#also look how bowlegged he is

[topguncortez]

drop the sign glen.

we know you want to

[blanketforcas]

thinking about the inclusion of Men In Woods in misha's poetry book because there's a reason why it was significant enough to keep it and thinking about how everything in that poem points to one bowlegged guy and also thinking about misha being on the extremely short list of people jensen would call if he had a problem and thinking about misha calling jensen and danneel when he can't sleep and thinking about the anniversary post and thinking about "here's looking at you, birthday boy" and thinking about "which is funny cause so do i" and thinking about how they admitted to character bleed and reverse character bleed and

[hey-august]

NSFW Alphabet - Buggy

I've always wanted to do one for Buggy, but haven't. Soooo let's use it for requests!

📬 Send in a letter (or a few) me to do. Repeats are fine, as long I don't I run out of ideas. I'll also add everything to this post.

Aug 22 Update: The entire alphabet is complete! If there are any letters that you want to read more about, feel free to send them in a request!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Buggy's aftercare language is food. He'll stumble away, bowlegged and sticky, to get snacks if there aren't any around. And he'll come back arms full of anything and everything, plus a packet of crisps clenched between his teeth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Buggy himself, he’s most apt to admit that he likes his hands. They’re the hands of a pirate and a performer. Calloused and agile. Plus he has a thing for nail care and finds it soothing to apply a layer of lacquer in whatever color he’s feeling at the moment. The pop of color really stands out when his hand is wrapped around a thick cock. Or digging into a dripping hole. Fuck, and seeing how many fingers he can fit? Yup, definitely a favorite of his. For his partner, it’s their smile. Aw, sweet. Of course he loves to make them laugh. To see their joy radiate up to their eyes. Even the sad, somber smile they offer the clown in his moments of vulnerability brings him a bit of peace. But there are two specific smiles that knock Buggy head over hills. That pump blood to his cock and leave him feral. First, is the soft breathy smile that slips out when his partner is on top. When his partner pauses to let Buggy’s dick nestle into place, they let out the most dreamy sigh and smile. And Buggy is in heaven. The second smile is when their face is coated in cum. Pearls clinging to their eyelashes, dripping down their cheeks, mixing with the spit on their outstretched tongue. The moment they risk getting jizz in their eyes, just to look up at Buggy and smile gratefully, all he wants to do is paint them again.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

(1) Thick and creamy. A good amount, just right when spread across someone’s chest or face. Buggy’s cum gets a fair amount of distance at first, before it dribbles out the slit for the remainder of his orgasm. It’s a bit bitter and salty, since Buggy does not have the best diet.

(2) Doesn’t mind tasting or eating his own cum. Has done it before because he didn’t want to get up and find something to clean his mess with.

(3) Buggy loves to leave his mark by coming on his partner. Seeing their sweat mix with his cum is a wonderful sight. And if they scoop up some on a finger to taste? Fuck, he’s about to burst all over again. If they’re on their knees, mouth open and waiting, Buggy will “miss” more often than not. They just look so good with his cum dripping down their face.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

(1) Buggy has masturbated in every room in the Big Top.

(2) Lets his disconnected wiener float around the bath like a toy boat.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

(1) (I think I could talk about this for days.) It’s mixed. Sex? Intimate relationships? Buggy is not the most experienced there. He’s dabbled. Had a few auditions. A couple of callbacks, but none ever made it to curtain call. But Buggy is surprisingly experienced in regards to what he gets up to in his personal time. iykwim

(2) Not very, but his enthusiasm and willingness to learn make up for it. Shanks got his first kiss before Buggy, and Buggy asked him so many questions that the “process” was cemented in his mind by the time it happened. He wanted to be ready. He practiced leaning in, tilting his head, pursing his lips juuuuust right, and when to pull away. And he managed to succeed for his first kiss! Sure, he bit their lip too hard and drooled when pulling back, but he earned himself a second kiss. Plus a trip to second base. Okay, so that’s kissing and not sex. But Buggy kept it up. Learning what he can, paying attention to his partner, and doing whatever possible to earn those sweet rewards he deserves.

(3) Buggy knows the basics - where to touch, what feels good, where the little buttons should be. He gets the job done and it’s good. It’s fine. Like pizza - even bad pizza is still good. For the longest time, he did treat it like a job. Sex was a thing to be done to deal with those feelings. To tamp down those urges. To be part of a relationship. It was expected and, as a bonus, his balls were empty. It wasn’t until a certain relationship that Buggy started thinking about sex differently. Less selfishly. He started picking up on the smallest cues his partner gave - moments that made their breath hitched, when they leaned into his touch, how hot their skin was, how flushed,. That’s when Buggy started chasing their high, intent on giving them a trip that left their core aching, legs trembling, and body dripping.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

(1) Doggie for giving and receiving. Deep and it hits all the right spots. Maybe part of it is because of how often he's fucked in this position. Buggy doesn't always like the pressure that comes with eye contact. But when he's okay with being seen or he's craving to see what kind of lewd faces his partner is making, Buggy doesn't have to change positions. A simple rearrangement and his top half is right where it needs to be to see face to face, while his lower half stays and keeps the connection.

(2) Buggy likes to be on bottom. Ride him, pound him, just take care of him. Let him take a break from the spotlight for a moment (even if the show couldn’t go on with out him anyway). Even better when he’s seated. There’s something about the confines of a chair, luxury of a couch, or the power of a throne that gets his dick hard as a diamond.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Buggy the Clown is a goofy fucker. He never stops talking. He always has shit to say. At first, it was a defense mechanism. All the humor and shenanigans kept the real feelings away. How could things get serious if he treated everything like a joke? If people saw a clown, then he’d give them a clown. “Lick it like a candy apple.” “Fuck, you could swallow swords in my show with a throat like that.” “C’mon, I wanna see you juggle these balls in your mouth.” (“I may not be a lion tamer, but I am pussy tamer.”) It dies down over time, but never goes away entirely. Buggy will never pass up an opportunity to invite his partner to the circus tent in his pants.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

For a dirty pirate, Buggy cleans up pretty well. A dusting of chest hair in a lovely shade of blue. A taunting happy trail under his belly button that looks damn near artistic when saturated and smeared with precum and sex. And below the belt, it’s usually trimmed, but always a nice field of fluffy blue. Sometimes he forgets or just doesn’t want to cut it shorter. Secretly, he likes watching his partner’s nose burrow into the curls when he’s balls deep in their throat.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Buggy. Is. Smitten. He is head over heels, butterflies in his stomach, feeling a little nauseous during the deed. In the beginning of a relationship, he might be more hesitant to show that side of himself. There would be little signs, though. A clean towel, scented candles, nervous fingers that push strands of hair from his partner’s face, tender kisses that linger and melt. As Buggy gets comfortable, those gestures will grow. His adoration and devotion will come through in how he looks up at his partner through fluttering eyelashes, how he asks if it feels good, do they like it, how he says he wants to make them feel good. How hard Buggy works to hear his name on their tongue, sweet as a honey drop. Buggy’s endless dirty talk will grow softer, losing the rough edges and grit, until it tumbles out in a three word confession. It’s the first time he says it, but it won’t be the last.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Buggy is all for rubbing one out. It’s his stress relief. It’s also his self care, along with high shelf alcohol (stolen, of course) and some smokes, if he’s in the mood. He’ll even lay out a towel on the bed and take his fucking tiiiiiime. And because he has chop-chop powers, there’s a lot of things Buggy can fill this time with - not just wanking the wiener. When Buggy really wants to treat himself, that dick is going anywhere and everywhere.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

(1) …pegging. And double anal penetration. Buggy has fucked his own ass, no doubt about that. But to be stuffed with his own cock and by his partner? This clown is about to be out of commission for a few days. Only a few before he’s asking for it again.

(2) Mirror sex results in the best performances. Buggy rarely feels more like a star than when he’s watching his own lewd faces in the mirror while getting fucked. And Buggy is more than happy to take a backstage position when his partner is in the spotlight. Watching himself disappear into his partner, telling them to keep their eyes open, to move so he has a better view of the show - it strokes his ego hard and fast. But back to Buggy bent over in front of the mirror and drooling. There was one time his partner pushed the clown’s face against the cold silver and said to give himself a little kiss. What. The. Fuck. Licking and kissing the mirror and getting it dirty with spit and tears gave Buggy the most mind-blanking orgasm he’s ever had. In that moment, which stretched into eternity, he was a filthy fuck doll and more than okay with it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Semi-public places! Bar bathrooms, quiet hallways or alleys, empty community rooms. Being able to hear noise from nearby people gets Buggy all riled up. Or knowing that someone could show up at any point and see him and his partner doing the deed… Deep deep down, it’s a weird form of acceptance to Buggy - his partner is willing to risk getting caught fucking the clown.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Physical touch and compliments. Hoo boy, those get his blood flowing. A hand on his shoulder or bicep with a little squeeze - wow, you're really strong, huh? A thumb neatening the lines of his facepaint - which looks so flashy on him. His favorite? The one that makes him feral? Tugging his belt to pull him closer while making out will turn Buggy into a horny mess.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

(1) Earlier in a relationship - anything involving his nose is an absolute turn off. Buggy gets in his head, convinced that it's a turn off for his partner. Deep kisses, swapping spit and moans? His face between their legs? Buggy is trying his damndest to keep his nose from making any contact. The slightest brush and he freezes, ready to bolt. And heaven forbid his nose is bumped during sex and honks. Buggy is fucking out of there when that happens, disappearing in a flurry of limbs.

(2) CBT. It doesn’t quite do it for him and since Buggy can remove his own junk, it adds an extra layer of vulnerability that he’s not ready to deal with.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Buggy loves a sloppy blowjob. Loooooves giving and receiving those. Balls that are dripping wet with spit, lips and chin coated in drool, glazed glassy eyes. Hell yes. Eating pussy is one that Buggy needed some time to get into. He couldn’t really practice it on his own and his fucking nose seemed to get in the way more often. Eventually, it clicked. Seeing his facepaint smeared inside his lovers thighs makes him want to keep making a mess. Face deep in those wet folds, licking and eating like a ravenous dog. He’ll stay down there like it’s his fucking job.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. Buggy wants what he wants. When all the blood is in his dick, all thoughts are out of his head. He wants to fuck and to get fucked. Make it sloppy. Be messy.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hell yes. Buggy is almost always down for something quick and dirty. It doesn’t satiate the hunger, it doesn’t push back the curtain call, but it takes away the edge. Sometimes, it doesn’t even matter if there isn’t enough time for a proper quickie. Fooling around is in Buggy’s name, after all.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, but hear me out. Buggy’s interest in experimenting is driven by his image. Pirates swap stories and Buggy has all the best stories. Of course he does, he’s the greatest. And he’s done soooo many things. Really! Getting his dick sucked in a crowded restaurant - check. Stealing a chick from her boyfriend and fucking her in the bar bathroom - check. Then getting a blowjob from the boyfriend - check. Believe it or not, they all had a threesome afterwards and it lasted for days. Look, he still has the rope marks to prove it. Did that all happen? Abso-fucking-lutely. Really? Well…yeah. Sorta. Maybe some of it happened after the told the story. Buggy is a big believer in turning lies into truth. So yeah, Buggy will take risks to live in the reality he creates over stale beer. But he’s also down to experiment so he has more shit to talk about and prove he’s the best.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

(1) One decently long round and a short one later on. Buggy can commit to contributing to those. After that, he’s more prone to just laying there and taking it. Or letting his partner use his body to get them both off. Buggy’s dick is more than willing to go multiple rounds, it’s the rest of him that needs to rest.

(2) If he could, Buggy would go until he passes out. How long that takes depends on how stressed he is, if he actually did any work during the day, how much he’s had to drink, and how good of a dicking it is. But this guy will hump and grind until he’s teary and whining. Until his balls are so empty that there’s almost nothing left to release except a few pathetic drops of mostly-clear liquid. Hands grabbing at the sheets and his partner, practically begging for more while his pretty eyes can’t stay open for more than a second. No, no, no, no, no, he swears he can keep going. Please, please don’t stop.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

At first Buggy wasn’t sure how he felt about toys, but he caved eventually. A dildo that he can use in place of his own dick so he can suck and gag on something while jacking off. Buggy also knows how to improvise. Need a gag? Or something to bind wrists? He has a bandana. Ropes and aerial silks are also available at the snap of a finger.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It’s accidental at first. Really. All those little touches, feather light and fleeting, it’s because Buggy is nervous. N-not because he’s unsure about what to do! Definitely not! He just wants to make sure his partner likes what he does. Yeah, that’s it. But all that hesitation, all those moments that don’t last anywhere near long enough, it all builds up. And his partner is only moments away from grabbing the captain’s wrist and keeping him where he needs to be

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This guy is loud. Just look at him! And he is always talking. Buggy cannot keep his mouth shut or the volume down. It’s just not in his nature. Taking care of himself? He’s panting and grunting, muttering to himself about how good it feels. Buggy is immersing himself in the fantasy and will play the role. In bed with his partner? Half the crew got alcohol poisoning from taking a shot every time Buggy shouted his partner’s name. Well, there is one time when Buggy is quieter. Still loud, but just loud enough. Early in the morning, when the sun wishes it could sleep in. When Buggy and his partner are wrapped around each other, entwined as one in a moment that only belongs to them. Any sounds, whispers, promises - it’s just for them and no one else.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

(1) Buggy has cockwarmed himself more than once. No, he’s not squirming because he’s nervous about the meeting.

(2) Sits like he does because his balls stick to his leg. Hehe.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

(1) It’s cute. A little more on the growing side, but there’s always enough showing to know that his partner will have a good time. When erect, it’s truly average length. But c’mon, Buggy can easily get his disconnected dick deep enough to roll eyes and curl toes. It’s thicker than average. Not impossibly so, but there’s a slight worry of lockjaw when blowing him for too long. And it’s wonderfully hefty. Buggy’s cock bounces so beautifully when it’s hard and twitching.

(2) Pierced nipples. Please. Simple barbells usually, with different ends - the usual balls, stars, and sparkley gems. He also has a set that looks like stars encircling his nips, and some with dangling chains for when he’s topless. Buggy has freckles on the tops of his shoulders from a lifetime of sun exposure. He also has spots of hyperpigmentation on his legs, arms, and back from deep bruises that healed but left their marks.

(3) Let’s talk about tattoos. Buggy has a few on his right upper arm and shoulder - mostly nautical themed and his jolly roger of course. There’s a rope knotted around his left wrist, as well. Back to his right side, the ink adorns the side of his chest and creeps down his ribs. Some (most) are shitty stick and poke tattoos. A few he gave himself, benefits of chop chop, and others came from crew members or vagrant pirates met along the seas. Whenever someone asks Buggy what his tattoos mean, he tells some elaborate story and they’re left wondering how much is bullshit and how much is truth. If any. Also. Sometimes Buggy “tests” his facepaint on his dick. A cannon and real Buggy balls. An elephant for the circus, with it’s own circus peanut. The he’s really pleased about is when he paints his penis to look like a clown. Of course. With a saggy bowtie. Buggy even grow out his pubes so the ween-clown had lush hair as well.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

(1) Buggy is a horny dude, but not always for sex. Sometimes he likes the intimacy of it all. Naughty touches, steamy make-out sessions, a little grind here and there - they don’t have to end with sex, as long as he and his partner spend plenty of quality physical time together. But he does love having sex. At least once a day, although it might drop if he’s feeling too stressed (or he parties way too hard). And there are some days where he’ll spend the day in bed and raise the average.

(2) There are ups and downs, but let’s talk about the ups. There are times when Buggy is revved and ready to go at a moment’s notice. His pupils dilate and his pants get tight when his partner is near. Any chance he gets, Buggy is whispering (loudly) in their ear about finding somewhere more secluded. If they do slink away, it’s a quickie that’s composed of a handful of sloppy thrusts and the pirate is satiated for all of a few minutes before he’s groping their ass again. It’s a problem, really. For everyone with eyes and ears.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

(1) Too fast. Too fast. Buggy tries to fight it, really. But those eyelids are drooping as fast as his deflating dick after cumming. But back to the aftercare - the poor guy's growling stomach is guaranteed to wake him up juuust long enough to refuel.

(2) Soooo sleeeeeepy. He can’t help it, everything goes fuzzy after sex. Buggy wants to cuddle and drift off to sleep, but he also wants to stay awake. This results in sentences driving off into snores. Hands and legs twitching and jolting himself awake. Offended disagreements - he was not asleep! He was just resting his eyes. He's just resting his head on his partners shoulder for a moment.... *snore*

[eisforeidolon]

Question: [After an aside about how SPN is a comfort show for the asker in dealing with post-military service MH issues] What characteristics, or traits, do you have in common with your characters from the show?

Misha: I'll start -

Jensen: This'll be quick.

Misha: Jensen can go on for hours with this. When I started on the show, the Castiel character was written like a real, tough badass warrior. And the writers and producers saw what I did with that material, and my performance, and they modified it a little bit.

