. 

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost. 

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch. 

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter. 

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow. 

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace. 

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better. 

It had been a long few months. 

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days. 

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth. 

Hell, he really must be tired. 

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough. 

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home. 

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks. 

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before. 

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face. 

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly? 

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful. 

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one. 

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.” 

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow. 

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech. 

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?” 

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office. 

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer. 

All of it is uneventful. 

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three. 

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.  

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.” 

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top. 

‘Save for Simon.’ 

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly. 

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet. 

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine. 

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen. 

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”  

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.” 

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.” 

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home. 

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily. 

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second. 

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.” 

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper. 

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points. 

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened. 

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?” 

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression. 

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…” 

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception. 

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two. 

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it. 

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision. 

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?” 

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?” 

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe? 

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul. 

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away. 

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up. 

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt. 

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life. 

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce

[spnbabe67]

I'm Right Here

Kinktober Day 18: Fluffy Sex (D.W)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, PiV, Dorkiness

Summary: Part Two to Come And Do It For Me. Otherwise known as Dean's homecoming

Word Count: 1475

Authors Note: Title inspired by the song Right Here by Chase Atlantic

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature @

Tori never slept well when Dean was away. The bed felt too big, like the mattress and comforter were going to manifest into jaws and swallow her whole. She got too cold too easily, without Dean as her built-in space heater the chill of the concrete bunker seeped through every crack in the blankets, absorbing into her skin until she was shivering. And then there were the nightmares. Ghastly and unsettling, the faces of the people she’d lost on hunts, the people possessed by demons that they were too late to save, the near death experiences. She often woke up in a cold sweat, hearth thundering in her chest faster than a hummingbird's wings, disoriented from the pure darkness of the bedroom. The event in and of itself wasn’t new, and wasn’t awful. Tori struggled with night terrors long before getting into hunting, seeing monsters before she even knew they were real. What was nerve wracking was waking up to images of Dean dead or dying in horrific ways burned into the inside of her eyelids, and then reaching for him beside her only to grasp cold sheets.

It was part of the reason she stuffed Dean’s pillow, drowned in his cologne, into one of his flannels, worn soft from use. Tori had wrapped her arms around it, snuggling into it as she drifted off to sleep. It was nowhere near as good as the real thing, but it would do for the last night Dean and Sam would be away. Dean had texted her that afternoon that they were on the way back, but probably wouldn’t be arriving back at the Bunker until midmorning the following day. One more night. He might as well have told her it would be another week. But Tori put on a brave face, telling Dean to drive safe and to come home to her in one piece. 

Tori tucked herself into their bed, nuzzling her face into her makeshift body pillow, wrapping her entire body around it, hoping and praying that the sleep gods would be kind to her. She let Hypnos welcome her with open arms, falling into a relatively dream-free slumber, nothing but warm, inky darkness enveloping her. The bliss was short lived, however, as she could feel herself toeing the line between wakefulness and sleep. She tossed and turned, unable to stay comfortable. Each time she felt herself starting to drift off into that deeper level of unconsciousness, her leg would start to itch under the cast, or her arm would start to go numb or that one tiny hair curled just right at the base of her neck and made it feel like something was skittering across her skin.

Eventually her psyche evened out, bobbing along the waves of unconsciousness like a dinghy on the open ocean; it wasn’t the deepest sleep, but she wasn’t awake either. Somewhere deep in her consciousness mind she registered the safe feeling she associated with Dean sweep over her, instantly soothing her restlessness. Tori reached out to that soothing energy, feeling it smooth over her. It was like he was here, she could almost feel his warm body next to hers. Wait. Tori blinked sleepily, slowly registering that her pillow she thought that she’d been sleeping against was way too warm for an inanimate object. 

“De?” Tori mumbled.

She felt that rush of exhilaration as she felt, truly, not in a dream, felt Dean’s hand smooth up and down her arm. 

“I’m right here, Sweetheart.” His low timbre resonated in his chest right next to Tori’s ear. 

She blinked, wide awake now. Tori sat up. “Dean? What’re you-You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow!” 

Tori didn’t let Dean get a word in edgewise, leaning over to greedily press her lips to his. He chuckled against her lips and Tori felt him slide a hand down to her waist, hugging her tenderly to his chest. 

“I didn’t text you until we were halfway home already.” Dean said between kisses, both of them letting their hands wander all over each others bodies. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Tori giggled as Dean’s fingers ghosted over her side, having slid under the t-shirt she had been wearing. “Well, mission accomplished.” 

Tori let her hands explore, testing and feeling to see if Dean was hurt, but her poking and prodding didn’t yield any tender areas. She smiled against his mouth as Dean, who must have been fed up with her doing an impromptu physical exam, pinned her hands above her head. 

“I’m fine. Sammy is a little worse for wear.” Dean placed a kiss to the junction of her jaw and neck. “But I’m fine. Came home in one piece, just like you requested.”

“Mm,” Tori hummed, arching her chest upwards to him, seeking his touch. “You better have, mister.”

Dean nipped at her neck in response, his other hand sliding to her hip, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Tori knew that he knew that she meant well. Dean had a tendency to play down any injuries he had in a chivalrous, although misguided, attempt to protect her. She knew he knew she wasn’t some fragile porcelain doll to be set up on a shelf away from their reality. 

“Just get down here and love me already.” Tori tried to pull her hands, still held captive by Deans, away from his grasp in an attempt to touch him again. 

“As you wish.” Dean smiled against her tummy as he let go of her wrists in favor of pushing her t-shirt up her body, pressing a kiss just above her navel.

“God you are such a nerd.” Tori laughed breathlessly as she helped him tug her shirt off, squealing as he pinched her side.

“You love it.” He nipped at the vulnerable skin on the underside of her breast as he worked his way back up her body. 

“I-” Tori pulled Dean’s shirt off too before kissing him sloppily. “I really do. I love it when you talk nerdy to me.”

They both snorted at her joke as Dean pulled away to remove his jeans. “God I love you.”

Tori’s nose crinkled as she smiled up at him, shimmying out of her borrowed boxers. Her heart swelled as Dean ran a hand up her injured leg, touch so tender around her cast. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss over the plaster, trailing his lips higher and higher up the top of her thigh. He stopped at her hipbone to place a kiss over her own anti-possession tattoo that was inked into her olive skin there before migrating back up her body. 

“I missed you, Beautiful.” Dean murmured into her mouth as he nudged against her entrance. 

Tori wrapped her arms around him, letting him settle nearly his full weight atop her as he worked himself into her. She loosely threaded her fingers through his hair, hissing through her teeth at that delicious stretch of him. 

“Missed you too, De.” Tori sloppily kissed him, wrapping her legs around his waist as he ground his hips into her. 

Tori tipped her head back as Dean mouthed at her neck. His hand creeped up her arm, pinning her hand to the bed beside her head, his fingers laced into hers. Tori wrapped her fingers around his as she moaned, that gentle pull low in her belly slowly gaining traction. She squeezed her thighs around his waist, bucking her hips up to meet his movements, feeling that sweet sensation of his pubic bone against her clit. The weight of him on top of her was so incredibly grounding, satiating a craving for him she’d been fighting for days. He’s here. Right here. He’s okay. The reassurance played in her head like a broken record as Dean lovingly kissed her, smoothing a hand up and down her thigh hooked high on his hip. It was like he knew the train of thought chugging it’s way through her psyche. 

“That’s it, Sweetheart. Let it go, let go for me.” Dean uttered quietly, his own moans spurring her on as much as him rutting into her. 

Tori moaned shakily as she came around him, her thighs shaking against his body, inner walls clenching around him, triggering his own release. She shuddered as Dean moaned lowly in her ear, spilling his cum inside her. When Dean made to move off her, Tori held fast, keeping him on top of her, his head resting on her chest. 

Tori could feel herself growing sleepy, lazily carding her fingers through his hair, letting her nails occasionally scratch against his scalp. “I never realized how quiet the Bunker is without you and Sam here.” 

Dean looked up at her from where he’d been tracing small patterns on her arm. “You sayin’ were loud?” 

Tori tugged on his hair. “Shut up.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart.”

[thewertsearch]

You are consumed by murderous thoughts and you prepare to embark on a killing spree to end all oh for fuck's sake you start thinking about dog things again.

There's a lot of Bec in there. I guess it's not all that surprising, given the sheer power of what he is - the clown, cat and crow are probably all but drowned out by the light of the Green Motherfucking Sun.

Come to think of it, this is also a chance to gain some insight into Bec's psyche. Maybe, if we examine Jack's new motivations, we'll be able to understand what made that doggy tick.

You successfully suppress all thoughts of delicious little wrapped wieners and infuriating things like mail and its agents of delivery. But in the process you awaken your deepest and darkest feelings of all. Feelings of... Loyalty?

OR MAYBE I’LL JUST CRY. MAYBE I’LL DO THAT.

And it is surely why you couldn't go through with it. You could not do it. You could not kill the girl.

One lucky break after another. He can't harm Jade, he can't find John, and I think he'll have trouble with Dave, too, since his loops grant him predestination-flavored plot armor. Jack has no way of knowing which Dave is the most recent, so he's statistically a lot more likely to attack a past Dave, whose survival is Alpha-mandated.

That only leaves Rose - holed up in a library somewhere, and about to be enshrouded in an eldritch blackout, which doesn't sound easy to hunt in. I believe the Horrorterrors have business with her, and I don't think they'll want anyone interfering.

None of the kids are particularly vulnerable, so Jack can't go on the Player-killing spree he obviously wants to. All he can really do is destroy vital Sburb infrastructure, and murder beloved Guardians - which obviously isn't great, but is still an improvement on what we had before.

I just wish the kids were aware of this, since Jack's Becification is the most valuable intel we've heard all day. I didn’t think someone so single-minded would have psychological weaknesses to exploit, but now we’re in business. We have options.

For example: could we bait him with some radioactive steak?

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster 8

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter Warnings: SMUT A/N: So... I did a sneaky in this chapter. First one to guess correctly gets a 500 word Sandman drabble (you can give me a prompt or let me go wild - your choice). This is the biggest tender!fuck I've ever seen. Like damn. It's an important beat between chapter arcs, and there are some themes/hints ya'll should really take note of. For reasons. All I want for my birthday are comments, my dears! <3 Thank you for your ongoing support.

8. Seal

What happened?

Creeping out of the fog, she swept together the distant pieces of her waking mind, looking for a thought, or a plan, or…

What happened?

She’d had a wonderful dream. Safe. Warm. Happy. If she could fall back asleep and drop back into that place – those arms – she would, but a sleeping mind never followed the same course. She was waking, and it was over.

But she didn’t remember going to bed.

That was all right. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten drunk or collapsed after days without sleep. Not a problem.

But –

She hadn’t set her wards.

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand sprang out, reaching for the bag of black salt she always kept near her bed in the van. Anything could come, anything could already be there. As she jerked to consciousness, full of half-remembered terror – the mirror, the unseelie, her skin, the dress – long fingers caught her flailing hand. They wove seamlessly between her own, pulling her attention down to starry eyes. Soft lips pressed to her knuckles, calling her back from the brink of delirium.

“All is well.” Morpheus’ thumb rubbed along her throbbing pulse, distracting her from her panic with tactile affection. He read the beat as her memory settled, as she recalled where she was and what they’d shared. He must have felt the spiking rhythm, too, judging by his smirk.

He was beautiful. And definitely naked under the grey silk sheets that gathered over his waist.

She licked her lips, at a loss for words as the butterflies she thought she’d banished sprang back to life in her stomach.

“Hello.”

Yes. Excellent. Definitely the most romantic greeting after waking up for the first time in a lover’s bed. In her fucking eldritch soulmate’s apparent love nest, actually. So far as she could tell, they weren’t even in a room. She could see him easily, but beyond the place where they were lying, she could only see vague, bushy shapes that could’ve been clouds or trees. Lights flickered in them. Maybe stars. Possibly fireflies.

No visible exits. Not even a floor, in fact.

Though it wasn’t like she was in a rush to leave.

“Hello.”

Following his gentle tug, she sank back to rest on her side, facing him.

He was so beautiful. She’d already thought it, but damn if it wasn’t worth thinking twice. With his disheveled raven hair and self-satisfied expression, he looked at least half as debauched as she felt.

Which reminded her.

Oh shit.

She was naked, too.

Her free hand moved towards the sheets that had fallen all the way to her thighs when she sat up, but his disapproving pout made her second guess herself.

Covering bare skin was instinctual. Especially after everything she’d suffered in –

No, no. Not thinking of that. She physically shook her head to banish the flashes of pain and fear trying to manifest.

She was safe. She was happy. Her Dream was real, and she could be vulnerable with him in this world apart. Nothing would hunt her here. Nothing would dare. He would avenge and protect her.

Carefully, consciously, she let her hand drift from the sheets, and Morpheus smiled in the wake of her decision.

“My love,” he purred, looping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, “I want you.”

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing under her ear and finding new places her blood pounded under her skin. She found herself trying to remember language, how to speak in anything but sighs. Prince of Stories. Right. Whatever. Prince of Carnal Brainmelt more like. He made it impossible to think, working little bites over her flesh as he continued his eager assault, leaving her squirming, and desperate, and tongue-tied.

Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt them burning far below her skin. Below flesh and bone. Stars were only cold because of their distance, and she was much too close to see them as anything but suns. She knew it was reckless to look, to stare back and let the heat blind her, but…

She couldn’t pull away now, even if she wanted to. He didn’t need prison bars and pansies to trap her.

Panting, she finally strung together an answer. “I want you, too.”

Her words brought him back to her lips, and he wasted no time licking into her mouth, sharing his heated groans. One hand slipped around to cradle her head. The one he’d used to reel her in crept down, brushing along her waist, squeezing her hip, and settling on her thigh. Strong fingers pulled her leg over his hip, and she groaned back into their kiss as his clear desire brushed her clit.

He didn’t press, only dragging himself through her folds as he explored her mouth. When she stopped for breath, he kissed under her chin, palm flexing just over her knee. She writhed with his slow strokes, enjoying the moment but far from satisfied.

“I need you.” Kissing his brow, his cheek, his lips, she sang her yearning. “I need you, Morpheus.”

Her words found him and burned the way his eyes flamed in her soul. She saw them kindling in his gaze as he pulled away to watch her face, swallowing every flicker of expression as he teased her entrance. And pushed inside.

The world hummed.

It was all beginnings and endings and discoveries. Dream was himself, and she was with him.

He moved so slowly, and she clung tight, shaking as the pleasure built with the inexorable pace of sunrise. Clutching his shoulder, his back, she fought to keep breathing, to keep her head above water as he pushed and pulled inside. Gods. He’d drown her, and she’d gladly find death here in his arms.

“You asked what I want.” He wasn’t as helpless to his physical manifestation as she was to her human body, but his rough voice proved how she affected him, and a sunburst of pride glowed in her breast. “Perhaps I was dishonest with myself. I want the measure of your dreams and your waking hours, too.”

He hunted for her fear, waiting for the golden moment to snap under the weight of his confession. His searching eyes flicked over hers, desperate but guarded. She didn’t know what to say. If she could say anything. But she wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t threatening her – this was an invitation. And she could only invite him back, let him feel the truths she couldn’t name yet.

Her hands settled on his face, trying to soothe the needles of anxiety, his anticipated despair. She offered more kisses, pulling at his lips, welcoming and reciprocating each touch in an effort to reach deeper. Too feel even more.

His grip on her thigh tightened, and he rolled half over her, leaving his sedate, almost drowsy lovemaking behind. Still tender, but openly needy, he picked up speed, using the new angle to his advantage.

She thought she’d been breathless before – fuck.

“I want… a life. A story. You.” He was begging. Commanding. On the cusp of claiming his own dream.

He didn’t take. He shared. They gave and met in true union, tasting elements beyond bodies to melt through time embrace destiny. A snare of their wyrds. A welcome loss wrapped in discovery.

Her heart would burst. There wasn’t enough of her to hold the love for something so vast as her monster, her Morpheus, and as he hiked her leg even higher on his waist, she grabbed him by the hair. She needed him. She needed his kiss, his breath, or she’d fall apart. He obliged, but she knew she’d go to pieces regardless.

As his thrusts grew more erratic, she broke.

The most exquisite destruction.

He pushed as deep as he could reach as she pulled out his own end, but he didn’t give her space to breathe. Rolling again so she was half draped – entirely boneless – over his chest, he kept his defiantly hard length inside. She’d have rest, but no peace.

Stroking her hair, he murmured into the crown of her head, “Stay, my love. I’m not ready to let you go.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

Warnings: Sexual situations

When Rick noticed Daryl lagging behind after a couple more hours, he made the call to set up camp. You had expected tents and at least blankets but what you got were bedrolls and jackets. Daryl had told you to sit tight while he went hunting and Rick was setting up a perimeter. 