Jensen: [referring to previous answer] Well, it's much like Larry King going I think we got the wrong guy.

Misha: And so, ultimately the character was this sort of dorky, socially awkward individual who had a difficult time fitting in? I feel like I brought that to the table. I will say that there is something about Castiel that I - this is not really answering your question, but, um, that's one of my talents - I occasionally have taken inspiration from an aspect of Castiel's character, which is that no matter the circumstances, irrespective of whether he actually succeeded or failed at the endeavor, he always tried to do his best, and to do the right thing. He always tried to do the right thing. And I have taken - you know sometimes people tell me that they take inspiration from the characters on Supernatural and that is one characteristic of the character that I played that I sometimes try to take inspiration from.

Jensen: First off, thank you for your service, my man. What's your name? Evan? Thank you, thank you for that. And know that I look to guys like you for inspiration. The - like Misha said, at this I could go on quite a bit about the similarities between myself and Dean. Also, you know, the, uh, dis-similarities? Is that the right word? Un-similarities? The non-similarities? What's the word?

Misha: You could say difference.

Jensen: I don't wanna say difference. I wanna say [listens to audience] dis-similarities! Ha ha ha, suck it, Jared! We like the same music, we like old cars, but I think deeper than that? I have a deep-rooted need to take care of the people that I love. It's one of the reasons why that quote that I said a minute ago, taking care of yourself takes care of more than just yourself, so that reminds me that oh, by taking care of myself I can also take care of other people. Because that's how I had to kind of switch that in my mind, whereas I don't need to take care of myself, I need to take care of everybody else. But you have to take care of yourself. But by doing that, it gives you - makes you able to do the things that you want to do, which is take care of other people. So I think Dean fell victim to that same thing quite a bit, and wasn't too concerned with himself, but was always concerned about the people surrounding him, the brother to your left, the brother to your right. So that is certainly one thing that I always loved about that character because I felt the same way.

Misha: There's another thing that was similar between Dean and you, which is, it came up when we did that western episode, which is that you both like to dress up like cowboys. Remember? It was like, Creaser - our cameraman - and I made eye contact like, I think, I think it was a scene where Dean was getting excited about his cowboy hat, remember that? And Creaser and I were like, [whispers] I don't think it's Dean that's excited here.

Jensen: I don't think he's acting. Well, we both have bowlegs. So there you go.

[beauarlenswife]

Get It Off My Desk.

Summary: Reader is a new detective thst had been moved to the department in montana, when they get back from rescuing the girl and their in his office, let’s just say, her thoughts are not about the case.

A/N: I have never written smut before so if this is not good, that’s why, also, we need more jensen in the vest because it’s so hot, he looks so good

Thigh riding, unprotected sex ( don’t do it, it’s an imagine it’s fake) vaginal fingering

She follows Beau back into his office, her eyes looking over what’s visible of his back muscles, they tighten against the fabric of his shirt as he walks; he places some papers onto his desk, moving them around as he sits down in the chair. She closes the door and turns towards him, walking closer to his desk.

Her eyes are drawn to his hands as he moves a few papers, the veins in them very noticable, his fingers are thick, slightly scarred, but just the right length he could probably hit all the right spots in her. She glances up to his arms, the veins going up his wrists and underneath the burgundy sweater he had pushed up to his elbows.

Her eyes follow up his arms, the muscle visible but not fully outlined , just wide enough her hand could probably fit around and squeeze while he was-

“Detective Y/L/N?” her eyes glance up to his face, shit, had he been talking to her? She glances down at his lips before licking her own, “ Yes, sheriff?”

“ Did you catch a word I just said?”

She looks away from him, breaking their eye contact, “ Sorry, just thinking about what happened.” She wasn’t, she barely remembered what happened, but what was she supposed to say? That she didn’t understand anything he said because she was to busy eyefucking him?

He raises his eyebrow, giving her a concerned look before glancing back down to the papers on his desk, “ If you wanna talk about it, darling, i’m always available.”

She’s sure her pulse rate had spiked, the way he said it, fuck, how is he real?

“ No, it’s fine, I’m fine, just zoned out a bit, that’s all.”

“ You sure?”

“ Yeah.”

“ Alright, sweetheart.” Why’d he have to say it like that? She shifts on her feet, the wetness pooling in between her thighs as she continues to look at him, the green vest resting perfectly onto his shoulders, the color perfectly matching his gorgeous green eyes. Could you be jealous of an inanimate object? Cause she was, the way it got to rest on his shoulders.

She shifts her eyes to look further up, to the beard on his face, not to short, but just long enough it’d probably leave a delicious burn against her inner thighs. His lips were also perfect, she’d bet he was an amazing kisser, and good with his mouth. She looks further up his face, the small freckles covering his nose and just under his eyes, his arms had them, she wondered if his back and chest had them too. She shifts again, a quite whimper leaving her lips at the small friction she had received. He glances up at her.

Fuck, he heard that. The small piece of hair falling onto his face not helping her case, neither was the way he moved his hand that was resting on his desk but by his face, slightly rubbing his beard, a twitch at his upper lip happens as he looks her up and down quickly.

The warmth of his gaze not doing anything to help her, she shifts again.

“ You alright there, darling?”

“Mhm.” she says, instead of it coming out in a agreeing manner it comes out as soft moan. Her eyes widen immediately at how loud it had been, there’s no way he hadn’t heard that and by the clenching of his jaw, he mostly definitely had.

He sets the papers in his hand back onto the desk rather roughly, “ Come here, sweetheart.” She takes a small breath as she walks in front of the desk, he raises his brow and looks to the side, oh, he meant to where he is, she got that, no, obviously, that’s what he meant.

She walks over to stand about a foot infront of him as he turns in the chair, leaning back a bit into it, her eyes glancing down to his thighs and bowlegs immediately, the way he’s sitting, she imagined herself sitting in between them as he through his head back, his fingers pulling her hair.

“ Closer, darling, I don’t bite. Until I do.” Her pelvic muscles tighten a bit at his leading words. Wiping her hands onto her jeans to get rid of the sweat, she takes a few steps forward, their feet almost touching, he licks his lips, her eyes following the movement before he leans forwards, staring up at her, he moves his fingers that are now resting against his thigh in a c’mere motion, she obliges immediately to step in between his legs, “ Were you just gonna stand there and undress me with your eyes, hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

“ Did you mind it ?” she whispers, he smiles at her words, “ No, but I prefer if the women i’m with has a pleasurable experience.” her breathing gets heavier at his words, he puts his hand onto her waist, she takes a breath as he slightly pushes down signaling her to sit onto his lap, she goes to, but he moves her so she’s sitting onto his left thigh, her breath hitching a little.

“Go head, take what you want, sweetheart.” she looks over his face as he leans back against the chair again, slightly biting into her bottom lip, she rocks her hips against his thigh, a small moan leaving her mouth, she does it a few more times, his hands go to her waist, helping her movements, she grabs his shoulder after one of the movements, her finger nails digging into the long-sleeved shirt, her eyes closing as she continues to rock herself against his thigh, moans tumbling out of her mouth as he quickens her pacd, “ Look at you, pretty girl, falling apart on me already.”

She moans louder at his words, neither of them caring if anyone had heard her, she opens her eyes looking at him, before moving the hand that was on his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling lightly on the hair there, a small groan leaving his mouth, at the sound she pulls him into her, their lips crashing together, she pulls onto his bottom lip on accident but the low moan that falls from his mouth makes her do it again, he greedily swallows up her moans, he stands up.

One hand, under her thigh and the other on her waist, he places her onto his desk, sliding the objects onto the floor not caring to look at them, he puts his hand that had been under her thigh to the desk so he’s not crushing her with his weight, he mutters a small fuck as she kisses down his jaw, and to his neck, he moves his hand to lace into her hair, pulling her back into him, the roughness of the kiss making her moan again.

He moves his leg resting in between hers and moves it against her, the feeling making her head fall back onto his hand that’s now against his desk, her head resting on top of if, her eyes close as he does it a few more times, he kisses down her jaw to her neck his teeth hitting a certain spot that makes her moan and rock her hips into his thigh, he focuses on the spot, kissing, sucking, and nibbling the sound falling from her lips spurring him on, she puts her hand into his hair, and then uses it to pull him away from her neck, “ Please.”

“ Please what? What do you need sweetheart?”

“ You.”

“ What part of me?”

The teasing in his voice, very obvious, she ignores his question, using her hand to she takes his thats on her waist, leading into her jeans, he groans feeling her wetness, “ Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaking, did I make you this wet?” he asks, “Ye-“he puts his middle finger into her, making her gasp, the end of the yes coming out as a whine, he adds another, watching her face, to not miss a single face she makes as he curls his fingers into her making her hips buck, “ Beau.” She whines, “ Please, I- I need you, I- fuck- want to feel you.”

He pulls his fingers out of her, and puts them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of her, she tugs at his belt, he chuckles, “ You’re so needy.”

“Beau.” She whines again, he unbucke his belt as she kicks her boots off, and pulls down her jeans and underwear, he kisses her again as he lines himself up with her, “ You’re so beautiful. You ready?” he mumbles into her mouth, she nods, kissing him back, he slides into her, her wetness allowing him to slide in quickly, groaning feeling her walls around him, her head falls back at the stretch, “ Fuck.” he pauses for a second, leaning over her to kiss her, letting her get used to his size, after a second, “ Beau?” she mumbles into his mouth, kissing him.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Move, please.” she whines, he does, thrusting into her, a loud moan falling from her lips, he kisses her to quiet her a bit, “ As much as I love to hear your beautiful sounds, you need to be quiet, darling.”

she clenches around him at the name, he chuckles, it comes out raspy and breathless, making her clench around him again, “ Fuck, sweetheart.” he leans into her neck as he continues to thrust into her, her nails digging into the sweater material, gripping his shoulder hard, as his thrusts make his desk shake, she moans louder, he greedily swallows the gorgeous sound, “ Right there! Fuck! Beau! I’m gonna-“

He moves his hand to rub her clit, “Go head, sweetheart, cum for me.” on cue she does, ger back arching off the desk and into him, the feeling of her makes him to, moans and grunts into her ear as his hips stutter, “ Go head, Beau, cum in me, i’m on the pill.”

At her words, he does, his face resting into her hair, his breath hitting her neck, he kisses her again, before pulling out, and pulling his pants back up, she lays on his desk breathless, her chest heaving up and down, her eyes closed hearing his footsteps walk away and then back towards her, he uses a tissue to clean her inner thighs, “ You alright, darling?”

“Perfect.”

he chuckles, kissing her cheek, before sliding her underwear and jeans back onto her legs and she sits up, his hand going to her waist so she doesn’t fall as she buttons her jeans, he kisses her again, “ I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“ The kissing or the sex?”

He smiles at her, pushing the strand of hair that had fallen onto her face behind her ear, “ Both.”

He kisses her again.

[puckpocketed]

01/04/2024 - SEA @ SJS

smoothest Shark alive Willyek bumps the puck free, speeds into the neutral zone to catch our Goonwag's feed, and protects the puck long enough for everyone to get set up. extended thoughts under the cut!

This will never make a highlight reel but it's inchresting TO ME!!! so, expanding gif by gif:

1. Ekky (SJS #72) gets his body in and uses his reach to interrupt the pass from Ryker Evans (SEA #39), giving our Goonwag (SJS #11) a chance! None of this entire sequence happens without Ekky's play here.

2. Goonwag follows up on the loose puck and starts the rush. He passes it up to Ekky as Shane Wright (SEA #51) is applying pressure on the backcheck - and if you go back you’ll that Ekky was already sprinting deep into the neutral zone to receive the pass...!! he even fumbles it a little but his recovery is so good!! he gets low and extends his whole arm, digs deep and catches up even though he's behind. he WANTS that puck...!!

3. auuuhh.... just really good job keeping the puck safe.. (garth baby also keeping such a tight gap on him..!! love you!!). Ekky, he just is the KING of cutting back in that specific corner of the ice... changes direction and gets the puck on his backhand… he is ALWAYS doing this!! he loves to do this!! also what the hell is his trailing leg doing ..! look at it a few times. whys it whipping back and forth like a boat rudder <3 lol!! HOW does he not fall over even once making this play..?

SIDEBAR okay I don't have gifs or clips on hand so sources: trust me bro BUT often in this exact scenario, he will execute a backwards pass to whoever is standing in the slot. the sharks are somehow 9th overall in the league for behind-the-net passes and I fully believe that stat is on Ekky:

4. So Ekky has cut back here, Evans has peeled off and rotated, Wright is back on and hounding him for the puck...! Ekky almost looks bowlegged here (?) skating to keep his body in position.. the puck is protected between him and the boards. As Brian Dumoulin (SEA #8) pushes him up along the boards he sends off a pass with perfect timing to Bails my perfect metroid bounty hunter (SJS #90)!!

Beyond the gifs, I just like how he absorbed all that pressure. Not that I've watched That Much hockey but ...worse players would've passed the puck much earlier feeling that sort of pressure, turning it over with no one else around them in position to receive it (i have seen this happen!!!).

Ekky is growing so much and he's been thrown into the deep-end with this rebuild... he's the remnants of a past regime, he's the first piece in this new one, and he's not quite the "star-material" that the rebuild and the media and the fans are demanding from him. but. god!!! he's done so well given the circumstances!!!!! he's learning and getting better every game, he's so hungry to win and succeed and he remains determined despite being engulfed in a season worth of losses...!!!

in conclusion nobody cares about the Sharks and no one is paying attention to them. i get that. watching a losing team is hard. but in all of this.. Ekky is sooo fun to watch! I love to see his spinoramas, his zone entries, his schmooves!! i am so charmed by his grittiness and tenacity… he’s just fun no matter what is happening!! ekky im ur biggest fan <3

[pedropascalsx]

Take Me To Church by @frannyzooey

The first time you see him in the brothel, you call dibs, your eyes fixed on the way his throat moves when he swallows his drink. The madam replies that you are too sweet for him – he needs experienced girls. “He’s more generous than you’ll ever meet when it comes to money, but his appetite and size are also generous”, she says, giving you a lewd smirk. “I’m not sure you’re ready.” A skeptical look on your face, your eyes follow his loose, slightly bowlegged gait up the stairs and into a room. Somewhat intimidated by her answer, but mostly intrigued, you decide to ask the other girls about him later. The next time he comes into town, he hears that you have been asking for him. Eyebrow raised in a question; he inquires if you’ll be able to handle him. His dark eyes study you from across the bar, watching as you chat with another girl; your face breaking into a smile at something she says. “All the men love how sweet she is”, the madam replies, looking at you appraisingly. “I think you might like her.”

The second I saw this scene it made me think of TMTC and I just had to make something. If you haven’t read this spectacular fic please do. 

[crashdevlin]

Give It a Chance

Author’s Note: This is a part four of the Charm, Chocolate and Cheating series which started with Meant To Be and Not Meant To Be and this part starts directly after Bad Ideas and Worse Decisions (links to tumblr, but I'm pretty sure both are on Patreon...my computer just wouldn't let me search tonight). It also fills my Infidelity square for SpnKinkBingo

Summary: Y/n and Jensen have messed up, but she seems to care a whole hell of a lot more than he does. 

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word count: 4299

Story Warnings: Angst, sads, past breakup, marital discord, regrets, depression, adultery/infidelity (as in cheating), NO WIFE HATE! 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, fingering, oral (fem rec)

~~~~~

“Calm down,” Jensen said, stuffing his red handkerchief into his back pocket and stepping close to you. “Don’t panic. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” you exclaimed, shaking your head. “We just--you’re married! I can’t-”

You tried to slip around him to get to the door, feeling claustrophobic in the tiny office with the smell of sex heavy in the stagnate air, but he grabbed your arms and held you in place. "I said 'calm down', Y/n. Just breathe."

"'Just breathe'?" you squeaked. "Just breathe? Are you insane? You're married and famous and I'm a homewrecker! I can't believe we just-"

Jensen’s fingers moved up to cup your neck, tipping your head back and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "Calm down. No one knows I'm here. No one knows what we did. My home isn't wrecked and you haven't wrecked it." He took a deep breath and you followed suit. "There you go. Good girl. Now...everything is gonna be okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But-" you started to argue, but Jensen shook his head.

"I fucked up. Not you. You did nothing wrong." He scoffed and shook his head. "I wanted to fuck up, Y/n. I came here hoping to kiss you. Didn't expect it to go this far but...this is on me."

"I shouldn't have let you-"

"We can run on about what should have happened all day but what it comes down to is: I messed up. I messed up, you got swept away in my bad decision, and I'm already wanting to mess up again." He ran his fingers down your cheek.

"You have to leave," you said suddenly. "Get out. Get outta here."

"Whoa. Calm down," he repeated as you pushed past him and out of the office.

"I'm calm. I'm not upset or hysterical or any of that." You turned as he followed you into the hallway heading to the front of the store. "This cannot happen again, Jensen. It can't...and if you stay and keep touching me and kissing me and telling me how much you want it to happen…"

"You don't think you could tell me 'no'?"

You swallowed and let out a rueful chuckle. "Did I tell you 'no' just now?" You turned back around and headed for the counter. "You're the man of my dreams...my deepest loss. I could barely tell you 'no' when you were drunk last night but sober? Telling Sober You 'no' is impossible because you're everything I've ever wanted but you're not mine, so you have to get out. You have to get out. There's the door. Please, leave," you begged.

He licked his lips and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Um...I'll text you," he said, walking over to the door and flipping the sign to open.

"Please don't."

He nodded again and twisted the lock, not saying a word as he walked out of your chocolate shop. You bit your lip as he disappeared from your view.

"Mountain Bars. Need to make Mountain Bars." You had to focus on something beyond your horrible mistake.