You watched the other man with naked curiosity. You had no experiences with the dead, having been taken by Big Jazz just before the outbreak. You hadn’t even seen a walker in person. It was easy to decipher what the string and cans were supposed to accomplish. Perhaps if you studied these men enough, you’d be able to defend yourself should the need arise. 

For now, you supposed, you’d just stay perched on that log and wait for Daryl to return. You could use the time to psych yourself up for alone time with the archer. You weren’t as good as the other girls at interpreting what customers wanted, but you usually came pretty close with a few adjustments. 

Daryl was quiet and attentive. He probably liked a loud lover. One that would let him know he was making them feel good. He wouldn’t want to be called daddy if he disliked sir so vehemently. He liked being in control. He had taken the initiative to purchase you, ignoring Rick’s hesitance but you just had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t mind relinquishing that control on occasion, if for nothing more than a reprieve. 

Tonight, you’d just present yourself to him and let him do as he pleased. He probably wanted to reprimand you for all your earlier misconduct and providing the full canvas would possibly save him from explaining himself to Rick, as long as you could keep the bruises hidden. 

Thinking of being naked in front of him made your stomach flip. Men had been disappointed with your body before. Hopefully, you could convince him that you were worth keeping based on your performance alone. 

You flinched when there came movement to your right, Daryl stalking in from the shadows with a few squirrels held by the tails. You’d never had squirrel before. There were a lot of things you’d never had but especially now when most depended on hunting or scavenging to survive, you had missed out. You had been fed instant oatmeal, protein bars, and sometimes dog food for the past however long it had been. 

Daryl borrowed Rick’s knife, having offered his own up in trade for you. The guilt you felt hit you like a ton of bricks but you forced it down in favor of watching him work to prepare the meal. Each slice, each pull was done with a practiced precision. It was morbidly hypnotic, but soon there sticks through the rodents and they were being roasted over the fire on a makeshift spit. 

Daryl was sitting across from you with Rick at his side. Each of them was engrossed in something: Rick with a map and Daryl with the bolts from his crossbow. Focused as he was, you would look up to see him staring at you over the flames. You were quick to avert your gaze so as not to offend him any more than you already had that day. 

The silence continued until the food was ready to eat, Rick smiling and patting the archer on the shoulder in thanks. Then Daryl stood and made his way over to you, offering you one of the skewers. 

“Thank you, Sir.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast while accepting the meat. He didn’t go back to where he had been, actually choosing to sit a little closer to you on your right. The food didn’t really have a smell other than just—meat. Still, your mouth watered. Holding the skewer over your lap, you waited for Daryl to finish eating, which didn’t take long. Had the situation been different, you might have laughed at his lack of decorum. 

“Ya just gonna stare at it or what?” He finally said around a mouthful. You blinked at him, hoping he’d get the message without you needing to remind him. You hadn’t openly told him earlier. He had told you to eat and drink without explanation. 

“She’s waitin’ for you to say it’s okay.” Rick offered, placing his own empty skewer on the ground next to his leg. 

Daryl’s lip curled, his brows drawn inward. “Gave it to ya, didn’t I? What else would I wantcha to do with it?”

Though you were skeptical of that being actual consent, you eagerly picked off a piece of meat and popped it into your mouth. It was bland but not in a horrible way. So much better than dog food. With a quiet hum of approval, you dug in, raising the skewer to your mouth to rip bites right off the source. 

“I think she likes it.” Rick chuckled, watching you with a gentle smile. 

When you noticed both men looking at you, the stick was lowered and you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand with a mumbled apology. 

“S’fine. Just eat, would ya? No one here gives a shit how ya do it.” Daryl tossed his empty skewer and wiped his palms on his thighs, no longer interested in you at all. “I got first watch.” He said, leaning back against the tree behind him. Rick nodded and rolled the top of his bedroll down in a makeshift pillow before stretching out on it. 

“Wake me when you get tired.” He yawned and shifted until his back faced you. 

That left just you and Daryl, and suddenly the squirrel meat wasn’t at all appetizing. After staring at it for probably much too long, you held it out to him. 

“Ya barely touched it.” He commented with a look that eerily resembled concern. 

“I, um—I don’t need much. It was really good though. Thank you, Sir.” It was hard to suppress a flinch when he stood but he bypassed you and crouched in front of his bag. 

“Give it ‘ere.” You placed the food onto his palm and watched with grand amounts of confusion as he pulled out a cloth and shook bread crumbs from it before he hastily pulled the skewer from the meat and wrapped it. “Ya can have it tomorrow if’n ya want. Or one’a us’ll eat it.”

You nodded, pulling your feet up onto the log and wrapping your arms around your shins. 

“Ya tired?”

Was it a trick question? “No, Sir.” I’m exhausted. 

Daryl closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

“Yes, Sir.” No. 

His blue eyes, warmed by the soft glow of the flames, narrowed and gave you a once over. “Fine. Ya can sleep on that when ya want.” He pointed to his own bedroll as he stood, going back to his tree in two long strides. 

You were so utterly confused. Did he not want to fuck you? You risked a glance at him to find him staring off into the darkness over where Rick lay sleeping. You didn’t understand what he meant for you to do. Maybe you had it all wrong and he needed you to take control? The thought terrified you. You had done it before when customers asked but to initiate it without express permission seemed dangerous. 

So, you waited. 

Just as before, you would find him watching you when you chanced a look in his direction. His expression was unreadable. And so it continued like that well into the night, until you were fighting to keep your eyes open. 

That’s when he stood. 

Your back straightened, your body reacting, ready and as willing as you could be to do what he wanted. 

“Gonna take a piss. Won’t be but a minute.” He said lowly, watching you for another moment before he disappeared into the darkness. 

You stared at the spot where the shadows had swallowed him and waited, still nervous and unsure. True to his word, he emerged only a moment later, fastening his belt as he walked. He stepped over the perimeter line and headed straight for the tree to assume the same position as before, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles with his back against the tree. 

Surely, he was waiting for you. Things might even turn out worse for you if you withheld from him much longer. 

With a sigh, you stood, taking small steps over to him and lowering to your knees next to his legs. He watched you with a curious expression but said nothing. Steeling your nerves to calm the nausea that attempted to bring up the squirrel, you threw one leg over his thighs to straddle him and began to unbutton the shirt he had given you. 

“Whoa, hey! The fuck ya doin’?” He pressed himself impossibly closer to the tree, his hands up as if in surrender. When you were finally brave enough to meet his eyes, you found them wide and full of panic. Not kindness, but panic. 

“I thought—” You blinked at him, your small fingers frozen on the buttons of the shirt. “Don’t you want to fuck me now?” 

If his eyes got any wider, they would pop out of his skull. “What?! That—that ain’t what this is!” He had yet to move, same as you. For a few more uncomfortable moments, you simply stared at one another before he cleared his throat. “Could ya get offa me?”

You did move then, scrambling back to your log in clumsy motions. “Did I—do something wrong, Sir?” He was purposefully keeping his eyes off of you. 

“Ya should get some sleep.” He stood quickly and grabbed his crossbow, stopping to speak over his shoulder. “Gonna check the perimeter.”

You opened your mouth but closed it just as quickly while he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you turned back to the fire, buttoning the shirt back up. What had just happened? 

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

107 is key to shining a light on Ed’s psyche. He cannot cope with the treasure hunt. Ed’s attitude isn’t simply due to his hatred of the unpredictability of nature, or going against a carefully-curated persona. His psychology doesn’t understand the lack of measurable endgame, and it’s compounding his stress further. People who have known true hunger don’t waste time and energy wandering the earth with fake maps searching for pretend treasures.

Ed only starts to relax properly when he believes he’s found the day’s ‘angle’. And of course it involves both food and a money-making idea. Whilst eating the snake, Ed begins freestyling about becoming a chef in his own restaurant. I’ve mentioned previously how Ed’s traumatic past causes him to want to place extrinsic value on things. He can’t simply enjoy eating the snake. It’s how could I make money from this? It grows in the moment, and allows Ed the comfort of giving the day purpose, thinking up a future idea outside of piracy, and around food.

Of course, Ed later learns there was an angle to the day after all: him

[coltishcaterpillar]

Unmasked / Platonic!Alastor x Teen! Daughter Reader

Chapter II: Sneaking Suspicion

Summary:

After reading over thirty-one entries, three disturbing pages are brought to light….or the darkness, depending on how Emily wants to look at it.

WARNING: This entire chapter (and probably the next one) depicts a very disturbed, traumatized, paranoid child (who is you, the reader.), who has just lost the person she loved most in the world. A HUGE deterioration in her psyche is seen here.

Look out for: Murder, Mental Illness, Paranoia, Anxiety, Delusions, Cannibalism, etc….

November 12th, 1933

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, my dear diary. Please, Jesus, please help me find my way back, I’m…I’m shaking relentlessly and the monsters at night won’t leave me alone.

My Pa….he’s not come home in three weeks. I know he will never open that door again, but I wish he would just one last time.

It started with a simple hunting trip. I saw him bringing a large trash bag over his shoulder whilst he was going out, and I just assumed it held his gun and other necessities.

A few hours later, people heard gunshots go off in the area he hunted and now he’s…..

When they opened the bag they found another mangled body….and concluded that my Papa was the serial killer terrorizing New Orleans since 1922.

No, he couldn’t have done anything of the sort. He was a good man. PAPA was a good man. He was. He is.

I read it in the papers…nobody wants to see me anymore. I’ve tried contacting everyone I knew and loved, and they told me to never set foot on their property again, they thought I was involved in this hellish situation!

Anne, James, Elbert, Carol, Mr. Devereaux, Charlotte, Martin…..EVERYBODY has abandoned me!

I wanted to desperately contact Grandma, so I wrote her a series of letters. Her caretaker wrote me a letter back that she went into shock after finding out Pa died, and she’s….well, she’s in Heaven now too.

I just turned sixteen, please. I need my Papa back….my Grandma….

I’ve been in the house surviving off of scraps. I’m afraid to leave again; I don’t want to be shot, I don’t want people coming after me because of what my Papa allegedly did. I’ve lost so much weight, I’m tired, I feel sick….

I’m not ready to be a woman, to grow up, quite yet. I grew up taking things for granted; I thought I would have my family and friends for life. How will I find a job? Will anybody take me in? Can I find a new family?

I’m still here, I’m still here, my dear friend. My beautiful…I’ve not lost my mind, not yet. I’m not crazy, am I? No, no….I’m just….going through some traumatic moments!

I’m hungry….

My stomach is hurting so bad, I’m perspiring and my toes are curled…I need more food. I’ve eaten nearly everything, I have no money to purchase anything else…

Every time it growls, there’s a new tang of pain….

Papa, you would never….you’re a good man, Pa. I love you, I’ll always love you….

Oh, it all makes sense now! Why you never wanted me to see what you brought home, why you were always out late, why you were so secretive…oh, Pa, why didn’t you tell me?! I…I would’ve….contacted the authorities.

Which is what you didn’t want.

I HATE YOU, YOU FUCKING DEMON! HOW DARE YOU BRING THIS UPON ME AND GRANDMA, I HOPE YOU ROT YOU SICK, TWISTED, SORRY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN-

I miss your kisses and your hugs, Pa. Please….please come back. At least tell me where your grave is so I can hug your body one last time….I’ve never wanted to hear your voice more, whether it be in real life or the radios, please!

Oh my god, what are we having for dinner? I’m starving, Pa….

I have a headache, Pa….please give me some medicine to ease the pain…..

I need you, I need somebody. Anybody. Please….

I never want to see you again. If I ever see you again after this lifetime I will do everything in my power to slaughter you a second time for all the pain that you’ve caused….

I’m going to take a breather soon, my dear friend. I need to let off some steam. I’m….I just need to find an energy source. I’ll be back, I promise.

——————————————

November 13th, 1933

Oh, I’ve found something to eat, finally. It didn’t taste as terribly as I thought, and in fact, it tasted similar to how you cooked our meat, Pa. So tender….so, so, tender…..

The gangster didn’t even see it coming. I don’t think he liked me, he was looking at me like I did something wrong. I hushed him, hushed him well, and said,

“No, no, sir. Why are you giving me that look?? I’m only hungry! I’m just trying to survive! Please don’t let me starve!”

I hated that gaze. That look on his face made me feel like a monster, like I wasn’t justified in my action to cut him into tiny little pieces-

Pa, it’s just like you used to make. I never knew how…similar the meat tasted until now. Why did you do that? To so many innocent people….this man was not innocent, Pa. He was part of a cartel, I was doing this world a favour!

I feel better, I think. My stomach feels more satisfied than it has in days.

I don’t feel any better, though. I just…I just ate somebody….

I don’t know what to do! How is….how is his family going to react when they find this out?! I….I caused him pain, so much pain….

But I need more. I want to live….I have so much goodness to offer to the world, I promise I can be better! I’m not usually like this! I promise to make you proud! To make everybody proud…like I’ve always tried to do!

I know how much I was lacking in performance, I’ve never been cut out for the big leagues, but I am positive I can amount to something! If this world will give me a chance, I’ll be the best version of myself I can ever be. I can, I can! You always said I could do anything I put my mind to, I can do this. I can still be a happy girl and young woman, I can still grow up, I can make new friends. Perhaps I’ll move? Yes, maybe that’s a good idea…

I miss you. I miss Grandma, I miss our talks. The things you would do with me…how you used to sing to me when I was scared of the monsters under my bed, our weekly theatre nights; we’d always go to see Charlie Chaplin, that was your favourite; and it grew to be mine too.

I miss how close we were to each other. We were like….we were like two peas in a pod. We couldn’t be one without the other.

1917, was the year of my birth. How well do you remember picking me up that day? When I was alone, cold, nearly dead…in a dumpster? You saved me.

That’s why….I don’t want to believe you did those things, Papa. I don’t. I have a very strong sense of morality, you know that. I….I can’t fathom you ever being capable of something like that.

I…I don’t think I knew you, Papa. You…

You betrayed me.

Everybody was right, you know. The suspicions people had about you. Anne…she always talked about you with a certain look of fear in her eyes, and I always made the time to defend you to anybody who ever judged.

How was it, that the only person who never saw the signs, was me? The person who lived with you for sixteen years?

Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.

And now look at what you’ve done. You’ve killed a part of me…you killed Grandma; your mother! I was supposed to meet her up for tea a few days after your death, but time had beaten me to it. What ever will I do, without your love?

I miss you, Pa. And I love you, so very much. But you better pray to the devil himself; that I do not die for another five decades. I won’t be able to hold myself back…from hurting you. And I’ll hurt you bad.

To be hated….to be attacked by somebody you protected, nurtured, loved with all your heart….yes, that’s the pain I want to inflict on you. Your daughter, the person you’d kill for, turning against you.

I love you, Pa, I really do. But….a serial killer will never be somebody I bode well with.

———————

January 10th, 1934

I am sorry. For everything. It’s very frigid out here due to winter, and I’ve been camping outside for quite a while…I can’t feel my legs anymore.

To….anybody I may have scared or hurt, from the bottom of my heart, I am sorry.

[apocalypseornaw]

Very Unexpected

Sam Winchester x Reader

Follow up to Unexpected

Sam has his soul and now his memories back. You've been avoiding what happened between the two of you but with Dean's meddling the two of you finally face it.

You moved through Bobby's safe room, listening to the music flowing from your phone as you did an inventory list for him to see what all was there and what needed to be stocked up. You told yourself you were doing these small tasks to help Bobby but in reality it was to avoid a certain long legged hunter that was upstairs.

Every time you looked at Sam you felt a mixture of guilt and shame. Why hadn't you realized just how wrong he was when you'd spent days sharing a bed with him? Why had you been stupid enough to think it meant something? Of course he never would've crossed that line with you had he not been soulless.

Backing him and Dean on that Arachne hunt and seeing just how many women Sam had bedded in that town alone made you sneak away to the nearest clinic at the first chance. Luckily you tested clean. Why hadn't you at the very least made him use a condom?

What was worse than before when he didn't have the memories of his “gap year” as you and Dean had deemed it, was knowing he had his memories. What must he think of you? Especially considering he hadn't even attempted to mention it.

A few weeks had passed since he got his memories back and Cas healed the crack in his psyche. Unfortunately you and the boys had also started gravitating towards Bobby's any time a hunt wasn't going on so there was a lot of overlap. All of you were welcomed at Bobby's whenever and you loved seeing Dean, he was your best friend but seeing Sam made you feel so much you didn't want to.

—----------

A tap at the open door had you spinning around to face whoever it was. Dean stood just outside the doorway with a small smile “You need any help sweetheart?” You shrugged, he hadn't had an easy time either. He'd lost Lisa and Ben thanks to Samuel Campbell but that was an entirely different story.