~~~~

"You okay?" Kaylee asked at lunch the next day. "You've been quiet."

"Just tired. Didn't...I didn't sleep well last night," you answered, moving your fries around the plate. It was the truth. The guilt and shame of what you'd done had eaten at you. You might have gotten an hour of rest.

"Mr. Bowlegs in your head?"

"Can you not? I don't wanna talk about...him."

"Look, I know the situation is shitty, but you don’t have to get all depressed. He's married. You can't have him. That sucks. But...you could have someone else." You rolled your eyes. That wasn't the problem. "Come on! You're amazing! You're beautiful. You're independently wealthy." You snorted at that. "Fine, you aren't gonna be dependent on a man. Better?"

"Yeah, that is better."

"So, you go on Match or eharmony or something and you find some guy that-" You rolled your eyes and looked away. No guy was going to hold a candle to Jensen. "You need to get back on the horse."

"The horse is dead, Kaylee," you snapped. "The horse has been dead and trying to find some way to animate it is stupid."

"Yo, don't snap at me, I'm just trying to help you! You need a boyfriend, honey. Gotta get over Simon and Jensen...so we gotta get you under someone else."

"I don't want to get under anyone. I don't want to ever have sex again. Sex is canceled."

"So, you're just giving up? You're barely forty!"

"And I've been chewed up and spit out by love and I'm tired of it. I can't do this anymore. I'm done."

"Wow...a single night hanging with Jensen and you wanna give up on men?"

You gave her a tight smile. "No, you're right. I should just hang around and wait for the next guy to make me feel horrible."

"That's the spirit," she said with a grin. "Seriously...I'm giving you a month to find a guy who's promising. After that, I'm setting you up with someone."

"Don't do that to me."

"Then find a man."

'Find a man'. What man could possibly make you feel anything after Jensen?

~~~~

You were a week into your latest failure of an online dating attempt when the door to your chocolate shop opened and a handsome bearded man walked in. You cursed the way you probably looked; you still weren't sleeping. Between the guilt and the shameful arousal that warred in you when you thought about what you'd done, there was just no way to make yourself fight the insomnia.

You let yourself feel a bit better about your looks when you saw the ring on his finger. You could be apathetic about the heavy lids and bloodshot eyes if he wasn't a romantic possibility.

"Welcome to Charlie's Chocolates. I'm Y/n. Let me know if there's anything you wanna sample."

The man smiled but didn't respond as he stepped down the line of cases, looking over the candies. He asked to sample a few, then smiled again. "So, do you do any, like, catering or anything?"

"Um...I haven't before but I guess it depends on what you need, where, and when."

"Well, I'm brewmaster for a craft brewery out in Dripping Springs. We're hosting an appreciation event for our fans and employees. It's a big two-day event. We're trying to get as much of the catering done by Austin small businesses as possible, ya know? Shop local, support local."

"That’s wonderful!"

He smiled brightly. "Yeah. So, we've got a small bakery making cakes and pies, and a local creamery making a few special ice creams. Last step for dessert has to be some amazing chocolate and caramels!'

"Well, how big an event are we talking?" You wiped your hands on your apron.

"Two thousand on the high end.  Last year, we only had about six hundred each day, but we're hoping more show up this time."

"So, that's a thousand each day? You said it was a two day event, right?"

"Yeah. It's two days of beer and barbecue and cake and pie...and chocolate bars?" he finishes hopefully.

"Sure! I'd welcome the business and exposure! Let me get a notepad and we'll figure out how much of which things you want."

You ended up with an order of several hundred each of five of your most popular candies. You gave a bulk discount, added in a small charge for delivery and setup and handed over an invoice. He gave you an address, date and time and smiled at you. "It was nice to meet you, Y/n."

"You too, Gino. See you on the second."

"There'll be a pint on the house waiting for you."

~~~~

You put the address in your GPS and headed for Dripping Springs. Your big white transport van seemed huge on the winding roads, forcing you to drive five miles under the limit. You didn't want to force anyone off the road.

You pulled into a gravel and mud parking lot and your heart fell into your stomach. You recognized the building; the big, barn-red building that housed Family Business Beer Company. You couldn’t go in there! That was Jensen’s brewery! He was bound to be in there...and his wife might be, as well, and how could you possibly face her?

But half of the invoice had already been paid and you'd driven all this way. And there was a lot of chocolate that was going to melt if you didn’t take it inside and Charlie's Chocolates needed the publicity.

You reluctantly pulled up to the loading door beside a similar white van. Gino walked out of a warehouse to the back and left of the main brewery and clapped happily. "The chocolatier is here!"

"Y-yeah. Chocolate is here. So, is there a fridge where I can store the re-up supplies?"

You could set up a table, set up the displays, shove the rest of that day's chocolate in a fridge and then disappear for a few hours, only come back to resupply the displays and then leave again, do it all again the next day.

"Yeah, we've got a walk-in. You're gonna be in the main bar part of the brewery, along the window to the left of the door between the bar and brewery."

"Awesome." You gave a tight smile as you opened up the back of the van. You were on guard as you walked through to the main bar, eyes sweeping on the lookout for Jensen.

It had to have been a setup, you decided as you unfolded your table and locked the legs into place. He must have sent Gino to your store and you just fucking fell for it. You got played like an idiot. Whatever. You got the money. You might even be able to get out without having to see him.

Gino helped you grab some of your boxes and move them to your table and it was not long before you had a full display, complete with business card and glossy paper menus of all the things available at your shop. You picked up the rest of your chocolates and walked toward the backroom where Gino showed you the walk-in cooler.

The cool air hit you like a refreshing drink. You were able to breathe for the first time since you pulled into the brewery parking lot. You set the boxes on a steel rack and ran your hand down your face. "Now all I need to do is get to the van and hide in the back until around 2," you told yourself. "Then I can replenish and leave for the day."

The door opened behind you as you psyched yourself up to run. Jensen stepped into the cooler, a small smile on his full lips. "Hey. G told me you were in here."

"What the fuck, Jensen?" you hissed as he shut the door.

"What?" He licked his lips as he stepped closer and you backed away.

"You invited the woman you cheated on your wife with to an event at the brewery you share with your wife? What the fuck? What the actual fuck? Is this some ploy to see me again?"

His eyes went wide but his expression softened. "Hey, I invited a local Austin businesswoman to share her wares. I invited a member of the Supernatural Family to the damn Family Reunion. I invited a woman I owe an apology to...and I hope will hear my apology. Getting to see you again is just a bonus."

"This was a fucking setup, Jensen. Don't act like I'm crazy or something for coming up with-"

"No, it was a manipulation to get you in front of me again, I'm not gonna lie. I sent Gino to get you here because I knew you'd shut me down if the invite came from me."

"It's a horrible idea for me to be here!" You threw your hands up in the air. "It's a horrible idea for you to want me to be here! Jesus fucking Christ! I don't know what to-"

"Calm down," he said, stepping closer.

"Stop telling me to calm down!" You squeezed your eyes shut and stepped back again, feeling the cold metal wall at your back. "You keep telling me to calm down but you know why I can't do that!" You took a deep breath and opened your eyes. He was too close again. Just like in your office: too close and too beautiful. You squeezed your eyes closed again. "How do you sleep at night? How do you deal with what you've done, because I don't know how to. I can't sleep, Jensen, because I feel so much shame."

"I don't know how I can sleep, Y/n, but I do. I sleep just fine. I think about what happened and I don't regret it. I'm glad I got to have that moment with a woman I care about and-"

"You don't know me! How could you care about me?" You scoffed and your eyes opened. "And if you fucking cared so much, why did you drop me so easily? Why did I have to be the one to come find you? I never went anywhere! I was in Dallas the whole time!"

"I know that, but I wasn’t!" He shook his head. "I was in LA and then I moved to Austin, okay? I was only ever in Dallas for a few hours or a few days at a time and I was always with my family when I was. When was I supposed to find you? I even thought about looking but I talked myself out of it every time. Because why would I put in that effort when I was so sure you hated me for what I did?"

"Don't make yourself the victim here!"

"I'm not! I am not trying to make myself-" He cut himself off and ran his hand through his hair. "This whole messed up situation is my fault and I recognize that. I do. But we have an opportunity here. We have a chance to change the way the rest of this plays out, Y/n. Please. Just gimme a chance to prove that I do care about you and what happens to you and in the very least, don't resent me for trying to help your business grow."

"I'm not resenting you for that. I'm resenting you for manipulating me to get me here. I mean...did you even think about how I would feel if I had to interact with your wife?"

"I didn't because she's not gonna be here. She's in Atlanta, working on some FX thing. I wouldn't set you up for-"

"This whole thing was a setup!" you argued.

"Yeah, I guess it was but...Danneel's not here. It's just me and the rest of the brewery and a lot of Supernatural fans. If you could go to that convention without any issue, why not stick around for this?"

"Because the convention was before you bent me over my desk! The convention was before you told me you think about me! The convention was before-"

He licked his lips and sighed, the air hot across your face in the cool environment. "I know. But...can you really say it was a horrible experience?" You scoffed and looked away from him, but you couldn't say that. "I know you enjoyed it. I remember how you felt...cumming on my-"

"Stop!" you demanded in a whisper. "That’s just physical! My heart is in agony over it! My mind is-"

"I didn't mean to put you through that. I didn't mean to hurt you. That wasn't-" He sighed and stepped back. "I'll leave you alone. I just wanted to do what I could for your business and...and I wanted to see you again, but that's...selfish and stupid. I apologize."

He put his hands up and bowed his head, looking a bit like he'd been defeated. Defeated in what, you weren't sure but the idea that you had done something to reduce the man to that image was heartbreaking.

"Don't...I'm...fuck, Jensen. I don't know what to do here." You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment before shaking your head. "It's wrong. All of this is wrong."

"I know, but...doesn't feel wrong."

You shook your head again and looked away from him. You couldn’t disagree. “It’s...it doesn’t feel...But it is. You’re married. You’ve got kids. I can’t...we can’t.”

"You're right. We can't be together. But we could…" You looked back at him as he smiled softly. "Maybe we could forget about what happened and...try to be friends?"

"'Friends'. Do you...think you could...do that?" you asked, quietly.

"Do you think you could forgive and forget what happened last month?" he responded, stepping close again.

"If you…" You reached out and put your hand on his chest, pushing him away a bit. "...keep your distance."

His smile brightened, reaching his eyes and making them crinkle up at the corners. "I could probably manage that."

"Then...we can try."

"I'm really happy to hear you say that. So, are you going to stay?"

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. "Yeah. I guess I could do that."

"Good. Now...let me get one of those peanut and caramel things." He pointed to a box on the shelf and you smiled.