“Want to check ammo?” You asked and he nodded “Yes ma'am”

The two of you fell into a silent rhythm and pretty soon the inventory was done and your excuse for avoiding Sam was gone. You stood outside the armory, resharpening a machete and Dean watched you for a second before nodding towards the ceiling “Something wrong between you and Sammy?”

You hung the machete up before cutting your eyes at him “Not that I know of, why?” He leveled you with a look “How many years have I known you? Plus I practically raised him” You shook your head “It's nothing important Dean. I promise. I think I'm just feeling guilty for not telling you he was back sooner”

He nodded but you knew he didn't fully believe you but you also knew he'd let it go for your sake “You know you can tell me right? Want me to kick his ass? Cause I will” you laughed “No ass kicking needed” he grinned “In that case, I was thinking movie night? Pizza and we make him and Bobby watch all the horror movies we love” you felt a smile slipping onto your face “Now you're speaking my language Winchester”

Sam heard you and Dean coming up the stairs and tried to act as if he hadn't been standing at the top of the stairs hoping to catch you alone for a second to talk. That seemed damn near impossible. The only time you weren't glued to Dean or hovering around Bobby was when you went to the bathroom,showered and slept.

—------------

He needed to talk to you about the memories from those days he spent with you in his arms that were driving him insane. From the moment he woke you up with you,Dean and Bobby hovering he'd known from the way you looked at him something had happened between you and him.

Then when that Arachne case had come up and he started connecting the dots of the women he'd slept with he could feel a wall slam up between the two of you and he'd had a feeling then what had happened. The wall came crashing down, memories flooding him of everything he'd done the year he was soulless along with memories of torture from the cage.

—----------------

Funny thing was that clinging to the memories of you helped him from getting completely washed under. The way you'd looked at him, the way you felt, fuck the way you'd tasted. It was everything he'd wanted for so long and never gave in to.

Once his memories had been restored and the crack healed he'd hoped you would bring it up, want to talk but instead you'd become scarce. Hell this was the first time in almost a month he and Dean had been at Bobby's with you for longer than a day without you hitting the road.

The two of you made it up to the hallway and you froze when your eyes met his but only for a second before you schooled your features and smiled “Movie night Sam. We're going on a snack run. Any requests?” He shook his head “I'll take whatever”

Dean rolled his eyes “Yeah we know Sammy” you laughed at the underlying joke considering Dean had been giving Sam hell about in his words “All the pent up years came out and he decided to whore it up soulless” if only Dean knew..

“I'll grab something if I think you'll like it” you promised then followed Dean out the door.

You were ordering the pizzas in the kitchen so Dean took the opportunity to bump Sam “What's up with you and her?”

Sam looked towards the kitchen then the stairs where Bobby was in the shower. “They're both busy. Now spill” Sam let out a breath “I don't know” “Bullshit. She tried telling me that. I have to let her by with a few white lies but c'mon man. It's getting hard to be under the same room as you two. Did you have a fight or something?”

“Or something” Sam scoffed and knew the moment Dean's eyes widened “You didn't” Sam groaned burying his face in his hands “I did. About five months after the fight between Lucifer and Michael”

Dean was quiet so Sam cut his eyes up at him. After a minute Dean shrugged “How was it?” “DUDE” they both glanced back towards the kitchen at Sam's outburst but you were still talking to the pizza place.

Dean looked back at Sam “You've had a thing for her for years. Oh she's so beautiful. She's such an amazing hunter. She's so smart. What's the issue?” Sam scrubbed a hand down his face “I spent three days fucking her around the same time I fucked my way through a town?”

Dean grimaced “Shit, wait three days? Didn't know ya had it in ya Sammy” he almost looked proud but then he looked back towards the kitchen “I've been making jokes” Sam nodded and Dean grimaced again “Fix it. Talk to her. We're all we got. We can't lose anyone else”

After the pizza was delivered Bobby ate then went to bed leaving you, Sam and Dean in the living room. You were curled up on one corner of the couch with your legs across Dean's lap as you watched nightmare on Elm Street.

Sam was in Bobby's recliner and didn't really seem to be paying attention to the movie but you could feel his eyes on you every now and then.

—----------

After two movies Sam stood up “I'm heading up” you looked from him to Dean “What about you?” Dean shrugged “We got two more movies sweetheart. They always tap first”

You both bid Sam goodnight then Dean started Candyman. After a few minutes he paused it and laid a hand on your ankles “Can we talk?” You raised an eyebrow “You're currently talking” he gave you that look so you grinned “Sorry. Go ahead”

He tilted his head, his jaw clenching and you knew he was trying to think of a way to approach whatever it was. You kicked your legs against his lightly “Just talk” he looked towards the stairs “He told me”

It took you just a minute to register before you were pulling the hoodie you had on up to cover your face, a groan escaping you “Why did he tell you? It's not that big a deal. We had sex a couple times. That was apparently nothing to him during that time”

Dean moved to pull the hoodie down so he could see your face “Ever think maybe you were before Arachne town? Or ever think maybe he had a thing for you before then?” You shook your head slowly “No, he didn't Dean. I mean yeah we kissed a couple times but that was it. What happened between us with him not having his soul…it was like a supernatural mickie. He didn't want me he just wanted a release”

“Or being soulless meant he wasn't worried you'd turn him down” you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and chewed it for breath before releasing it all the while really letting his words sink in. He never lied to spare your feelings. That was why you two were so close. “When did you get smart Winchester?” He laughed “Oh I just act this way sweetheart. Now please talk to him, he's doing that pouty thing and it's pathetic”

“Now?” You asked and he nodded “I'd bet clearing bodies solo on the next hunt he's still up” you shrugged “You're on” and shook his hand before throwing your legs off his lap and heading for the stairs.

Sam laid across the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as it slowly moved around. You would barely talk to him, no matter the fake smiles and niceties he knew was your effort to appear to act normal. He had no idea how to fix this if you wouldn't be alone around him.

He heard someone step on the creaky board in the hallway right before there was a knock on the door. “Yeah Dean?” He called out expecting his older brother to pop his head in but when the door cracked open your face came into view “Can I come in Sam?”

—--------------

Sam's eyes widened and you saw about a thousand emotions flash through them as he sat up, throwing his long legs off the bed. “Yeah, um sure, of course”

You gave him a slight smile as you shut the door behind you and walked over to the steamer trunk that was next to the bed and sat on it to face him. Once you were sitting down he ran a hand through his hair, something you knew was a nervous thing.

“Something wrong?” He asked after a breath. You slowly raised your eyes to meet his and smiled a bit more genuine “I think you know what's wrong. The damn elephant in the room is just going to keep growing if we don't talk about it”

—---------------

Ok, this was it. You, talking to him about what happened. So many different worries went through his mind at once. What if you hated him? It was clear you regretted it. A flash of you underneath him, body nearly folded in half as he slammed into you went through his mind and a brand new worry took front and center. What if he had hurt you?

He was a bigger guy, in strength and other areas as well. Fuck, why hadn't he considered that before now? He looked down at his hands, staring at them and god help his traitorous brain all he could think about was how they'd looked on your body, wrapped around your neck.

“Please tell me I didn't hurt you” he finally spoke. When he slowly raised his gaze you were watching him, a look of confusion on your beautiful face before you laughed, a short bark of a sound “You mean physically? God no Sam. Even soulless you asked before you did anything and checked in with me more than once to make sure I was enjoying myself”

That was a relief but you'd said no to physically meaning he had indeed hurt you. You took a deep breath before continuing “Mentally it messed me up. I wanted to believe it meant more to you than it did. Years of wanting you… then came having to hide it so I wasn't the scratch at the wall then Arachne town happened and I was slapped in the face with the reality that it'd truly just been sex to you. Amazing, mind blowing, toe curling, wet dream inspiring sex but still just that”

“Mind blowing huh?” He teased and you rolled your eyes, a smirk slipping onto his face “Of course that's what you'd hear out of that” he patted the bed next to him “Come here, please”

—------------

You took a deep breath then walked over to sit next to Sam, leaving enough room you could turn to face him with your legs tucked under you. You picked at the little ducks that were on your lounge pants, funnily enough you'd stolen them from Dean's laundry basket.