"There's some on the table. These are for this afternoon. Come on."

~~~~

The reunion was a good time. Jensen was mostly too busy to even come by to talk either day. The patrons of the bar and the Supernatural fans that showed up all raved about your chocolates. You were sure your business was going to see an uptick and you had to thank Jensen for it. That's what friends did.

There were a few people still milling around as you pulled your empty display down and took it to your van. You were putting the table in the back when Jensen approached you. "Hey. You're heading out?"

You nodded and secured the table against the wall of the van. "I actually did have a lot of fun this weekend...and you were right, I think I'm gonna get a lot of new business from this." You turned to him and smiled up at him. "Thank you for making this happen...against my will."

He chuckled. "You're welcome. Um...can I...can I show you somethin'?" he asked, pointing at the warehouse. You bit your bottom lip as you slammed the van door and followed him. "I'm sure you don't but, uh, do you remember our first date?"

Your face went hot at the memory as he led you into the dark of the warehouse. "Of course, I do."

"Okay. You, uh...you remember the song that was playing when you got in my truck?" He walked over to a stack of barrels and reached behind them, pulling out a guitar. Your eyebrows came together as he hopped up on the barrel and set the guitar across his lap. "Let me refresh your memory." His fingers found the strings and started playing and you let out a shocked gasp as he started to sing.

"Hold up, there you go again. Puttin' on that smile again. Even though I know you've had a bad day. Doin' this and doin' that. Always puttin' yourself last. A whole lot of give and not enough take. But you can only be strong for so long before you break. So fall, go on and fall apart. Fall into these arms of mine. I'll catch you every time you fall. Go on and lose it all. Every doubt, every fear. Every worry, every tear. I'm right here, baby, fall."

It was the song. How in the world he remembered the song that was playing when he drove you to that first date was beyond you, but it was the same Clay Walker song...made so much better by Jensen's voice.

You were speechless by the time he set the guitar to the side and jumped down. "Well? You...did you like it?"

"How did you--that was a lifetime ago."

He smiled and stepped up close to you. "I've replayed that night in my head a million times."

Your jaw dropped. "You can't-"

Jensen reached out and grabbed your hand. "I just needed to prove it to you, that I've had you on my mind for a long time."

Your throat clenched as he gently tugged you forward. "Jens-"

"I shouldn't say this shit. I know I said 'friends' but you know the only reason I said that was because I didn't wanna lose you when I just got you back." He licked his lips and lifted a hand to gently grab your chin and tip your head back. "I really need you to understand."

You put your hand on his chest to stop him as he leaned down to kiss you, but it wasn’t enough. It was half-hearted. As soon as his lips touched yours, you were gone. His fingers curled around the back of your neck and the back of your head and the kiss was perfect. He maneuvered you backward until the heels of your shoes hit the barrel he had been sitting on and he lifted you almost effortlessly to take his place on the wood. He immediately started kissing you again, down your neck and across your collarbone.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, somewhere rational and intelligent, you knew you should stop him. You knew that someone could walk into the warehouse. You knew someone might make a mortgage off of a picture of Jensen Ackles cheating on his wife. You knew it would be a big problem.

But his lips felt amazing on your skin. His fingers digging into your hips and thighs made you wetter than should have been legal. You couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t make yourself want to.

He pulled your Charlie's Chocolates t-shirt off over your head and buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groaning appreciatively as he scraped his teeth against the flesh starting to spill out of the cups with his attention. Your eyes wanted to close, but you wanted to see him. You wanted to see those gorgeous green eyes looking up at you.

You reached down and ran your hand through his hair as he pulled your bra down and took your nipple in his mouth. He quickly moved to the other, before jumping up to devour your mouth again. He pulled you to the edge of the barrel and tucked his fingers into your waistband, tugging your jeans and underwear down your legs.

"Need to taste you this time," he said before delving between your thighs. His lips wrapped around the little bundle of nerves and you tossed your head back. You barely kept your eyes open as he started feasting on you, staring at the high ceiling and rolling your hips against his face.

You gasped as he slipped two of his fingers into your cunt and dragged the pads of them against your g-spot. "Oh, fuck!"

He chuckled into your flesh and continued to tug at your inner walls. He pulled away and stood, keeping his fingers buried in you as he started to kiss up your chest to nip at your neck. "The sounds you make are so fucking amazing."

"J-Jensen, I-"

He shushed you as he vibrated his hand against you, putting perfect pressure on your clit as you whimpered. You grabbed at his shoulders as he brought you to orgasm with his thick fingers. You were panting, twitching with the aftershocks as he slowly slid his fingers out of you. He hummed as he sucked the digits into his mouth.

Panic crashed over you as a door slammed in the distance. Realization hit you like a brick and you jumped off the barrel, yanking your jeans up. He licked his lips and adjusted his own pants as you spun wildly, looking for your t-shirt.

"Stop. Just-" he started, but you put your hand up to stop him.

"No. You stop." You leaned down to swipe the shirt off the floor and pull it over your head. "Friends!" you hissed and he nodded. "Friends is what you said and this was not-"

"Will you wait a minute? Calm-"

"Shut! Up!" you demanded. "No. I will not wait a minute and no, I will not calm down." You let out a sobbing moan. "I can't! I can't do this!"

He stepped closer and pushed you against the wall, his hand pressing against your collarbone with firm pressure. "I need you to take a deep breath."

"You have to stop saying-"

"No, I don’t! Who does this hurt? No one! No one, okay?" He put a little more pressure on your collar. "Listen to me. I would give anything for you to just give this a chance."

"Give cheating a chance? I-"

"Give love a chance! Give me a chance! Come on!" He sighed and leaned forward. "Just...I know why this is an issue, but I just...I don’t care. I want this more than anything."

"You want...me? M-more than-"

He smiled softly and nuzzled his nose against yours. "I want you enough that I'm willing to risk everything I have."

"That shouldn't be so...flattering," you whispered.

"I'd happily flatter you, Y/n." He kissed the corner of your mouth and leaned back. "Give it a chance."

You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Okay," you whispered. "I'll give it a chance."

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[bimrsadler]

i was driving home from work last night and “illicit affairs” by taylor swift came on and i immediately thought about a smut/angst/fluff songfic between arthur and a fem reader. i used to be able to write but i am just not good at it anymore. this is a request for that!!! 😂😂😂

Illicit Affairs

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Summary: You know it’s a bad idea but you and Arthur can’t keep yourselves from each other when he targets your family for a con job

Warnings/tags: nsft, fluff, angst, pet-names, language, mutual pining

Word count: 2,155

Notes: It was also requested to use the lyrics “don’t call me kid,” and “look at this godforsaken mess that you’ve made me”

Hope this is close enough to what you were looking for!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You never planned for any of this, nor was it done on purpose. How could it have been? It was just one of those things. A yearning glance and a charming smile, followed by a touch that lingered just a second longer than it should have.

When Arthur Morgan walked into your life, you never stood a chance.

Being born into prosperity meant you weren’t supposed to mix with men like him. What proper lady would? If your family found out you would be an outcast and God knows what they would try to do to Arthur. You knew you were playing with fire but it was too addicting to stop.

It was an immediate attraction to the man who introduced himself as Arthur Callahan. His callouses were rough against your softer palm when he shook your hand. It was alarming how easily you lost yourself in the eyes that looked into yours, bright as the sky above and vivid as the grass beneath.

You gazed as he stood bowlegged, hands resting somehow both leisurely and authoritatively on his belt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was inexplicably the most attractive thing you’d ever seen a man do.

He saw you admiring and peered up from under the brim of his hat with a shy smile.

Your family was an easy target for the Van der Lind gang, too caught up in the feeling of invincibility and arrogance that came with generations of wealth to notice that they were being conned.

You weren’t quite as easily fooled however and watched in amusement as Arthur’s surprisingly nimble fingers nicked your fathers silver pocket watch; your old man too mesmerized by Hosea’s smooth-talking to notice.

They suggested a “continuous partnership,” which you knew really meant “continuous con.” You realized you should divulge this to your family but couldn’t find the capacity to care. You were an adult who should have been your own woman, but it felt impossible to break free of them given how few alternatives in life there were.

They kept you sheltered and pressured to be proper, to stay with the family and do that they wanted, marry who they wanted. Live the life they wanted.

They held you back from the real world for so long that you felt it fitting the real world should come to them for a change.

Admittedly though, you also found your heart racing and stomach flipping at the prospect of a the alluring thief returning to your home.

As the men headed towards the wagon to leave, your father still enraptured in Hosea’s stories; you pulled Arthur aside and placed the jewelry from around your neck into his open palm.

Arthur’s brows furrowed as he looked on in confusion, “uh Miss..what’re ya…”

“You’re gonna want more than that pocket watch for a good payday.” You reveled in Arthur’s sudden stuttering and flushed skin. You could get used to flustering the man.

“It’s just a necklace, got more than I need anyhow.” You closed Arthur’s hand with a wink, “I won’t tell anyone.”

When you walked into Arthur Morgan’s life, he never stood a chance.

In the coming months you shared many things with Arthur and he with you. You shared jewels and trinkets that you knew wouldn’t be missed, you shared kisses and secrets that you knew wouldn’t be betrayed.

It took time for him to trust but he’d found enough to share with you as well. Share his time and skills, whisking you away from home to teach you to shoot. “Well shit, the kid’s a natural,” he’d say with a playful elbow nudge as you hit your target. You weren’t overly fond of being called “kid” but allowed it to slide because it was Arthur.

He shared small things about the gang and their lives. That they’d recently settled on the outskirts of town, they had a code and took care of each other. Something more appealing than your own family.

As time passed you even shared your bed with him, sneaking him up in the middle of the night, him sneaking you out to the barn or his tent nearby.

He shed his false identity while pressed deep inside of you. “My last name’s Morgan,” his hot breath shaky against your ear, “real name is Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur Morgan was more tender than ever expected and when he whispered that he would take good care of you while removing the last of your clothing; he wasn’t lying.

His lips and fingers roamed everywhere they could after receiving the grace of your permission and overcoming the hurdle of finding his confidence. Every thrust and grasp was smooth but deliberate, a beautiful contrast to the rugged outlaws outward behavior.

He always held you close afterwards, never allowing a moment of neglect. Those occasions of afterglow filled you with butterflies and the ache of growing feelings. The glow dimmed with each sunrise however, as Arthur snuck away before your family caught wind of him and before the gang wondered where he disappeared to.

The moments of parting made the reunions that much sweeter but also chipped away at the fantasy. So far he had always come back, but eventually something would give. The gang would move on to a different place or the two of you would get caught, perhaps Arthur would find someone else - someone more fitting for him.

There was also guilt in going behind your family’s back and Arthur felt he was a bad influence. Despite this, he kept coming back for more and you gave it to him.

But as the days grew closer to one of those inevitabilities, the tension between you rose. Arthur put up walls that you couldn’t break down, pushed you away to a distance you couldn’t reach him from.

“I’m a nasty degenerate and I can’t give you half the life you got here,” he huffed and shook his head.

“How can I make it any clearer that I’m not happy with this life? I don’t want this.” It was becoming hard to hold back the frustration of not being heard.

“Darlin’ I told you I ain’t no good for you, I showed up as trouble at yer doorstep and I’ll be leavin’ that way too.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me Arthur. Maybe some trouble’s what I need, maybe I want to be part of the gang.”

“I don’t think you know what you want, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid!” You had never rose your voice to Arthur before but what once was endearing now felt condescending. Your voice wavered as you covered your face in exasperation, “look at this godforsaken mess that you’ve made me…”

Arthur’s face softened as he swallowed hard, “told ya sweetheart…’m trouble.”

He left quietly that night as you hid your teary-eyed face, unsure if you would ever see him again. Maybe he was right, he was trouble and you didn’t know what you were asking. But it was your mistake to make.

A few weeks passed and you were sure that Arthur had moved on. Though you were angry still; you missed the gentle knock of him at your window, the sound of his deep voice, the touch of his warm skin. You missed the passion.

The evening went on quietly, boringly even, as you finished your daily chores. Putting the horse brushes away in the barn you distantly heard the unmistakably animated voice of Hosea, wagon wheels heavily moving along the dirt.

You snuck closer to see that Arthur was indeed accompanying him and listened in more intently. He inquired with your father about seeing the horses, knowing that was always your last chore of the day and he could find you there.

Your father waved Arthur in the direction of the barn dismissively, saying you could show off the horses while he caught up with Hosea. “Jesus, maybe they should run away together instead,” you joked to yourself.

Pacing back and forth you began to fidget with the parts of your dress that suddenly felt too tight.

Arthur met you outside the barn and tipped his hat, “howdy ma’am, was hopin’ to buy one of these horses from ya.”

You crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. “Cute. What’re you doing here?”

He took his hat off and held it to his chest, “to apologize. I acted like a fool last time we spoke.”

“It’s just…well,” he stammered and rubbed the back of his neck. “I ain’t used to lettin’ people in or affection and I don’t handle it well. But I can’t stop thinkin’ about you…jus’ feels like you ain’t been too happy with me lately.”

His earnest voice and apologetic demeanor overwhelmed you. “It’s not you Arthur, it’s the sneakin’ around. It was fun at first but I don’t wanna be hidden away anymore. I wanna leave this place and leave it with you.”

“I want that too but it ain’t that easy-”

“Yeah well it shouldn’t be this easy for you to toy with my time either but here you are,” you interrupted.

Arthur stepped forward, spurs clicking as he moved closer to you. “That what you think this has been?”

“I dunno,” you puffed out your chest and stared up at him. “You tell me.”

Arthur pulled your body flush to his for a powerful kiss, tongue gliding along yours. He moved his hands to undo your corset and dress, desperately pawing to get at what was underneath.

“This?” Arthur hoisted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist before laying you down the grass. “This ain’t never been a waist of time.”

He kissed a trail down your neck to your breasts, “and I don’t wanna hide you no more neither…what if tonight’s the last night it’s a secret?”

“Take me,” you moaned between words as Arthur took your sensitive nipple in his mouth “take me with you, Arthur.”

With a husky groan he rolled his hips against you, losing more composure every passing second. “Can’t…goddamn…can’t get enough a ya girl.”

“So is that a yes?”

Arthur slowed his movements and gingerly held your face, looking down at you with those bright, burning eyes. “You can handle it?”

You maneuvered your hands between your wanting bodies to free his hardness and stroked slow and firm. “Yes Arthur I can handle it,” you winked with a soft bite to his lower lip.

“’S’all I need to hear then sweetheart.”

The clothes left between you came off in a frantic hurry, Arthur plunging into your heat as soon as you were open to him. Your nails pressed into his broad, sun-kissed shoulders, “that’s it girl, hold on as tight as ya need to…”

Every thrust sent a shockwave through your core and abdomen, slowly tightening the coils like only Arthur could. His movements forced the air out of you - along with wanton moans - as he rocked your body forward.

You felt his thumb glide over your lower lip, gently pressing against it. His rugged drawl teased, “careful sweetheart, wouldn’t want yer daddy hearin’…” The lopsided and devilish smirk that made you fall for him grew wider, “…now would we?”

Your walls clenched around him, unable to control your body’s response to the strapping man above you. “God…won’t have to worry about that much longer anyway…”

“I know, but I’ll kinda miss it…” Arthur’s fingers snuck between you and twirled lightly against your swollen arousal. “Sinnin’ with ya like this…”

You mewled beneath him at his touch, “we’ll still have room for sin, handsome.”

His voice was husky and honeyed with lust, intoxicated by your pleasure. “I’m already damned so I’ll sin with ya every day.”

Arthur’s rutting became rhythmic and deep as he brought his chest down to yours, fingers still guiding you to your climax.

Goosebumps rose on your flushed skin when he purred against your ear, “but maybe there’s some room for love too, sweet girl.”

Nothing mattered but that moment, the hope for the future, the high of your release, the feeling of being filled by him. The feeling of being loved by him.

Coming undone you uttered words a proper woman never would with gasps and shivers, Arthur following suit. His thrusts became shallower as his grip on your hips grew tighter, spilling into you with blissful groans.

The soothing murmur of Arthur’s praises floated in the air, his rugged hand caressing your burning skin. This night didn’t feel the same as the others, an afterglow of a different color.

Part of you still couldn’t shake the nerves of Arthur leaving and not coming back for you still, the fear or naivety of trusting an outlaw. But despite that, you did trust him.

Arthurs presence was reassuring and calm, giving you no choice but to look forward to your new life. No matter the outcome, the godforsaken mess would be worth it.

[12timetraveler]

Scars

Short sprint.

Summary:

After a lovemaking session, reader takes some time to look over the scars that litter Hosea's body.

Notes:

So recently a friend pointed out that Hosea has a scar across his lip so it got me imagining what other scars he might have. This is just a cute little moment.

The story can be read below or on AO3

The room felt incredibly hot, and your body was sticky with perspiration. The window was fogged up from the contrast of the stuffy room and the cold early winter air outside. The man next to you was quite possibly the warmest thing in the room. He radiated heat from his bare, sweaty skin as he breathed heavily beside you.

Despite all that you latched on to each other, not ready to separate after such a passionate love making session. His softening cock had slipped out of you, but still nestled between your legs, which were tangled with his. His arms wrapped around you, and yours around him as you nuzzled your face into his sweaty chest. 

Hosea's heart beat rapidly under his ribs. You could feel it against your cheek. There was also a slight whistle to his breathing as he caught his breath, but that was very common these days. 

"We should..." Hosea panted against your hair. "We should open a window," 

You grumbled and clung to him tighter, refusing to let him out of your grasp. He just chuckled and kissed the top of your head. 

"I agree. Not worth it," he cooed. 

The arm that rested over your waist shifted up to cradle your face against him. The heat should have been unbearable like this, but you were prepared to melt into a puddle with your beloved if it meant staying close to him. 

You slid a hand down his back to his ass, clutching at the muscle there and tugging him impossibly closer so his hips stayed flush against yours. He hummed in delight and hooked his ankle around yours to help lock each other in place. 

You sighed as you nuzzled against him, opening your eyes to peer up at him. His hazel brown gaze was already on you, watching you with a tenderness that made your heart swell fit to burst.

"Mmmm. I love you," he murmured, kissing your forehead. 

"I love you too," you purred, stretching against him. "Mmm mmm I'm gonna be sore tomorrow," you giggled. Already you could feel an ache in your center from the wonderful beating it had taken. 

"I hope not too sore," Hosea hummed, carding his fingers through your hair. 

"I don't think so," you assured him. "Just that beautiful ache that reminds me how good my man loves me." 

Hosea chuckled and you leaned up to get a kiss. His lips were swollen from so many kisses, but he happily gave you another. 

You felt something warm beginning to trickle down onto your thigh, and your nose wrinkled at the sensation. The mess you could maybe do without. 

"Need some help getting cleaned up?" Hosea teased, recognizing your response. You nodded, but your arms stayed locked around him. "I need to get up if I'm gonna help," he cooed. Still you didn't release him. He leaned forward and began peppering a thousand little kisses across your face until you were giggling and swatting him away. You whined and flipped onto your back, reluctantly letting him go. 

He stood up with a dramatic groan rolling his shoulders and stretching his back before he made his way across the room to where his satchel had been discarded on the vanity. You watched the way his ass flexed with each step, just a little bowlegged as he walked. 

Hosea slid one of the windows open just a crack to let some of the cool air into the stuffy room. Then he dug through the satchel, retrieving a clean handkerchief and a canteen of water. He tidied himself up before coming back to the bed and sitting beside you. 

You smiled up at him and let your legs fall open, giving him a beautiful view of his cum dribbling out of you. He took in a shaky breath before leaning down to tenderly mop up the mess there, avoiding your sensitive clit. 

Once he was done, he tossed the bandana aside for later and came to lie down beside you once more. He unscrewed the cap of the canteen and took a swig before passing it to you. You swallowed a big mouthful of water, the cool liquid easing the scratchiness in your throat caused by cries of pleasure. 

You passed the canteen back to him and he took another sip before capping it and setting it aside. Now assured that you were taken care of for the time, he settled in beside you once more. You immediately latched onto him, nuzzling against his neck with a sigh as you curled up against him. His arms came back around you, holding you close. 

You always enjoyed this. You and Hosea had been a couple for about six months now, and friends for much longer. While you loved sitting with him and talking, swapping stories or discussing the paper, you found these moments after sex where the two of you were just cuddling to be your favorite. Breathing in each other's scent and holding each other close as you recovered. It was so intimate. 

After a few minutes you shifted up his body so you were face to face. He hummed tiredly and gave you a quick kiss. His hand trailed up and down your waist gently, sending shivers up your body. 

You studied his face, following the familiar lines and planes that made up your favorite man. His nose, slightly crooked with a small scar on his bridge, suggesting at least one break somewhere in his adventures. The wrinkles that framed his mouth and nose. The laugh lines around his eyes. 

The scar across his bottom lip caught your attention. For all you and Hosea talked, he'd never brought up where this came from. You unconsciously trailed your thumb across his bottom lip, tracing the scar. You glanced up to see Hosea watching you. 

"What happened here?" You asked. 

"Well," Hosea hummed, thinking back on the story. "It was a barfight, I believe. I was

... Mmm probably thirty or so. Not long after I'd met Dutch. We were in a little bar outside of... Cincinnati I think it was. There was some sleazy, drunken buffoon driving everyone crazy. Taunting the men and harassing the women. He started pestering me and Dutch. I can't even remember what for at this point. Probably just trying to get a rise out of the two newcomers. 

"I tried to ignore him at first but he kept mouthing off so finally I snapped. Told him to go back to primary school if he was gonna act like a child. Something like that. He didn't take it very well. I was sipping on my glass of whiskey and he brought his hand up under the glass and slammed it against my face, breaking the glass, chipping my tooth, and splitting my lip," 

Hosea opened his mouth so you could see the slight chip in his tooth, now long smoothed over from years of use. 

"I don't remember much after that if I'm honest. Dutch says I grabbed the man and dragged him up into the counter and started beating his face in. Took Dutch and the barkeep both to pull me off of him. I was..." Hosea sighed. "I was much more... Unhinged in the early days. Far too eager for a fight. Bit like the juniors of the gang nowadays.

"The other man started it, so I didn't get in any trouble. Took forever for my lip to heal. Probably didn't help that I was getting into fistfights every other week it seemed. It would almost heal then I'd take another punch to the face and pop the scab open again," 

"It looks like it healed over pretty well eventually," you remarked. The scar was smooth and faded, really only visible up close. 

"Eventually," he agreed. 

"I'm assuming your nose broke about the same time?" You asked, tracing your finger along his large, slightly crooked nose. 

"Yeah somewhere around there," Hosea hummed. "I don't remember exactly when. It was some bar fight or something like that. Not the same fight. At least I don't think so," 

"What about this?" You asked, tracing a finger along a small scar under his left eye. 

"Hmmm," Hosea had to think on that. "I think that one came from a tree branch whipping my face when I was escaping the law on horseback." 

You leaned forward and planted a tiny kiss on his cheek. "You don't mind that I'm asking, do you?" You murmured, meeting his gaze. 

"Nah," he assured you. "Nothing here I'm ashamed or upset by." 

You trailed your fingers down his cheek to his neck where a very faint scar hid along his jaw. 

"Here?" 

"You remember that story of how I was almost hung when I was 18 but someone shot the rope?" He asked. "Bit of rope burn," 

You planted a kiss on his neck before you let your gaze trail down his body. On his bicep was a rather large, jagged scar. 

"What happened here?" 

"Bullet wound," he explained. "It went straight through. Missed everything important though. More of a graze than a shot." He began tracing his own fingers down his body. "Got a few more graze spots. Some close calls with bullets over the years." 

You trailed your hand down his arm. There were certainly many small scars, likely from fights or bullets or, hell, just existing. You played with his fingers, examining them. On one thumb you could see a bit of a mark, not quite a scar but certainly something. 

"Was this a burn?" You asked. 

"Hmmm probably," Hosea mused. "I don't completely remember but... Yes I think I was trying to start up the campfire and my hand slipped. Just a little burn," 

You moved back up his arm and across his chest. You stopped when you saw a scar on his chest, just over his heart. You looked up at him in question. He just smiled ruefully. 

"I know that one looks bad, but unfortunately the story is nothing too grand," he chuckled. "I was out hunting and slipped down a hillside. Tumbled all the way to the bottom where I landed on a rock." He said, fingers brushing over the scar. "Scraped up my chest and was sore for days but no lasting damage," 

"God damnit, Hosea," you giggled. Of course he'd do something like that. 

"Don't make fun of me," he scoffed playfully, jabbing you in the side with his finger and making you laugh. "Your poor old lover and all his very serious old wounds," 

"Yes," you giggled, "Very serious."

Hosea leaned down and stole a kiss, and after a few more giggles you continued looking him over. 

On his other arm there was an arc of little marks. You traced the scars, trying to figure it out. 

"Silver Dollar," 

"What?" 

"When I first got Silver Dollar he had quite the temper. Bad enough that The Count would look like an angel in comparison. I dropped my guard and he bit me," Hosea chuckled. "Broke skin in a few places. These are teeth marks," he explained, tracing each short little dash. 

"I never would have thought. He's such a sweet boy now," 

"Yeah. Now," Hosea huffed. "Took a LOT of training to get there. Stubborn bastard." 

Your fingers began trailing down his body, examining the marks on his torso. A bullet graze along his ribs cage. A couple small insignificant marks. 

Towards the bottom of his ribcage you spotted a thin scar in a straight line. 

"Stab wound?" You asked, tracing the line. You'd seen some healed stab wounds before. 

"Yep. By some miracle they missed anything vital. Just went through fat and muscle. Bled like a pig but didn't bleed out somehow. That one did get infected, but I healed up eventually,"  

"You are one lucky bastard," you huffed. 

"Don't I know it," he laughed. "There's another stab wound on my back, up near my shoulder blade. The knife got stuck in the bone and missed anything vital. I slit his throat and I was fine a few days later," 

"What about the big one on your thigh?" You asked. You'd seen it many times while down there giving him pleasure. Right on his upper thigh, dangerously close to his manhood. 

"Another hunting incident," he laughed. "I was tracking a buck, but at some point the beast had circled 'round to the side of me. I barely had time to duck out of the way as he charged me. Damn thing sliced my leg with his antler. Hobbled back to camp and Susan patched me up. Walking was hard for a while but I healed up okay," 

You smiled and moved back up to his face, planting a kiss on his lips. 

"So many memories, both good and bad," you remarked. 

"That's an unfortunate side effect of old age," he sighed. 

"Maybe. Or maybe it's a sign of a life lived," you hummed. He smiled and stroked your cheek. "It's a wonder you don't have more," you remarked. "With this lifestyle," 

"If I had too many more, one of them would have probably killed me," he sighed ruefully. "That's why most outlaws don't live to fifty. One too many wounds. I've been lucky most bullets have just grazed me," he traced over a small graze under his arm, along his ribs. 

"Luck and skill," you remarked. "There are some lucky bastards out there that still don't live past forty. It takes some skill and knowledge to live like you have," 

"Maybe," he sighed. You nuzzled against them. 

"I'm glad for the scars," you mumbled against his chest. "If they were wounds but never scars, I wouldn't have you here with me," 

"I suppose that's true," 

[samisadeangirl]

This sort of nonsense is one of the reasons why Destihellers aren’t fans of SPN, just of their ship. If you ignore or outright never watch episodes and even entire seasons and hyper-focus only on what you think are shippable moments, or even worse only get your info from fanfic, GIFs, and meta posts, then you can certainly build a false narrative of this epic romance between a hunter and his guardian angel that’s totes at the core of the couple of hours you actually watched of the show.

If however you take those bits of scenes in the context of the entire show, it’s clear that they aren’t anything special, let alone romantic, and that there’s really nothing in the canon to support Destiel. For example:

Dean staring at Castiel: Dean is walking sex on bowlegs who “eye-f*cks” literally everyone, including his mom, his car, a one-shot character played by Alan Ackles (i.e. Jensen’s dad), and of course SAM a lot more than anyone else.

Castiel staring at Dean: Cas also stares at a lot of people because he’s an alien being who doesn’t understand human interactions all that well. More importantly, Dean complains whenever he catches the angel doing so, which is hardly romantic.

Dean staring at other men: Every example used to try to “prove” that Dean is bisexual (as a first step toward “proving” he’s totes in twu lurves with the angel) has a clear nonsexual explanation when taken in context, such as looking for an identifying birthmark or checking out outfits after being sent back in time. As for the siren, its MO is to give their victims what they truly want, which for Dean, who can get hot women on his own, is a little brother who still trusted and admired him.

Other characters commenting on their relationship: People comment on Dean’s relationship with SAM, such as mistaking them for a couple, referring to their relationship as a marriage, or comparing them to well-known romantic pairs, a lot more. Plus both times someone said something about Dean and Cas, that person happens to be well-known for their snark (Balthazar and Meg) and thus said comments aren’t meant to be taken seriously (not to mention that Balthazar joked about Sam and Dean too).

Profound bond: The entire line in context is, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond,” when Sam asked if Castiel liked Dean better than him, so the intent is simply that Cas feels closer to Dean compared to how he feels about Sam. More importantly, Cas then says a few lines later, “You think I came because you called? I came because of this,” meaning that his true interest is in the missing weapon, not his “bond” with Dean--hardly romantic.

Mixtape: Mixtapes were never inherently romantic--people gave them to friends as well as SO’s as a means to share musical interests, not as a romantic gesture. In Dean’s case, there’s nothing to indicate he made it specifically for Castiel--it looked more like a tape he’d had for a while. More importantly, Cas used giving the tape back as a pretext to get into Dean’s room to steal the Colt--again hardly romantic.

Purgatory apology: Dean apologizes to Castiel for how he’d been treating him  after Mary’s death (even though the angel deserved it and more) because Dean was about to abandon Cas in Purgatory (again) to get back to save SAM, so naturally he felt guilty for abandoning his friend to what he felt was his death (again). And this was simply the latest in a long string of instances of Dean ditching Cas in order to save SAM, such as leaving him to face Raphael alone at the end of S4, leaving him in the dubious care of a demon in S7, leaving him in Purgatory (the first time) at the beginning of S8, letting him go to face off against Metatron alone at the end of S8, kicking him out of the Bunker in S9, and ignoring his getting beaten by Lucifer in the Cage analog in S11.

Mourning Castiel’s death: Each time Castiel dies, Dean spends a scene at most mourning him before moving on, which is no more and sometimes less than what he does when other friends die, such as Kevin or Charlie. It’s certainly less than how he mourns when true family dies, i.e. John, Bobby, Mary, and even when Baby gets damaged, and it obviously can’t compare to how unhinged Dean gets when SAM dies. As OP stated above, his depression in the beginning of S13 was clearly more due to Mary’s loss (and his distrust of Lucifer’s spawn), and his improved mood after Cas’ return was more due to needing a “damn win” of any kind after losing so much. It should also be noted that Dean never makes an effort to bring Cas back (unlike SAM), and the 2 times he asked Chuck to bring the angel back, he also asked for Mary and even Crowley in S13 and for the people and birds in S15. Plus Dean not bringing Cas up again after Chuck’s defeat and barely reacting when Sam and Bobby do could suggest that their “friendship” was another of Chuck’s manipulations, like Sam’s “romance” with Eileen.

Thus Hellers insisting that these isolated “Destiel moments” have some deep meaning proving that the ship is “totes cannon” only works on their fellow deluded shippers in the same echo chamber. For everyone else who paid attention to the entire show instead of only isolated fragments, it’s pretty clear that there’s nothing there.

Correct me if I’m wrong. But Dean had way more visceral reactions when Kevin and Charlie died. Hell, became functioning alcoholic when Bobby died. But Dean sitting defeated for a few seconds at the end of an episode, and then basically moved on by the start of the next. Is Dean so in love. People really making shit up in their heads.

You're not wrong, it's that simple.

They take a few seconds from canon, write reams upon reams of "meta" and fanfic dissecting and emphasizing how ~*significant*~ it all is in light of the true underlying story of SPN. Over and over and over again, they laser focus in on little nothing moments they can twist to fit their preset agenda while dismissing everything else. So in their heads, it's this huge obvious thing that overshadows all - because it's all they ever pay attention to. So they really don't understand when canon treats all of those moments as the literal couple of seconds that actually happened instead of the epic lovelorn romance they entirely made up in their own heads.

To pretend that Dean was more torn up about Castiel and therefore in lurve? You first have to ignore how absurd it is to say that you can't feel significant grief over someone who is "just" a friend. Then you have to ignore basically ... fucking everything ... about the intensity of his relationship to Sam. After that? You have to ignore how he reacted when Kevin died, when Charlie died, when John died. You have to ignore that his upset in season 7 wasn't just about Castiel, but about Bobby. You have to ignore that his upset in season 13 wasn't just about Castiel, but Mary and even Crowley. You have to ignore that his upset in 15x19 was just as much about literally everyone else on the planet being wiped out of existence because God was out to punish him and Sam personally, not just Castiel. Finally, you have to ignore that Sam was the one still really thinking about missing Castiel and Jack during their post-apocalyptic lives, and that when Dean died and Bobby told him Castiel was in heaven? Dean was more interested in reuniting with his car while he waited for Sam.

[muffinbeliever]

Hold Me Tighter

The reader sees Dean months after they broke up. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: angst... like only angst :( sorry guys

A/N: hello, i’m sorry for the not even flangsty but ANGSTY one shot. i had a terrible day that pretty much went exactly like this one shot did and its really just more of a way for me to vent than a fic i wanted to write. i hope you like it, and please don’t cry because i’ve cried enough tears for all of us

Masterlist

Green eyes roamed over your face, a small smirk pulling at Dean’s mouth. You self-consciously brushed at your mouth, making sure there weren’t any crumbs left over from the slice of pie you consumed. 

“What?” you asked defensively, not finding anything out of place with your appearance. He shook his head and continued his staring. You rolled your eyes at his odd behavior and reached for your cup of coffee. Steam billowed out as you gently blew on the hot beverage and you took a sip, feeling the warmth run down your throat and settle in your stomach. 

It was a cloudy day, fitting for the mood. People passed by your table, some were with friends, some were walking their dogs, and others were just alone. You observed as they walked by, having nothing else to do during the awkward silence between you and the older Winchester. 

It had been a while since you had last seen him, at least six months. The two of you dated for two years before it was apparent that you had stronger feelings towards him than he had for you. It started with the small gestures, ones that you would have normally brushed off, but given the frequency of fights that you shared recently, you couldn’t help but look deeper into them. 

He began to talk to you less. Most nights, you would lie in bed together and talk about anything under the sun before going to sleep, but gradually, hours turned into minutes and minutes turned into nothing. At one point, you were surprised he even knew you were in the same bed as him. 

The hand holding and forehead kisses also began to dwindle. He spent less time with you and more time drinking at the bar. You weren’t sure what went wrong, what you could have done to make him feel this way. His words still echoed in your mind from the day you confronted him for pulling away. 

“I just don’t think I feel the same way that you feel for me.” 

You didn’t allow yourself to think about that day, but when you did, you remembered it like it was yesterday. You remembered the feeling of how your heart stopped and the pit in your stomach. His eyes were filled with sorrow and guilt, knowing that he had hurt you, but he had seen how much pain he had caused the past several weeks and despite wishing it wasn’t over, you knew that letting each other go would be the right decision. You remembered how Dean kept apologizing as you sobbed, holding you to his chest and rubbing your back in soothing motions. You remembered how you were too weak to pull away from his hold, even though you knew he didn’t love you. You remembered the sadness in Sam’s eyes as you packed your bags and left the bunker. He knew how much you had loved his brother. You remembered Sam’s whispered apologies and promises to talk to his brother. You remembered driving away from the bunker, the road ahead blurry with tears and sorrows. 

There was no way for you to get over him. To you, Dean Winchester was the one. It was a truth that you had accepted five months into your relationship and at the time you thought it was a blessing, but now you knew it was exactly the opposite. Falling in love with Dean was as easy as breathing. Your hardened heart was no match for his flirtatious winks and infectious laugh. His bowlegged-ness only added to his charm, much to your frustrations. You let him tear down your walls brick by brick until you were standing naked in front of him, exposed in your broken glory. You had given him your heart to protect, to cherish and love for the years to come, only for him to leave it on the bus, never to be found again. 

You didn’t blame him for the way he felt. He was never great at identifying any emotion that wasn’t anger. You knew that if he could change it, he would in a heartbeat. He didn’t have to explain how sorry he felt, you could see it in his tear-filled eyes and defeated posture. It was an unfortunate circumstance that you had found yourself in, one even Missouri couldn’t have seen coming. 

Despite knowing you would never be over it, you tried your damndest to act like it. Whenever Bobby called, you were a tough hunter, burning bones left and right. Charlie’s not-so-subtle attempts to ask about your wellbeing were met with aloofness and nonchalance. Even Sam had texted you, telling you to not give up, only to have you respond that it was over. 

But three bottles of beer and two shots of whiskey had you singing a different tune. It was the reason why you only drank alone, not trusting yourself to keep up your facade while in an inebriated state. There were nights spent in bed, sobbing as you swiped through the photos on your phone, unable to bring yourself to delete the numerous pictures of Dean kissing your cheek, his smile, and his embraces. On the nights when you needed him the most, you called him, and he picked up every time. 

There wasn’t much conversation, it was mainly you crying while he apologized. He encouraged you to go out and find someone who deserved you, someone that wasn’t him. In the mornings, you would feel horrible, sending him a quick ‘sorry’ only to have him respond with an annoyingly sweet response, wishing you a good day. It made your heart ache for the man who used to be yours. 