One of his larger hands came to cover yours and the other went to your chin, forcing your head back very gently so you had to look him in the eyes “Can I be completely honest?” You nodded “Sam, you've been my friend for years just tell me”

He smiled “Those three days were the best of my life. Those memories kept the ones from the cage from winning out. I've wanted you for years, you're beautiful and an amazing hunter and everything I could ever want in a woman”

“Everything?” You asked with a small smile and he nodded “Everything” his eyes slipped down to your lips then back up “It meant something to me too. I don't care who else I slept with when I was soulless, you're the one I would want to spend the rest of my life with. You're the one who knows me inside and out. You're the one who has been a constant in mine and Dean's lives. Always popping up when we need you and I know had we not lied to get you on the other coast you would've been front row fighting against Lucifer and Michael too. You're sitting here in ducky pajamas and a scooby doo shirt and it's taking every ounce of strength I have to not kiss you right now”

—----------

You couldn't believe your ears. It was everything you'd wanted him to say and more. “Are you sure?” You asked and he dropped his head forward, pressing his forehead against yours “Baby what can I do to prove it to you?” “Kiss me” you whispered and that was all it took.

He surged forward, cupping your face in his hands as his lips met yours. The kiss was bruising and hungry, the gentleness of his confession overwhelmed by the want you both felt for each other, memories of the nights spent in each other's arms charging the kiss.

Once the need for air pushed you away from each other he kissed down your jaw, turning your neck to give him access to more skin. His hands moved to your hips tugging forward until you crawled into his lap, straddling him.

The grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you down against him, rolling his hips so you could feel just what a kiss had done to him. He leaned back to look up at you,keeping one hand on your hip he used the other to push your hair back out of your face “Those other women were after you. When I woke up and you were gone I wanted to chase after you but Samuel was there and even soulless I knew I didn't want you anywhere around that man. It's been torture being so damn close to you and not being able to touch you, seeing you so relaxed around Dean and so tense around me. If you'll give me a chance, give us a chance I can be a good man. I can love you and protect you and never let those doubts worm their way into your head again”

You bit your lip and for a moment wanted to make him wonder but your resilience was only so strong. “I can give us a chance” the smile he gave you was so damn gorgeous it made your heart flip. You rolled your hips down against his and smiled innocently when his eyes got darker “We're at Bobby's. Dean's downstairs”

“Then I guess that's your job to keep me quiet then huh?” He grinned at your words “That you asking me for something princess?” Any other person would've gotten hit for calling you princess but from Sam? Christ it made heat roll through you “Lock the door and show me you want me”

He groaned lightly and moved you from his lap. Before you could blink he'd locked the door and was back at the bed, kneeling next to it and pulling you towards him. “I'm gonna make you feel good sweetheart but no matter how much I love the way you sound we gotta be quiet. If you get too loud I can't make you come”

You clenched your thighs together at his words. Fuck, the effect this man had on you. “That ok baby?” You nodded and he shook his head, hands on the waistband of your lounge pants “Words baby” “I'll be quiet Sam I promise” he grinned “Let's see if you can keep that promise"

[ironwoodatl01]

Batman; Gotham by Gaslight

Within the annals of cultural, pop cultural, and historical crime, there are few whose macabre methods could reach the bloody depths that 'yours truly,' Jack the Ripper, managed to plumb.

Five brutal deaths were all it took for that deadly name to resound for Five centuries. The echo of the deed has so scarred the psyche of man that Man collectively found 'champions' of their own to face the blood-soaked beast on the battlefield of 'what if' in an attempt, perhaps, to find a semblance of cold closure on one of the most famous cold cases in history.

A murderer must be hunted by a detective, and there is no more excellent detective at DC's disposal than Batman to solve the mystery of Jack the Ripper. It is a contest between legendary figures, a Dark Knight on a quest to capture a monster, two ghosts playing a grisly game of hide-and-seek through the foggy alleys of a Victorian-era Gotham lit not by neon ...but by Gaslight.

Ironically, even though Batman is DC's greatest detective, barely any detective work is done in both the movie and the original comic it is adapted from. Any investigative work done by Batman in both mediums to uncover the identity of Jack is brushed over, and the reveal of the killer's identity had nothing to do with anything Batman had done throughout the narrative.

Ultimately, Batman is almost railroaded into solving the mystery, and the climax is somewhat underwhelming and blunts the effect of the twist reveal of Jack the Ripper's true identity.

YES. Commissioner James Gordon IS Jack the Ripper. This risky reimagining elevated this adaptation to a height that its original comic did not achieve. The twist shocked the system for any DC fan familiar with Batman's relationship with Gordon. It is also expertly hinted at throughout the film for any sharp-eyed viewer interested in a whodunit, as the narrative presented many possible suspects, but Gordon was the only one who would have fit all the facts of the mystery. The twist was further muddied by the inspired decision to design Jack the Ripper to be as angular as possible, while Gordon had a softer, more rounded silhouette.

This culminates in a climactic showdown atop a burning Ferris wheel, which was ironically begun by a knocked-over gas lamp. At the end of a brutally animated brawl, Gordon allows himself to be consumed by the fire of the burning wheel. He is a good man driven into hellfire by his hellish desires. Was he the last evil of a bygone age sacrificed for a better future? Or was he just the latest in a never-ending cycle of self-destruction, doomed to go around in a wheel until the wheel eats itself alive?

Whatever the case, Gotham by Gaslight turned a throwaway 'what if' comic story into a film that embodies everything that makes a Batman story great. The film shows that, even if lit by gas, Gotham is still a city that needs its Dark Knight, regardless of what the city deserves.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 38 part two

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)  (whole thing on AO3)    

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!  

Shopping and Night Hunting

Xue Yang convinces Xiao Xingchen to take him along as his night hunting assistant, and the Empathy session jumps forward. The next thing we see is a whole street full of dead people with Xiao Xingchen standing over them with his sword, while Xue Yang looks on approvingly.  

Xiao Xingchen explains that the whole village was Puppets, with no living people. Dude. DUDE. Even by the standards of a world that contains Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen, you are way too trusting of shit that people tell you.  

A-Qing checks the corpses and they have white eyes, which makes her think they might really be puppets. Xue Yang makes some insane faces just so we know he's not actually turned over a new leaf.

Next we see Xiao Xingchen trying to buy potatoes (this is fantasy China, not pre-Qing historical China; they can have all the potatoes they want) and a vendor telling him to scram. Is Xiao Xingchen just asking for free potatoes? Is this the first time he’s realized that doesn’t generally work?. Xue Yang menaces the vendor by loudly stabbing a potato, and then calls Xiao Xingchen back over. 

The vendor gasps and fills up their basket with food, and Xiao Xingchen smiles because he thinks that his buddy silently convinced the guy to give them food by...being nice? Unclear.

I Ain’t Gonna Play Yi City

Next we see ultrahot Song Lan arriving at the gate of Yi City, where A-Qing is happily picking up a money purse. ...whose? Do enough living people come through here that they just casually drop money on the ground? Song Lan twigs to her not being blind pretty quickly, although for politeness sake he lets her continue to pretend.

Song Lan asks if she's seen a white-clad sword-bearing daoist priest, and she quizzes him to make sure he's a good guy before helping him. Her entire set of security questions:

1. are you friends? 2. How tall is he?  3. is he hot? 4. What does his sword look like?

If this is not a mistranslation, these are not very good questions to ask if you want someone to believe you’re blind, incidentally.

Song Lan's answers:

1. ............... .... ...yes 2. me and him match like a set of salt and pepper shakers 3. like, SO hot 4. It’s named Shuanghua (”splendid frost,” per Viki), as all True Sword Fans know

(more after the cut!)

These answers are correct, pretty much, so he passes the security check and she leads him into the city. He comes carrying his sword Fuxue (”blowing away snow,” roughly), his horsetail flail, and his messy, messy feelings, which are going to be his undoing.

They walk through the super-abandoned town, which has paper decorations hanging up. These paper decorations are really well made, considering that they are still there when WangXian roll up several years later.

Song Lan has a little crisis trying to psych himself up to see Xiao Xingchen. Bro, you have been walking around looking for him for literally YEARS, and you haven't figured out what to say yet? Contrast with Lan Wangji, who went for the wrist-grab mere moments after discovering that Wei Wuxian was back, and followed it up by carrying him off to his bed. 

Enemy Mine

While he's dithering, Xue Yang comes back, and A-Qing hides while Song Lan stands there being shocked. 

We're treated to the Xue Yang version of sweet banter, where he tricks Xiao Xingchen into picking a short straw for chores, and then tells him he was tricking him because he was blind. 

They have a laugh together and Xue Yang is handsy with XXC, causing Song Lan to clench his fist so strongly that we can hear his knuckles cracking. 

You knew your ex was going to be at the party; if you can’t handle seeing him with a new guy you shouldn’t have come.