When you rolled into Lebanon, Kansas, you had every intention of driving straight through the small town, but your grumbling stomach and tired eyes were begging for a break. You knew that asking to see Dean would only cause you more pain afterwards, but the short time you would be able to spend with him was worth it all. 

He responded surprisingly fast, saying that he would like to see you, even if Sam couldn’t because he was out of town with Eileen. You were nervous to only meet Dean, but you were also excited. Although he broke your heart, you still loved and cared for him, especially since he has been so thoughtful and kind after the breakup. 

You met him in a diner not far from the bunker, one that you frequented when you lived with them. You had arrived early, already sitting at the booth when he pulled up in the classic black 1967 Chevy Impala. He stepped out of the car, and your breath caught. 

Not much had changed about his appearance. There were still jeans that were loose enough not to show anything but tight enough to emphasize his bowlegs. He donned a blue flannel with a white t-shirt underneath. His hair looked like he ran his hands through it a hundred times. Baby was a sleek black, the neon sign of the diner reflecting off her hood. He walked in and met your eyes immediately, his eyes raking over your appearance as he made his way over to the table. 

A waiter came by to take your orders and the conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, sticking only to the safe topics like Sam, Castiel, and hunting. You were happy to hear that your favorite angel friend was doing well, making a mental note to pray to him soon. By the time the pie came and went, there was nothing else to talk about, a silence settling over the table. 

You were acutely aware of your heart pounding and could already feel the tears beginning to form as you realized that your time with Dean was over. He was doing well— better, in fact. You observed the way he was sitting, his laid-back posture and relaxed shoulders. He was leaning against the back of the booth, his hands open on the table. While his dark circles were still there, it no longer looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was carefree and happy, the two things you only ever wanted him to be. You smiled at the thought of him happy

“What?” He asked, now his turn to be defensive. You gave him a soft smile and shook your head. He gave you a knowing look, one where his eyes peered into your soul. The same look he gave you when you were hiding something from him. 

“You look good,” you said, and he puffed his chest out, flexing his arms in an exaggerated way that made you giggle.

“I always look good, Y/N/N,” he retorted with his usual flirtatious tone and a wink. You playfully rolled your eyes. 

“You look beautiful as always,” he confessed, and your heart stopped. You couldn’t remember the last time he called you beautiful. You couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes, and you looked to the side, quickly blinking them away. But of course, he saw. His eyes softened as you cowered into your seat. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asked gently and you shook your head, not trusting your voice to speak without cracking. 

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, and you couldn’t help but look up into his deep green eyes. 

“Talk to me, please,” he asked, and you shrugged, at a loss for words. There wasn’t anything you could say that he hadn’t heard before. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “What’s wrong?”

“I dunno…” you trailed off, “I’m just a little sad I guess.” Tears fell from your eyes but you gave him a sad smile, wanting him to know that it wasn’t his fault. It was yours. You were the one who asked to see him. You were the one who had feelings towards him. 

The waiter left the check on the table and you slapped down a pile of cash before Dean could even register what it was. You got up from the table and made your way outside, not wanting to cry under the bright lights of the diner. Dean followed you out and the two of you stood under the shadow of the street light. 

You had nothing to say, not knowing what was crossing a line and what wasn’t. Suddenly, the stress from the last months, the pain and sadness, the longing, and the uncertainty came crashing down on you. Dean looked conflicted before pulling you into his arms. 

“Please don’t cry sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair, only making you cry harder. He ran his fingers through your tangles in hopes to calm you down. 

“I’m here, Y/N/N,” he reassured. Your sobs quieted down, and you felt him begin to pull away. You squeezed your arms against his body, not letting him go.

“Please,” you begged, not caring how pathetic you sounded at the moment, “Don’t.” His arms tightened around you once again in a comforting embrace. His cheek rested on the top of your head, and the rhythm of his heartbeat resounded in your ears. 

“You’ll be okay, Y/N,” he whispered, and your heart sank. You knew that you would be okay at some point. You didn’t know when, but you knew you couldn’t be wallowing forever. But you knew that you wouldn’t be with Dean either. He hadn’t suddenly fallen in love with you like you had hoped. He wasn’t broken up over the fact that you were gone. He was living his life, and you knew that you had to do the same. 

You pulled away from him, wiping your face and sniffing before looking at him again. 

“It was good to see you again, Dean,” you said and you truly meant it. You turned on your heels and quickly made your way to your car, driving out of the parking lot and making your way back to the highway, leaving Dean, Lebanon, and your old life behind. 

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Maybe Van Gogh Was Onto Something In The End

This time of the year makes me sad and miserable so I decided to make Jacob sad and miserable for nearly 12K words

--

Jacob wouldn't go so far as to say this was nice but it was…tolerable. Better than it had been in the last few days (weeks? months?) all things considered. For the first time since the reports began flooding his social media about an unidentified spacecraft spotted in the Milky Way, he felt what could best be described as content. He supposed he could have been feeling similarly when he was bedridden with fever dreams and next to no cognitive function beyond craving the comfort of physical touch, but this time he didn’t have the cursed blessing of delirium to help clear his thoughts of anxieties.

Instead, he was fully aware that he had begun to slip into a new routine of normalcy and he despised that revelation just as much as he loathed everything else his captor brought onto him. Or, at least, he tried to despise it, tried to hate it with every fiber of his being but…normal was normal. Normal was good, so say the quick read psychology articles he would skim on his way to class. Building routines was helpful to reduce stress and anxiety, boost productivity, something or the other about stats and studies that improved schoolwork.

And admittedly, Jacob much more preferred this new routine of peace and quiet aboard the ship in comparison to running for his goddamn life as some form of entertainment for his captor. The severe lack of bloodshed and destruction was also nice. Ever since he had broken free from the haze of sickness, the dynamic between himself and the creature had shifted. Not necessarily in a regrettable way, but one that was still glaringly obvious to Jacob as soon as he was able to stay conscious for longer than twenty minutes at a time. It was still as overbearing as ever, constantly hovering over him and his every move. If anything, its aggravatingly overprotective nature had skyrocketed after he had gotten sick, likely from realizing its favorite toy could still very much be broken if it wasn’t more careful with his fragile health.

It was frustrating to have to deal with, more so when he was still irritable from low blood sugar and their accompanying headaches. Of course, then it would try to push its foreign foods onto him again, clearly paranoid that Jacob could slip into a relapse if he didn’t eat something sickeningly sweet right that instance, which would only serve to annoy him more when he didn’t want the stupid snacks.

But eventually, he conceded to its pestering and started eating on his own. Nowhere near the amount he should be consuming, but it was baby steps all the same. So far the only thing he willingly ate were fruits that had been cultivated from Earth or looked similar enough for him to try. He refused anything that resembled meat no matter how it was cooked and presented and smelled, not when he couldn’t confidently identify which animal it came from and if it was even an animal native to his solar system.

Unsurprisingly to most functioning adults, once he had gotten into the habit of eating semi-regularly he felt leagues better than he had in a long time. It was almost as if keeping his glucose up and staying hydrated was the magical cure for his headaches and muscle weakness, like being able to take the natural energy that came from food was exactly what he needed to not totally feel like shit. Well, he wasn’t sure there was enough potassium in any banana to patch up his trauma ridden mental state…but at least it helped with the heart palpitations.

For days after Jacob could finally stand without being bowlegged, he had been waiting for the other shoe to drop with his captor, waiting to be (possibly literally) flung back into the awful routines of playing the terrifying combination of tag and hide n’ go seek. It didn’t escape him how restless the other appeared now that he was freely moving on his own without constant assistance. It was probably expecting him to bolt as he had done so many times before in its office the second he saw an opening to do so, not to mention it hadn’t had a good opportunity to bat him around for a few hours while he was recovering.

Despite these creeping anxieties, it never once tried to instigate these games which was the most glaring difference between them of all. That wasn’t to say it tried to start any games ever since Jacob had been forcibly rehomed to its personal quarters in the middle of fucking space, but it had always continued to pounce and chirp at him in the same manner it did on Earth in clear enjoyment whenever he managed to squirrel himself away somewhere. Now, it seemed as if it wanted to do the opposite of trigger his fight or flight reaction for fun, like it wanted to keep him from doing anything too strenuous. It had always been doting (if its show of affection could be called that), but this was getting ridiculous.

At the same time, he was glad to take this new lack of physical exertion in exchange for being babied tenfold, even if it was steadily grating on his nerves to be treated so delicately. He had to remind himself it was far better to be constantly moved away from the edge of the desk–like he might stumble for twenty feet to go right over–than to be wedged between said desk and wall while avoiding curled fingers trying to drag him out for more play. It didn’t stop him from smacking away those same prodding fingers every now and then when they just wouldn’t leave him alone. It felt the need to constantly check on him, sometimes even grabbing him to do a full body lookover and confirm he wasn’t going to die within the next thirty seconds.

Again, it was better than having an actual physical examination done by its cohort like he had before, which he still firmly believed worsened his sickness to begin with. The creature’s newfound concern with his physical wellbeing at times almost worried him just as well in the event it was checking him over because it knew something was indeed wrong with him. He felt fine…ish, he felt better anyways, but who knew what that medicine he was given so long ago was actually doing to his body.

Whatever it was, it must not be too serious if the doctor…person-lady-creature-thing wasn’t half as worried for his physical state as his own captor. The handful of times he had seen it since their first encounter, the creature was nothing but sweet smiles and headpats, of which he would gladly take over having anything else shoved down his throat while being stripped. He still couldn’t help but shutter everytime it moved its hands too fast for his liking, a result of a newly ingrained fear that it might pull a new vile concoction out of thin air to administer for no good reason. Thankfully, they never were there to visit as means for another impromptu physical, rather it appeared he was being dropped off for something akin to a playdate with Mibao.

It took him a while to get over his own awkwardness of being left to his own devices with a hyperactive child while both their captors idly chatted, but very quickly these ‘playdates' became one of his favorite pastimes. There was never a moment of boredom when it came to Mibao’s rambunctious nature and it was a pleasant way to kill time, especially the occasions when he would get so lost in whatever game of make believe she had wrangled him into he could almost forget the shitstorm he was smack in the middle of.

Although he couldn’t spend every waking moment being bombarded with stuffed toys to play dress up and tea parties with, Mibao often tried to give him some type of parting gift once she learned he didn’t have any of his own toys to play with. Sometimes it was one of the hundreds of plush animals they had made dance around that day, sometimes it was a collection of sparkling barrettes she had clipped into his hair during their “makeovers”. All of which he tried to politely decline and all of which still ended up in his possession to never be touched again, lest it somehow add fuel to the fire he wanted to be treated in the same infantilizing manner as her. While Mibao may adore being showered in maternal affection and unlimited gifts, Jacob couldn’t think of anything worse to be subjected to from his own captor.

Thank God for small mercies in that the creature never tried to follow in its friend’s footsteps to spoil him like that. Right now, they were stuck in some type of phase that made the creature too cautious to play, and that was just fine by him.

Another gift that Mibao had recently given him was a stack of paper and an assortment of colored markers to doodle to his heart’s content. She had gotten much more into arts and crafts lately which Jacob didn’t mind one bit, especially when her high energy often wore him down much faster than usual with his body still being on the mend. To sit and cut out shapes and slap a few colors on them was a nice, quiet activity that also didn’t need too much thought put into. Not to mention, he actually liked being able to draw quite a bit. Being a former graphic design major before he was involuntarily shipped off to war, he found playing around with patterns and colors relaxing, sort of, almost satisfying.

His art in general wasn’t half bad either from years of mindless practice. It was good enough to blow Mibao away every time, quickly leading her to request more and more drawings from him ranging in complexity and cuteness, all that he was more than happy to comply with. Soon afterwards, it evolved into a new game of the little girl spinning a wild tale that Jacob was tasked to recreate to the best of his abilities, which would then be eagerly shown off to the “kitties” much to their delight and his embarrassment.

Oh well, at least his captor didn’t make him show off his drawings when they were back in the privacy of its personal quarters, leading Jacob to come up with something of a visual diary. The drawings were way too small for it to see clearly regardless, not unless it used its computer to enlarge the images like Mibao’s creature did in order to print them out and hang them up. The only time it bothered to look at whatever Jacob was drawing was the rare times he showed them himself, namely as a way to attempt to ask for something and usual at Mibao’s request for a specific item. Otherwise, it didn’t impose on his creative privacy and he was…almost grateful for that. To have one thing solely for himself that he could do with however he pleased. The creature was probably so lenient with it because it was a good way to keep him busy and out of trouble for extended periods of time while it worked.

Jacob wasn’t complaining, though, and he certainly had a lot to complain about any other time. He could definitely see why those “adult coloring books” were so popular now; it was nice to lounge around and mindlessly fill in colors until the end result was a nice, pretty picture. Of course, he didn’t have any actual coloring books to zone out with, so he had to make due by creating his own patterns to fill in later. He took a lot of inspiration from what was on the desk he was seated on most days, especially the different types of plants the creature either had sitting out as decoration or retrieved from the backroom (a second laboratory? Jacob didn’t know, he was never allowed in there) to be studied. He also took a lot of design elements straight from its own computer when the various screens would be pushed around. Though he couldn’t begin to comprehend its written language, there were plenty of neat ways to copy and stylize the strange characters into his own gibberish.

As a result, he ended up making a lot of mock company logos and mascots consisting of the sharp edges the species already incorporated in their designs. Sometimes, he would replicate the prettiest flower it had sitting on the desk, then he would redraw it as if it were sleek and mechanical to fit in the the rest of the advanced technology, then he would redesign it into a fancy logo that would match the vibe of the ship, and once again he would recreate it into another logo or existing picture it reminded him off.

Sometimes, he would even be inspired to draw people, but those definitely were not his forte. Expressions were difficult on their own, much less without a reference, so a majority of the time the only portraits he drew were of himself. He would then exaggerate and darken his features, scribble over them with color, as a way to vent his frustration or sadness when he wasn’t in the mood to kick up a fit with his captor. Those drawings were quickly discarded once he had released his emotions on the page, not wanting to risk the creature finding them and triggering some new worry about his damaged mental state.

Well, his mental state was damaged because it was the one who spent the past couple of weeks utterly destroying his sanity, so, maybe it should get a taste of the pain it's been causing him. No. He couldn’t handle that. If anything it would just try to smother him with twice as much affection, as if kisses and cuddles could wipe away his PTSD.

Not to mention, on the few occasions he did practice drawing people, his captor was often his unknowing model and fuck no was he ever going to let it find that out. It was merely because nine times out of ten it was the only social proximity he had to another person and therefore his only reference to look at. And it was always so still in its chair, too, perfect posture and stony expression making it easy to study and jot down. It very nearly caught him in the act a handful of times when it would catch his insistent staring out of its peripheral. Naturally, it assumed he wanted something, which then meant he had to quickly hide his drawings before it got the wrong idea and then deal with its pestering as it tried to figure out what he obviously needed.

He tried to draw Angie once or twice, but he saw her so rarely that it was impossible to nail down every feature correctly. He had drawn Mibao and her captor plenty of times at the child’s request which was always fun, mostly because he had to draw them doing absurd things in funny little outfits.

Today, he had gotten an inspiration for something he had never tried before, which was a bit surprising and disappointing for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Much like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, he had been plopped onto the creature’s desk and, after a few minutes of fussing over him, was left to his own devices. It was well into the groove of its work and typing away on its desk surface keyboard and Jacob found himself growing bored from watching. He had very limited options on how to deal with this lack of stimulation and even less if he excluded all the ones that would involve his captor touching him in any way, so he opted to grab his clutter of papers along with a few markers to at least keep his hands busy. Nothing was particularly getting his artistic juices flowing and that was almost as annoying as not having anything to do in the first place. He hated himself for slipping into this role of compliance so easily, like being mildly restless was the worst of his worries in the face of everything else that led to this moment. Shit, he had been staring at this blank paper for five minutes and he was already getting irritated and brimming with self loathing. So it was going to be one of those days, it seemed.

Although, it would appear the dreaded day had the potential to turn his attitude around when his captor’s movements caught his attention. He watched as it clicked one of the desk drawers to slide it open and reach inside for what looked like a pressed slide of a type of exotic flower. Being squished between the pieces of glass, Jacob could only imagine how beautiful it must look in full bloom. Just another example of how carelessly these aliens chose to destroy living things no matter how stunning or homely they looked so long as they were able to effortlessly dominate it.

The mental image of seeing a human carved up like a turkey to be sandwiched in a series of slides as well flitted across his mind, but it was gone before he could even process it. A nice little trauma to unpack late at night and fuel his insomnia for the coming weeks.

What struck him the most about it, though, was the vibrant orange to yellow ombre that still looked dazzling despite its flattened petals. He had seen a few girls around his college campus with a similar color scheme in their hair, sure, but in an instant he knew where he had seen that exact blending of hues before.

He was ten years old, the twins were twelve and their oldest brother had just turned fifteen, and they were sitting around the kitchen table doing their homework when their mother appeared from her bedroom absolutely beside herself with her hair wrapped up in a towel. Naturally, they asked her what was wrong, and she lamented about how she had tried to bleach her hair with a box dye kit but clearly didn’t follow the instructions correctly, something about leaving the roots in too long and the ends not long enough. Then she had tried to rinse it with a color correcting shampoo to soften the choppy, unintentional ombre, but all that served to do was make the contrast even more stark. The takeaway was that her hair was ruined and there was no way she could go out in public like this, much less to be ridiculed at a hair salon that would surely charge her an arm and a leg to fix her mistakes.

As to be expected, the boys all started begging their poor mother to show them the grotesque damage she had done to judge themselves if it was truly as awful as she said it was. A bit of pestering later and she finally removed the towel to show them her still damp hair in all its hideous glory and, yep, it was just as bad as she said. Maybe even worse. There were dark brown splotches still along the length of her hair, brassy yellows and oranges muddled around while her crown was a stunning platinum blonde. At least she had done a good job as a loving mother to raise such gentlemen because his brothers were quick to reassure her that it wasn’t that bad, it was cool even, it reminded them of some famous rock singer whose name they conveniently couldn’t remember, that it just needed a little styling and it would be alright.

And then, because Jacob couldn’t read a room to save his life at that age, he piped up, “Your hair looks like Garfield.”

The twins groaned at him while he oldest brother tried to reach across the table to smack him upside the head. He dodged the admonishment, hopping off his chair to run to his mother for protection and clinging to her skirt. “But I like Garfield, mom! I think he’s funny!” he tried to amend.

His mother barely had enough time to cover her mouth before an undignified snort escaped, a failed attempt to conceal her contagious laughter. Soon she had nearly doubled over in a fit of giggles and his brothers were quick to join in, namely because of Jacob’s accompanying pout and demands to know why they were laughing. He was just being honest!

After a minute of calming down, she finally wiped away the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Yes, little love, I know you were telling the truth. That’s why mama is so-,” she snickered again, “-so happy. You’re such a good boy, you don’t lie to your mama like your brothers.”

“But they were nice lies!” One of the twins protested.

She nodded. “Nice lies from nice boys. I can already tell you’ll all be perfect husbands to some very lucky ladies one day.”

Growing up, that memory never failed to make him cringe once he finally understood his utter lack of situational awareness. Even now, he had trouble discerning subtly unless it was thrown full force at him like a brick. To this day…or rather, to the day before the invasion, that moment had been a running gag in their family as a euphemism for something or someone being so unpleasant but not wanting to outright say it. Jed’s first girlfriend? She looks like Garfield. Grant’s drum solo performance in the garage? Sounds just like Garfield. Mom asking how her new recipe turned out? The taste is exceptionally Garfield.

Jacob will never forget that final, bittersweet moment between him and Jed, both about to deploy to stations on opposite sides of the state after an accelerated bootcamp to go on the front lines. He was terrified, he had no idea the full scale of the horrors he would soon be experiencing, and now he was losing that last bit of comfort he could cling to once his brother was shipped off. The twins had already been stationed up north and mom was safely relocated closer to their base.

Jed clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze in that comforting, older brother way and flashed him a shit eating grin. “Mondays, am I right?”

That was the last time he ever saw his brother. That was the last time he ever saw his family.

But he didn’t want to think about the sinking feeling in chest when he contemplated the fate of his loved ones, he wanted to hold onto the sheer joy on his mother’s face and chorus of laughter brought on by his stupid ten year old self. He wanted to remember the good times as if there were still more to come, like he had never left that cozy bubble of childhood, like the world hadn’t gone to hell in a handbasket in a matter of days. Jacob closed his eyes and visualized the memory in his head over and over again while taking mental notes on all the features of his mother in that moment, taking care not to quirk his lips up too noticeably in case the creature had the audacity to notice. There was no faster way to sour his mood than to have his captor suddenly remind him of its presence when he was just starting to let go of some of the ache that haunted him daily.

He grabbed a fresh piece of paper to begin sketching out her smile that dimpled her cheeks, trailing up to fill in the button nose they all had and following the curve of her eyes. He filled in her hair to frame her face in scraggly waves as it did when it was still wet and messy from her shower. Lastly, he drew her slender neck and hunched shoulders that shook from laughter. By all accounts, the picture should be easily recognizable to him as his mother frozen in time nearly a decade ago.

…except it looked nothing like her.

That was okay. He already knew drawing portraits of real people wasn’t his strongest suit as an artist, so he tried again. Practice makes perfect after all. He refined the shape of her nose to make it a little less round and softened her smile to not show off so many teeth. That…didn’t look right either. Now the hair looked totally off. Probably because he didn’t have the right color of markers to perfectly capture the vibe he was going for, thus throwing his perception of her face off completely. He tried for a third time to draw her face and tweak her features a little more, this time drawing her with her normal, straight brown hair. No, damn it that wasn’t right either, he couldn’t make the strands lay right with her laughing stance.

Okay, new plan, he was just going to draw her as normal. Regular ol’ mom in a nice relaxed pose and a warm smile on her face. His first attempt went to shit almost immediately when he messed up on the angle of her eye, unable to correct it due to only having markers at his disposal and having to start again. This next try went much smoother and on his third try at her portrait it was a pretty good end result. The hair looked nice, the pupils were facing in the same direction, the smile wasn’t teetering into an uncanny valley now that it wasn’t trying to add teeth. But the problem was it still didn’t look like his mother, rather it just looked like a drawing of a conventionally attractive woman that bore no resemblance to him. Maybe it was because he was drawing too realistically rather than using his own artistic style that came much naturally. Time for round three.

Nope. Round three turned into a TKO. Now she looked like any generic cartoon girl. Fucking hell, he wanted to rip his hair out in frustration over his inability to draw his own mother. He’d seen the woman every day of his life for eighteen years until he went off to college, he should still be able to recollect her despite only visiting during semester breaks!

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he once again grabbed another clean sheet of paper. He was going to take his time this time, really visualize her appearance and do her justice. Although he wasn’t given the entire spectrum of the colors to use, Jacob decided to pick out the colors closest to her physical palette to make it easier to draw in his mind’s eye. Brown for her hair, pink for her body, blue for her blouse, and-

And…

…

…what color were her eyes?

He shook his head. Christ, idiot, it’s your own mother, you know her eyes are green. Right? Yes, that had to be right, it was his gut reaction after all but…no, wait, she didn’t have green eyes. She had brown eyes. She had to, both Jacob and Jed had brown eyes. But the twins didn’t, so maybe they had gotten green eyes from her. Or did they get those from dad? Or did he get his eye color from his dad? Well, first and foremost, who gives two shits what color his dad’s eyes were, secondly this was not the time to start trying to remember his high school lectures in genetics. Jacob didn’t know why this question was being so evasive when it should be so obvious. The lack of a straightforward answer was beginning to nibble at his gut in an unpleasant sensation, but he refused to be deterred by this minor bump in the road.

This is okay, this is fine, just calm down a moment and think.

He replayed the stupid Garfield memory in his mind again in an effort to hyperfocus on every little detail of her, and still he couldn’t clear his thoughts enough to pick up the right color of her eyes. They kept switching from hazel to grey to blue to green as he tried to see which one fit the best, but they all did. The problem was that he was trying to use the seldom remembered incident of a ten year old when he needed to think back to fresher moments with her. His high school graduation was fairly recent. His mother had done up her hair in a bun–in a braid–in a braided bun?-- and wore her favorite red lipstick that highlighted her beaming smile of pride. The dimples of her cheeks were now accompanied by more pronounced smile lines and her eyes crinkled at the corners but god he still couldn’t recall their color!

New memory: dorm room move in. She was wearing a skirt–a dress, her hair was up in a bun–chopped short–no the pixie cut was after he left home–and she was teasing him about how she was going to check on him every weekend to make sure he wasn’t out doing beer pong or whatever it is you kids do these days! But in that instance, he wasn’t focused on trying to take in every hue and contour of her face, he just wanted to unpack and make sure all his student orientation crap was taken care of.

And then there was the last time he ever saw his mom. The day before he was going to be sent to bootcamp and two weeks before he’d be sent to the front lines. Jacob didn’t like thinking about this memory, even though it was the only time he literally looked into her eyes as she made him promise to stay safe and take care of himself, to come home to her. He looked into her eyes and promised with the same cracking voice, yet he still couldn’t recall what color her eyes were, only that they were flooded with tears which quickly overflowed to run down her cheeks as he hugged her goodbye for the final time. Belatedly, he realized he was mirroring her silent cries in present time and hurriedly scrubbed his cheeks as well as the memory from his mind. He hated that memory. He was growing to hate all of his memories, knowing that’s all his happiness would ever be at this point.

No eye color then. He could circle back to that later when he wasn’t working himself up over it. Just focus on her hair for now, that should be easy enough as it was thick and straight just like his. She went through various hairstyles over the years from bangs to bobs, so he decided to pick an easy one that went just a little bit past her shoulders. It was what she had a majority of the time anyways when she was growing out her previous looks before she found something new to try. With each line of brown he added, he felt the tension lessen from his shoulders stroke by stroke, though the pit of anxiety still tickled at his stomach. He was tired, he was still hazy from sickness, he wasn’t well versed in drawing portraits to begin with; these were all perfectly reasonable explanations as to why he couldn’t remember his mother’s eye color off the top of his head and had nothing to do with the fact that he was an awful son.

He was halfway done peppering little pink dots over her cheeks when he realized she didn’t have freckles.

Jacob blinked out of his trance and took a good, hard look at the woman in front of him who now lost all resemblance to his mother. Shit, shit, shit. She didn’t have facial freckles, she only had them on her shoulders. Well, that didn’t make much sense, how would she only have them on her body and not her face? He could have sworn he had seen freckles splattered across her nose before, though. Yeah, yeah that’s right, when they could go to the beach in the summer and her skin would tan, the freckles would become more pronounced against the dark coloring. Her freckles were more faded compared to his own, but obviously he would have had to have gotten that physical feature somewhere. So she did have freckles. Didn’t she?

Christ, Jacob wanted to throw these fucking markers across the desk. The twist in his guts had skyrocketed to full on gnawing at his innards and working its way up to stifle his breathing. Why couldn’t he remember what his mother looked like?! It wasn’t like it had been that long since they last saw each other in person, he shouldn’t have forgotten the details of her face overnight.

But the ugly truth of the matter was that he really didn’t know how long it’s truly been since their last hug goodbye. It could have only been weeks, it could already have been months, he had absolutely no way of being able to tell the passage of time anymore. So many days were lost to his comatose state of illness, to his nervous breakdown the first time he woke up on the ship that blinded him with panic every time he opened his eyes since, to the blur of adrenaline shots and crashes when he was forced to flee through the woods in a sick game of tag. Even now, it was difficult to tell when the full passage of a day was because he didn’t know if these creatures used the same measurement of time as humans. It could be some kind of Interstellar shit where every minute in this pocket of the universe was the equivalent of ten years on Earth.

He couldn’t even rely on his own body’s internal clock that was still so jacked with exhaustion, causing him to take frequent naps that varied in length. Jacob wasn’t sure what was contributing to this bout of fatigue–the remnants of sickness, his worsening depression, general boredom, a combination of all three? Either way, it didn’t help when there had been times his captor practically forced him to take a nap when he was getting too rambunctious for its liking, like he was a fussy child that needed to settle down. Fortunately, it hadn’t felt the need to hold him in its lap or swaddle him in the crook of its arm now that he had ‘mellowed out’, but that didn’t make it any better when it would absentmindedly rub its fingers down his back when he was already in the middle of zoning out and still manage to put him to sleep.

The spark of indignation that had been fizzling out wanted so badly to burn hot again. It wanted him to break free from this acceptance in routine no matter how much better it was for his mental and physical health objectively. It wanted him to fight back, to yell, to kick and throw and be all around on his worst behavior to make the creature’s life just as much as a living hell as it did to him.

Deep down, he knew there was no real benefit to giving into those urges beyond a bitter satisfaction that he was wasting its precious time. At worst, he was setting himself up for punishment in various degrees until it finally had enough of his insubordination to submit into the role of a good pet and put him down accordingly. So far all he had been subjected to was (what he assumed) verbal scoldings and being restrained to prevent him from running off again, but he knew better than anyone else what it was capable of if the murderous mood struck its fancy. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he was actively suicidal but…there were just some instances he was so disgusted with this new life forced upon him that he couldn’t find it in him to care if it swatted him off the desk in annoyance.

Now wasn’t a time that Jacob wanted to lose himself to the thralls of an emotional breakdown, though he knew he was long overdue for one. Everything had been far too peaceful for too long. Leave it to him to end the stalemate of normalcy because of his own shortcomings, shortcomings he was still going to partly blame on the creature regardless. Or fully. He hadn’t quite figured if he was more angry at himself or his captor yet, but the tremble in his hands was a sure sign he was reaching his boiling point. By now, he was painfully familiar with every stage of a panic attack from the build up to the come down and he knew he was teetering the edge with how rapidly his breathing was picking up.

Take a deep breath, don’t draw attention to yourself, you know attention from that thing will only make this worse. He couldn’t calm himself though as the icy realization sent tremors through his body like an actual chill. He was forgetting his mom, hell, he was forgetting his family. What they looked like, at least, but soon enough he knew he would start forgetting milestone dates and keeping up with their current ages. If he could no longer picture their faces, would he be able to picture so many precious memories they starred in at all?

No, no, no. No, he didn’t want to lose his family again. Not like this. Not for a second time.

His hands were shaking so terribly he could barely keep hold of his marker, but Jacob didn’t care. He needed to prove to himself he wasn’t crazy, that he could still picture his loved ones exactly as they were regardless of how much indescribable time has passed. He was nineteen, not ninety.

Oh Christ, how long would he even be able to consider himself nineteen for? He’d have no idea when his birthday would come and go, what if he was already twenty? Would he still think he was nineteen when he was actually twenty-seven? Was there a fast approaching expiration date on his physical appeal that made the alien fawn over him like he was just the cutest little scamp? Fuck, let’s worry about one thing at a time right now. Jacob fumbled for another page and hastily started scribbling his oldest brother Jed. Sharp cheekbones, black hair, the only one with black hair in the family, spitting image of dad, blue eyes–green eyes, no freckles–some freckles–a splattering of beauty marks, stupid tattoo of a cartoon fish he got in highschool on his left arm–right arm–left arm, no, no, no, this still wasn’t right!

Take two with the twins, Grant and Evan. Mirror images with subtle differences that became more pronounced as they grew into their own individual styles as adults. Brown eyes, yes, one hundred percent brown eyes, mom’s dimples, Grant had more freckles, or was that Evan, it was Grant because they counted once as children. Evan always wore blue, Grant wore glasses–Evan wore glasses, Grant wore contacts, Evan had a scar above his left eyebrow from a slingshot accident–from a BB gun accident that happened before–after Grant busted his lip open and god damn it this wasn’t fair! It was confusing enough to keep them separated as twins in real time as a child, let alone when he was trying to picture them from memories that blended between years!

He tried to draw his mother again, then Jed, then just Grant, then his mother, then Evan, until the stack of blank paper beside him was depleted in his frenzy. It was only then did he stop to look at his disarrayed work that was scattered around him like a madman. The marker rolled free from his hold and he fanned out the stack of drawings to observe each and every face he attempted to create.

All that started back at him were strangers.

It was as if he was caught in the eye of the storm while his emotions were running rampant inside him, not yet catching up with his brain to process what he was feeling. Slowly, his dampening eyes scanned every portrait of his mother and brothers to try and pinpoint what exactly was so wrong with them. The obvious answer was that half of them were scribbled with the same haste as a child, messy lines and unbalanced proportions only making them look like discounted charactertures. The ones that were cleaner, the ones that held considerable more effort because he started to spiral, all held different features that set them apart from each other, even if it was meant to be the same person.

It was like having a kitchen full of ingredients and no cookbook to reference. He knew all these colors and features were correct in some shape or form, but the problem was he couldn’t remember who had what and in what combination. Not to be a phone addicted millennial, but what he wouldn’t give to be able to scroll through his camera roll for a little bit and soak in every candid shot he took of them growing up. By now it still probably wouldn’t do him much good, the battery would be long since dead and then he’d feel even worse about having so many memories at his fingertip permanently locked away.

But he still felt awful with or without his phone. He felt like he couldn’t have one good thing without it being ruined in some capacity by the bastard who kidnapped him. All he wanted was to be able to escape into the comforts of his memories and now he couldn’t even do that because a) he had presumably been gone for so long and b) his most recent thoughts were flooded with trauma and PTSD triggers, leaving no room to push past in order to relive the nicer ones.

Jacob wanted to grab all the portraits up and crumble them into balls. He wanted to tear them into a million pieces and throw them over the edge of the desk like microscopic confetti for the creature to be forced to clean up. He wanted to scream and stomp and hurl things like a child, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of himself being the one to destroy the pictures of his family, even though they weren’t, but they were, but they weren’t. He wanted to cry, he wanted to throw up, he wanted to feel nothing, he wanted to feel something if only so he could identify what emotion was hitting him the hardest right now.

The Garfield memory was playing in a loop as some sort of last ditch effort to find that eureka moment in which everything would suddenly become crystal clear. Instead, it was having the opposite effect, similar as to how the constant rewinding of VHS’s eventually wore down the tapes’ quality until it was ruined entirely. The more he playbacked the memory, the more he tried to slow down and freeze frame certain seconds, the more distorted the memory became as a whole. It was as if the once clean edges of the background started to blur. His mother no longer said the exact same thing as she did the first time, the wrong brother tried to reprimand him, he couldn’t envision the perfect shade of orange.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his mom.

–

“Oh, you’ve been busy.”