Then he sees Xue Yang go out to get groceries, and he grips his flail so hard that his palm starts bleeding. That sentence is about a weapon, not about his dick, incidentally.

More Empathy

But then empathy skips ahead, showing Xiao Xingchen stabbing Song Lan, while Wei Wuxian's hands shake and he says "Song Lan, don't!" like he’s in the audience of a horror movie. A-Qing, in the present, drools up some blood, which is pretty normal for her, TBH. 

The Lan kids are alarmed and want to wake them up, but Jin Ling says to hang in there for a bit more. For a kid, Jin Ling isn’t bad at wielding authority. 

A distraught Jingyi insists, however, so Jin Ling starts ringing the bell, and Wei Wuxian opens his eyes but doesn't come out of Empathy. He does stop skipping ahead, though, so we go back to Song Lan & Xue Yang's confrontation, which is possibly the best fight in the whole dang show.

We’re Gonna Get It On ‘Cause We Don’t Get Along

Xue Yang comes back from the grocery store to find Song Lan perched on his roof like a sexy vengeful raven. Xue Yang greets him sexily politely and with no anxiety at all, and Song Lan attacks.

Song Lan has had literally years to settle his mind and get his emotions under control and...he has not done that. Like, at all.

He could have cleared this whole situation up with about four words to Xiao Xingchen, and they could have fought Xue Yang together. But he was so unready to hug it out with his ex that he opted to face Xue Yang all on his own. Dumb. Ass. 

Contrast this with Lan Wangji, who always talked to Wei Wuxian, no matter how estranged they had become. Trying to stab him counts as talking. And also contrast this with Jiang Cheng, who hashed everything out with Wei Wuxian in an excruciating public confrontation, after which they teamed up to save their nephew.  Neither of those guys let their ooky feelings stand in the way of a reconnection, and their outcomes were way, way, way better than Song Lan’s. 

Xue Yang and Song Lan get busy fighting, and Song Lan starts asking what the fuck Xue Yang is playing at, how long has he been deceiving Xiao Xingchen, etc.   

Xue Yang is a perceptive guy, and he points out that Song Lan is holding back because he wants to ask these questions. He’s absolutely right; Song Lan wants to feel indignant and righteous, partly because he knows he himself has mistreated Xiao Xingchen. He’s putting himself in the role of Xiao Xingchen’s protector, when he doesn’t actually have that relationship with him any more. 

I love this fight sequence for two reasons.  First, because it showcases the actors doing a lot of moves themselves, and they both look amazing and move beautifully. (OP has slowed most of these gifs down quite a bit to avoid giving everybody a migraine, incidentally--the camera operator was moving around as much as the actors in these shots)

Second, because a lot of story happens in this fight; the dynamic between them, as two people with a very complex mutual hatred, is played out in their moves. Song Lan's moves are all strong attacks, expressing his anger and frustration, while Xue Yang’s are mainly defensive, avoidant, and slippery, because he is more interested in hurting Song Lan with words than with his blade at this point. He knows he has an unbeatable advantage up his sleeve, so he’s not particularly worried, even when Song Lan lands a couple of hits. 

Xue Yang lays it all out for Song Lan, explaining that Xiao Xingchen, being blind, relies on his sword to point toward resentful energy. Hey, isn't that what Wei Wuxian's Compass of Evil does? So WWX only needs that thing because he can't carry a sword? That...actually makes sense. Anyway, Xue Yang figured out if he cuts people's tongues out, Shuanghua can't tell living people from monsters, which is so awesome and fun for Xue Yang.

Song Lan starts to lose his composure and calls Xue Yang a “villain,” which leads Xue Yang to mock him for his weaksauce cussing ability.

Xue Yang: You educated people have a disadvantage when cursing someone out. Song Lan: Eat a bag of dicks, fuckstick.

Then he criticizes Xue Yang for taking advantage of Xiao Xingchen's blindness. 

He gets a couple of licks in but then Xue Yang stops and points out that Xiao Xingchen is only blind because of giving his eyes to Song Lan.

This stops Song Lan in his tracks; I am not sure if he already knew that’s where his eyeballs came from, or if he thought it was a coincidence that Xiao Xingchen became blind after he, Song Lan, got new eyeballs. Then Xue Yang challenges Song Lan's standing to be fighting on Xiao Xingchen's behalf, reminding him that he's not actually Xiao Xingchen's friend. These are the same tactics that Jin Guangyao will later use on righteous, insecure Jiang Cheng. 

Back when Xue Yang killed Song Lan's sect/temple buddies, Song Lan blamed Xiao Xingchen, and Xue Yang says now that that was his plan; he killed them to turn Song Lan against Xiao Xingchen. 

It totally worked. Song Lan said that they should never see each other again, and Xiao Xingchen took it to heart and fucked off forever - after giving Song Lan his eyes. Contrast this with Wei Wuxian, who stuck by Jiang Cheng despite being blamed & choked by him after the Lotus Pier massacre.

Despite all this emotional turmoil, Song Lan is holding his own...until Xue Yang pulls out his secret weapon; half of a yin tiger seal.  

He starts hitting Song Lan with corpse poison and resentment blasts and very quickly has him on the ropes.

He finishes up by cutting his tongue out. Yikes.

At this point it’s clear that Xue Yang was never in any serious danger; this was his plan for Song Lan all along.  Song Lan goes to attack Xue Yang but now that he’s been modded, Splendid Frost thinks he’s a zombie, so Xiao Xingchen comes sailing in and stabs him. 

Song Lan tries to raise his sword to XXC's fingers so he can identify himself, but at the last moment his eyes turn solid black and he drops the sword. Does that mean Xue Yang stuck a nail in his head already? *shrug* 

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen head back into the coffin house -- seriously, why do they live there instead of one of the many actual houses in this town? -- and leave Song Lan lying in the street, with A-Qing, who saw the whole thing, hiding behind a hay stack.

Xue Yang Must Die...eventually

After some more bell ringing, Wei Wuxian emerges from Empathy, pretty overwhelmed. 

He gets up and goes over to Xiao Xingchen's coffin and looks closely at the wound on his neck, understanding that XXC killed himself, and why.

His face, in this moment. Suicide isn’t something he expected to have in common with his uncle. 

He tells the kids and A-Qing to stay in the coffin house; he won't explain what he saw, except to say that Xue Yang must die. Then he goes off to kill Xue Yang, by which I mean to assemble his Xue-Yang killing team, rather than try to take him mano a mano like Song Lan did.

The first order of business is to finish rebooting Song Lan, which he does by pulling the second nail out of his head like he should have done four hours ago. 

Note that Wen Ning and Song Lan were fighting for the ENTIRE time Wei Wuxian was doing Empathy. Corpses don’t get tired, I guess.

As soon as the nail comes out of his head, Song Lan quiets down, looking bereft, and crouches on the ground to try to reassemble his shattered consciousness. Unlike Wen Ning, he doesn’t have to bake in a cave for a month to achieve this. 

We get a nice shot of Wei Wuxian, Song Lan, and Wen Ning looking like the cultivation world’s handsomest goth band. 

Next, Lan Wangji cuts open Xue Yang's shirt so he can yoink his spirit-trapping bag, which he then tosses to Wei Wuxian. 

Now Xue Yang is the one who's overly emotional. 

Wei Wuxian, despite being very upset by what he saw in Empathy, is completely cool and in control of himself now, because that's just how he is in a fight. (Unless you kill his sister. That gets him very emotional, but the emotion is rage, at least initially, so it’s not a safe tactic.)

Lan Wangji gets in another poke with Bichen while Xue Yang is distracted.

Camera operator: Spare me!

Xue Yang decides to take his ball amulet and go home, disappearing into the fog while Wei Wuxian keeps talking smack at him.

Holy Abrupt Episode Ending, Batman!

[casuallyawkardd]

Hello dear, how are you? 😘 I wanted to know if it's ok, do you write an imagine where reader calls Miguel for the "first" time from the nicknames that spiders sometimes call him, but NEVER in front of him like "Guelito" "Miggy" or my favorite " Miguelito". thank you and I loved the second part "Close Encounters of the Spiderkind" I'm looking forward to seeing the next chapters

'Miguelito' is also my personal fav 😌 I should start work on pt 3 of 'Close Encounters of the Spiderkind' very soon so thank you for the love. Appreciate you anon 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff, awkward beans being awkward beans, can be interpretted as platonic or romantic depending on the vibes you want

"Sounds like big guy's mad again."

"When is he not, Parker?"

You shot the other spider a half hearted glare, too tired to fully commit. It had been a long week, in fact it had been a long three weeks. Someone, everyone had agreed not to point fingers, had lost one of the anomalies. It was a variant of Rhino, some version that looked like a bodybuilder and a mecha anime had a baby, had barreled his way through HQ and was now loose in Nueva York. Miguel's home turf.

For being such a large hunk of muscle, the anomaly was apparently very good at flying under the radar. When you and the other spiders were able to get a ping on him, he was even better at forcing his way through an escape plan. Every 'we almost got him' and 'we'll get him next time' seemed to be grinding against your boss's psyche, sometimes clenching his jaw so tight that you were concerned about his teeth breaking.

The latest hunting party was gathered in the cafeteria, comprised of Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, Peter B and you. The bane of your existence right now, aka Peter, was obnoxiously slurping on his soda on your right, taking a bite of his O'Hara Burger between gulps. Normally things like that didn't bother you, but today it was like nails on a chalkboard; the urge to beat your own burger, that had quite the resemblance to your boss, to a pulp only growing by the minute.

"Can we just all agree that good, old Migs was the one who fumbled the bag today, yeah?" Hobie chimes in with his usual nonchalant attitude, picking at his own food.

"A...greed," everyone chimes in, all equally tired. Well...almost everyone.

You side eye Peter, who seems to be holding off on his own response. "Well..." he starts carefully, speaking through a mouthful of burger, "you were the one who wasn't able to cut the anomaly off at the corner."

"Excuse me?" you snap back.

"I'm just saying," he holds up a hand in a placating gesture, "I don't think blaming Miggy for everything is always fair. Man's got a lot on his plate keeping all of us in line."

"Boo..."

"Yeah, you sound like an old man."

The younger spiders at the table joined in on the conversation, "I am an old man, respect your elders," Peter scolds the teens before looking back at you. "Look, I'm just saying maybe take one for the team and...apologize."

"What!?"

"For fumbling the bag today."

You take a deep breath in through your nose, head leaning back as if asking for an answer from someone up above. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you look back at the man next to you, "And why do you think me apologizing will help?"

Peter shrugs, "Maybe an apology is what Mig needs to relax a little, he likes when people take accountability. Besides, everyone knows he has a soft spot for you-"

"That man doesn't have a soft anything," you cut Peter off before he can start rambling.

"C'mon," Peter sighs, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "just go in there and be all 'Ohhh~ Miguelito, I'm really sorry for messing up, please let me help pull that stick out of your ass,'" his impersonation of you has you snickering despite yourself. Damn him and his dorky humor.

"I think I'd be dead if I called him that, or anything we call him when he's not around."

"Honestly, our little nicknames are probably the more tasteful ones," Gwen notes, "Trust me, I've heard some real creative ones."

And that's what brought you to where you were now, slowly making your way into Miguel's lab. You had to keep playing the events of earlier today in your head as a reminder of why you're even here in the first place. Yes, you were the one who was meant to stop Rhino from escaping yet again, but Peter was right. You had choked. Froze on the spot and Miguel had to be the one to pull you to safety. The memory replayed over and over as you mentally scolded yourself, thinking that Rhino would be in the Go Home Machine right now had you stood your ground. But hey, hindsight was 20/20.

"Whatcha doin'?" Lyla's chipper voice pulls you from your thoughts, yellow hologram blipping from here and there as she followed you.

"M'here to see Miguel," you answer a little reluctantly, knowing what she'll ask next.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because...?" Lyla's now projecting at your side, life sized and walking in stride with you. Her eyes are focused on you, not needing to watch where she's going, seeing as she fazes through every obstacle. Your silence has her pixels forming a teasing smirk, "Oh, you did something wrong~" she coos in a sing-song voice.

"Not now, Lyla."

"Jeez..tough crowd today. I'd expect it from Miguel, but you? I thought we were friends," Lyla stopped walking, giving you a mock pout that had you rolling your eyes and continuing on your way. Lyla's so-called 'betrayal' was short lived as she appeared on one of the control tables, sitting with her legs crossed. "Well, it is good you're here. Big guy's been debating whether or not to call you into his office for the last hour."

That had you pausing. "Why does he want to talk to me?" you ask the AI, who only smirks back. It's clear that she knows, what you know, that he also knows... "How mad is he?" you decide on inquiring next, wincing a little in anticipation of her answer.

Lyla keeps you waiting, of course she does, humming and tapping her chin with a finger. "Not...too mad. Slightly over the average amount for him."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

Lyla laughs behind her hand, pixels now standing in front of you again, "Come on, you're stalling~ Rip it off like a bandaid," she pantomimes patting you on the shoulder. With a heavy sigh, you press on into the main room of Miguel's lab.

He must've heard your conversation with Lyla, the platform already starting to lower at its painfully slow pace. Miguel is standing stiff, hands on his hips and his back to you. The sight has you swallowing thickly, nerves only heightened as you watched the man, who was going to tear you a new one, approaching in the most ominous way imaginable.

With a deep breath, you step forward, finding your voice after a moment, "I think we should talk," you tell him, cursing how your voice has that slight waver to it.

Miguel audibly sighs as well, shoulders sagging at the effort. "I agree," he replies, turning to face you and stepping down to the ground floor. Your stomach drops as he approaches, Miguel stopping and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you. Why he had to be stupidly tall and intimidating was a mystery to you, one that wouldn't be solved in this moment.

"Look, I know today could've gone better," you start with, "we almost had Rhino and we lost him. Or, I guess I lost him.." your eyes avert to the floor, hands fidgeting together, "What I'm trying to say is-"

"I'm sorry."

The two of you speak at the same time, giving you pause. Your eyes finally look up to meet his, brows knitted together in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?" you deadpan, looking at him in disbelief. Surely my ears just aren't working, you think.

Miguel huffs, not a fan of repeating himself as he adjusts his stance, "I said, I'm sorry. The anomaly got away again, that's on me."

"...What."

"You were in the prime position to neutralize the target and I got in the way," he continues to say, as if not hearing your interjection. "I...let my concerns get in the way and cloud my judgment-"

"Wait, hold on-"

"I let you down, I let the team down..."

"That's enough, Miguelito-"

"¡Cállate!" You jump when he raises his voice. "I'm trying to swallow my pride and apologize here," he snaps, annoyance evident in his tone. He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and muttering under his breath in Spanish. You, on the other hand, were frozen on the spot. Mainly because you were still reeling from his initial outburst, but as realization set in at your slip of the tongue. Maybe he was too mad to notice?

"I came to apologize to you," you clarified, pausing when Miguel shoots you another glare. However, you were unperturbed, "It's my fault the mission went wrong. I got cold feet," you spoke a little softer, embarrassed at your confession. "If anything, I should be thanking you for making sure I didn't get trampled to death..."

"Stop," Miguel chimed in, holding up a hand to silence you. His lips pressed together in a hard line, thinking of what to say next. "You don't need to be so hard on yourself."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Hey."

You crack a smile, hiding a chuckle behind your hand. Miguel's frown deepens and you can't help but laugh even more at the sight, the tension in the room dissipating once you realized the feeling of guilt was mutual. That and the fact you were both too stubborn to let the other be in the wrong. He seems to catch on to the irony of the situation, a reluctant snicker escaping him as he shook his head wryly.

Before either of you could pick up where you left off, there was a beeping sound coming from each of your Gizmos. It looked to be an alarm, further inspection revealing that Rhino had been spotted and all available spiders were to go to the given coordinates.

Miguel was on the move, his touch surprisingly gentle on your arm as he guided you to follow him out of the lab. Once you fell into stride, he was typing away on his Gizmo, "Parker, do you copy? I want you to gather the group from earlier and meet y/n and me there."

"Got it boss," the familiar sound of Peter B's chipper voice answered, "Anything for you, Miguelito~"

You winced slightly as he emphasized the nickname, a fresh reminder of your slip of the tongue. It had you feeling anxious once more as you walked beside the source of said anxieties.

"Don't call me that," Miguel snapped into the comm, "and don't be late," he added before ending the call. His eyes glanced your way, causing your breath to catch in your throat for a brief second. The knowing smirk and low chuckle he gave you in response was a surprise, stunning you even more.

It took a moment for you to remember that you were still walking, quickening your pace to catch back up. The two of you didn't speak as you walked through HQ, some kind of silent understanding that your earlier debate would be an 'agree to disagree' kind of situation. Everyone knows he has a soft spot for you, Peter's words echoed in your head, putting a little spring in your step. Confident that you wouldn't freeze up this time around.

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