Edix leaned back in his chair slightly and propped his elbow up on the armrest to rest his chin in his hand. The last he had checked on the human out of the corner of his eye it had been laying on its stomach scratching away at its tiny paper. Now it was sitting on its knees surrounded by a sea of colorful scribbles, none of which Edix could begin to make heads or tails of at such a small scale, but something that must have excited it if it was able to burn through all of its art supplies in a matter of a couple hours. It must not have run out too long ago since it hadn’t tried to ask him for more, not that it ever tried to ask him for anything. Oh well, it was good timing on his part then to decide to take a quick break just when it was ready to take its own. Was it hungry? When was the last time it ate? Certainly never hurt to offer.

“Are you done playing for now?” he asked, knowing full well he wouldn’t get any kind of comprehensible response if he even got one at all. Yet the little one still didn’t acknowledge him. Strange. It always snapped to attention at his voice, especially whenever he was the one to break the long stretches of silence and startle it out of whatever world it had lost itself in. It must still be deep in whatever imaginative daydream that conjured up its mess of drawings because it was staring at them so…intently. “Do you want me to get you some more paper?” Still no response, no indication he had been heard. He snorted, “Are you ignoring me?”

No answer, so he took that as a yes. This kind of behavior wasn’t too far into the realm of unusual. There were plenty of times it would sulk and pout when he gave it an insufficient amount of attention from being so wrapped up in his daily work. Of course, it wasn’t like he was neglectful, he just didn’t bother to look over when it was silently staring at him for twenty minutes straight and expecting him to read its mind. And when he did notice, it got all huffy and tried to push away his prodding like it was his fault for not attending to its unclear needs in a timely manner. Usually it was content with a snack after the third attempt at offering it something, even if it didn’t eat it.

He often wondered why it liked to stash its food away rather than eating when it was hungry. Must be a human thing. The curious thing was that these mini tantrums almost exclusively happened when the human was focused on him but he wasn’t focused on it, yet this time his pet was absorbed in its handiwork instead of waiting for Edix to check in. Maybe it just…really liked its own art? It was an impressive little artist, he had seen plenty of its work plastered around Ylva’s office as well as her own pup’s drawings like a proud parent displaying everything on the fridge.

Edix moved in his chair to lean against the desk instead, arms laying only a few inches away from the little one as he partially hovered over it. Not even the proximity jarred it, and it hated whenever he got too close without its permission. Oh, let’s be real, he never had its permission, it was more like the human didn’t like him ‘sneaking up’ without it knowing. He hardly considered half of those times it nearly jumped out of its skin as being snuck up on. It wasn’t his fault humans had some of the worst prey instincts this side of the universe, how does one not see a predator twelve times their size completely out in the open walking over!

He already knew he was going to get an earful of indignant squeaks the second he broke it from its trance, but it was also so cute seeing it get flustered. He observed it silently for a moment, waiting for it to suddenly notice his shadow partially engulfing it before it spun around with those wide doe eyes. After a minute of still going unnoticed, he spoke up again.

“Can I see what you drew?” he asked despite the fact it was a rhetorical question given the tiny recipient couldn’t understand him. The human never showed him its drawings, not unless they were snatched up by Mibao and proudly shown off to both he and Ylva. He never wanted to pry, though. It was very protective over certain things it deemed as its personal property and Edix knew better than to tamper with that trust lest he lose this flimsy work-life balance they were starting to maintain.

Admittedly, he had no interest in most forms of art, even though he appreciated the multitude of pictures he had been so generously gifted by Mibao that he was about eighty percent sure was of him. It looked like some semblance of a person with a red tail, anyways. His human, on the other hand, was quite well versed in it and it seemed like the perfect thing to bond over, language barrier be damned. He was sure the human was unaware, but there were times Edix had snuck a glance at its barely concealed stack of papers while the little one was napping or distracted, just to see what was going on inside its head. He didn’t scan copies of them to enlarge and hang on his office door like some Venandi, he could already envision the fit it would throw.

As weird as it sounded, he actually felt rather prideful when he noticed the repeated pattern of copying his flora samples in various styles. It was trying to mirror his interests! Edix wished it would grow out of its shy phase and finally show him these drawings itself! He could continue to be patient, it had already paid off this long, these were all surely great signs of trust and acceptance, right?

Squinting, he tried to scan the mess of papers to pick out any discernible patterns, some of them neat and balanced and some of them a flurry of colors, but all with the same general shapes. Oh! They were faces, the human was drawing little people like itself. Cute. He vaguely wondered why some of them had a considerable amount of effort put into them while others looked like a strange interpretation of lines before chalking it up to artistic style or something.

One picture that stood out to him was a portrait of what he assumed was of a woman on her own sheet of paper, crisp lines and contrasting colors making her pop against the white background even at such a tiny scale. He didn’t need his computer to zoom into the fine details to note that she was almost a carbon copy of his own precious human. Brown hair, freckles across her button nose, a soft dimpled smile he could recognize in a heartbeat despite having seen it in person so rarely. The only difference was the eye color, and yet he could still see so much of his sweet pet in all her other features that it wasn’t too jarring of a change. Was this some sort of self portrait?

Edix tapped his finger lightly next to the picture. “Who’s that? Is that you?”

The fact that his human still hadn’t reacted to his encroaching presence was starting to unnerve him just a bit. A part of him wanted to believe that was a good thing, that it was finally showing that it was so comfortable in his company it no longer eyed him suspiciously or trembled when his hands moved too fast overhead. He knew it wasn’t right though, this was way too much trust on its part, especially when it was naturally wired with prey tendencies to be on the lookout for danger, not that Edix ever was one, of course.

Still, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around what was so captivating about the little drawings it had made. Some of them were good, sure, but…well, they didn’t give him any type of emotional epiphany. The human was sitting at an angle that obscured its face from Edix’s direct line of sight, making it difficult for him to gauge whatever it was experiencing. It wore its heart on its sleeve and that baby face betrayed every emotion it tried to stifle in a second, but as far as he could tell from the side it was shockingly blank. The closer he looked, the more he was able to pick up on, from the tremble in its miniature hands to its chest stuttering with choppy breaths.

That wasn’t good. He hoped it wasn’t about to be sick to its stomach again. No, typically when it was feeling nauseous it would at least give him the courtesy of telling him, provided it wasn’t already half dead. Something was upsetting it though, but what? Literally nothing has been happening all afternoon. For the last few hours Edix had worked in silence at his computer cataloguing samples he had been putting off just as he had done almost every day prior. Just like yesterday and the day before and so on, the human was left supervised but unbothered a few inches away to do as it pleased (within reason). There had been zero disruptions in their new routine, so what was making it act so off?

His mind kept wandering back to the drawings and how it had created them in what was starting to look like a blind panic, at least the ones that looked like they had been scrawled by a pup closer to Mibao’s age. Had it been drawing these calmly at first before its mind slipped into an unsightly territory that troubled it, or was it already having these unpleasant thoughts and was gradually soothing itself before abruptly running out of mediums to express its lingering feelings, causing it to be trapped?

Either way, Edix had the sneaking suspicion its artwork had something to do with how it was reacting right now. What a strange little thing to be triggered by its own handiwork. Though the human wasn’t looking at him to see, he put on a comforting smile and reached closer to the papers to start pushing them out of its line of vision in an attempt to break their spell. “Hey, honey, why don’t we put these away for a little bit and–”

As soon as he touched the drawing, something snapped in the human that caused all hell to break loose. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t one so violent in the way its entire body jolted like it’d be electrocuted. The strangled cry it made was damn near animalistic and Edix wasn’t sure what emotion it was trying to channel through its little vocal chords, though whatever it was was enough to make his hand flinch back.

The human didn’t even bother to wait for him to move out of the way before it lunged protectively over its horde of paper, sheer desperation in its clumsy movements to gather all the art into a crumpled pile within its arms. It was shrieking something over and over while trying to hold onto the papers tighter, yet its frantic state of mind kept causing more of the drawings to spill over and need to be regathered, furthering its distress. Its panic was mounting by the second and Edix couldn’t begin to understand why. At this point it was obvious there was something going on with the artwork, but what? All he could conclude was that whatever it was would continue to stress out his pet an unhealthy amount and therefore should probably be removed for the best results.

Unfortunately, as soon as Edix dared to bring his outstretched hands close to its hunched over body, the human yelled something directly at him that made him hesitate. He didn’t know what it was trying to say, but he could hear the raw pain in its voice that worried him to no end. It shook its head vehemently and repeated the same few syllables again while trying to curl in on itself, shielding the drawings between its shaking limbs. Between each sob he could hear it struggling to breathe as was evident by the way its chest heaved in rapid succession to get in enough air before its next cry. There were no tears that he could see, but its eyes were blown wide and constantly darting around on the lookout for any other attempts on confiscating its belongings.

It was losing itself to its hysteria in a similar fashion that Edix had only truly seen once before, the very first sol it realized it had been rehomed. That week itself had been hard enough, but nothing would compare to its spaztic outbursts and attempts at self harm that lasted hours on end. While this episode was nowhere near as hectic, it was definitely creeping into that territory at an alarming rate. Time to clip that in the bud before this situation gets any more out of hand.

Edix shushed it when it started screaming at him again as his hands moved towards it, keeping a slow pace so that it could clearly see his movements and avoid getting unnecessarily startled. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. Well, he wanted it to be okay, but the problem is he didn’t know what was wrong in the first place. Everything had been going so well and in retrospect he should have known better than to expect this kind of peace to last any longer than it already had. It was a miracle there had even been multiple sols of a quiet relationship between them, his human was clearly long overdue for some kind of fit.

He just didn't expect its tantrum to be as intense as this, much less completely out of left field. Was this the result of pent up behaviors that had been subdued by illness finally breaking free to run rampant? A warning sign for something worse on the horizon? Not if he could help it. He worked so hard to get them where they were now, he wasn’t going to be deterred by one little hiccup when he already put in so much effort to make it barely behave. Edix cupped his hands around its shaking form but didn’t immediately lift it up. He’d play this game plenty of times to know exactly what was going to happen next.

As expected, the perception of being trapped triggered its instinct to flee and it started to thrash its flimsy limbs against his palms while contorting its back to prevent it from leaning against his fingers. At the expense of its blind struggles many of the papers started to slip free of its hold, worsening its panic while it tried to maintain a secure grip as well as push free from these ‘restraints’. It vocalized its unhappiness at Edix’s actions very clearly which did make him feel a touch guilty, but if it would just put down the papers in general it would be much easier to calm. It almost felt like psychological torture on his part as he watched it be torn between holding its art close and flailing its arms, like it was trying to protect its precious drawings but couldn’t decide if it was better to fight or flight.

After a minute of soft cooing and no progress in calming its state of being, Edix made the decision to do something he knew it was going to absolutely hate. Can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, after all. Besides, he was almost always the villain when it came to settling it down from its paranoia, even if it refused to ever admit to itself what he had to do was ultimately the right call. It was already targeting its emotional turmoil on him for one reason or another, what worse could he do if he was already being blamed for…something. He didn’t know, he never did, just that it was always his fault while at the same time he was the only one that could soothe it.

Slowly, he removed one of his hands that was keeping the sweet thing cornered, though he made sure it was slow enough to capture its attention while not creating too big of an opening for it to scurry away. While it was momentarily distracted, probably trying to figure out the logistics of this trick and if it would be worth it to try and run, the hand that was still cupped behind it reached closer to snag a finger around its skinny waist and pin it to his palm.

Instinctively, it started to squirm and yowl and as soon as he lifted it up a few inches off the desk it was going borderline feral in its attempts to break free. It cried, it screamed, it kicked and pushed and and hit, but stubbornly it refused to drop the last remaining pictures clutched to its chest. He could feel it hyperventilating against the finger snared across its tiny stomach and he crooned softly, using his free hand to rub his thumb against the side of its flushed face which was of course met with loud opposition.

The mass of papers continued to flutter down as it struggled to keep a good grip amongst its thrashing and with each drawing it lost, the more wild it grew. It seemed like it was utterly miserable without the comfort of the papers. Yet, as far as Edix was concerned, it was those papers that made it this distressed in the first place. Times like this were when he wished the most to be able to understand what was going on the sweet thing’s head, surely it knew deep down this was not a normal or healthy reaction to seemingly nothing. What reasons could it possibly have to carry on with such intensity?

“Hey, hey, hey, stop, it’s okay,” Edix said, trailing his free hand down from its face to try and push away the final crumpled papers out of its arms. “Let it go, you don’t need it.”

All it took was a couple more prods and he was able to finally dislodge the last pieces of art from its grasp while it kept trying to shove the invasive finger away. As soon as it was empty handed, it started to reach and whine towards the desk with outstretched hands in an attempt to grab up its lost art. Instead, Edix maneuvered it into his other hand to be comfortably contained rather than dangling with a compressed diaphragm. The moment he had the poor thing situated in his hand he turned his chair around to not only prevent it from having any access to wiggle its way back onto the desk, but to totally block out the scattered pictures from its vision. Out of sight, out of mind. Ylva said that trick worked wonders when she needed to hide her tools that her pup was strangely fascinated by.

To some extent, it did have the intended effect he was hoping for in that it stopped trying to reach for its abandoned art and started to calm down from the height of its panic attack. Usually, the crash that followed was immediate, especially when he would hold it to his chest to help it mirror his slow breathing and soak up all the physical affection Edix showered upon it. Sometimes it was so drained it would even fall asleep in his hold, which was also when it was the cuddliest.

But not this time. This time its yells were replaced with the most heart wrenching sobs he had ever heard in his life. They were deep and mournful, each breath it gasped sounding like agonizing hiccup that genuinely worried Edix it might be choking on air, only to turn into more wails. Naturally, he held it firm to his chest and whispered gentle reassurances to it, though he wasn’t a hundred percent sure what he was trying to make better. He wanted to purr since it always seemed to enjoy feeling the vibrations under its ear, but each cry he listened to dampened his mood and prevented him from doing so. Never before had he dealt with such one-eighty mood swings. He had seen it angry, seen it depressed, seen it terrified, but never so intense and in such rapid succession and certainly not as low as this. It worried him beyond belief, and yet…

When he held it to his chest under normal circumstances, the human tended to curl in on itself to settle whereas if he was pinning it close to calm down in the middle of a fit, it would squirm under his hand until it eventually went limp from exhaustion. In this circumstance, for the first time he ever recalled seeing, it consciously grabbed handfuls of his shirt and buried its cute, ruddy face into the fabric to cry. Sure, it held onto him before and liked to hide away, but that was only when it was deep asleep or delirious with fever, or occasionally out of shyness when another Venandi was in a fifty foot radius. Hell, it still clung to the cuff of his sleeve for security even when they were in Ylva’s company, though he wondered if that had more to do with the association of his friend being the one to administer its medicine in the past.

The point was his pet never tried to be so open in seeking out his comfort, rather it waited until it was offered or forced upon it still did not reciprocate while it was awake and aware. The only exception was when it wanted to avoid strangers and Edix theorized it was more along the lines of seeing him as the safer option rather than genuinely wanting to be soothed.

For such a tiny little thing, the human sure did love to pull on his heartstrings in both the best and worst possible ways. Stars above, what could have possibly gotten into it in such a short period of time? What could have provoked such a meltdown when the last he checked it was contently doing basic arts and crafts? Whatever this mess was, he knew to some degree it was at the fault of whatever was scribbled on those mess of papers. A part of him wanted to see what was so special about the portraits and enlarge them for a better look, but for the most part he didn’t care simply because he would still have no explanation without the human’s input. And he most definitely had no desire to go through this debacle again if this would be its reaction every time to seeing its own accursed artwork.

One thing was for sure–those drawings were going to be disposed of the moment he could secretly sweep them into the trash bin without the little one’s knowledge. It probably wouldn’t even remember about them by tomorrow morning so long as they were safely hidden in the garbage. In fact, it probably didn’t want to keep them in the grand scheme of things, a few pieces of paper couldn’t be that important.

Edix let it sob against him for a little while longer, rubbing its back and mumbling soft praises every time it appeared like it was starting to settle, though it usually worked itself back up moments after. That was fine, he had some time to kill. The reports could be finished after his human undoubtedly passed out in the very near future, which would also be the perfect time to dispose of those silly little pictures. Edix shuddered to think how it would react if any of those people on the paper were real.

It was quite the strange paradox now that he thought back on it. The drawings upset it, yet the little one tried to shield them from Edix, yet it partially destroyed them in its tight hold, yet it so easily disregarded them once they were finally confiscated. Did it like the pictures or not? Whatever, didn’t matter at this point. He could throw them out and they could both put this brief mess behind them to hopefully continue on their budding relationship. Maybe tomorrow he could take it into his back room to show it his greenhouse of cultivated flora, that would definitely give it better drawing ideas in the future since it enjoyed sketching the samples he had on his desk, right?

Or, better yet, maybe it should take a break from drawing altogether. Just for a little bit until he was sure there would be no repeat offenses in the future. He should go tell Ylva so she can plan accordingly for the next playdate they had for the humans. Oh, she might even have some good alternatives to try so that his human can still keep up with its stimulation while Edix works! Simple solutions to simple problems, though his sweet pet had a knack for being as difficult as possible.

The sobs were starting to soften, but its tears still ran like rapids down its face no matter how much Edix tried to wipe them away. With a sigh, he stood from his chair and stretched as comfortably as he could without disturbing the emotionally wrecked little one. “Let’s go take a walk,” he suggested. “You wanna take a little walk to the archives?” He didn’t go on mindless walks often, but he had noticed the times he needed to walk through the corridors with the sweet thing it was always on its best behavior regardless of how it was acting when they left any room. It was worth a shot to see if being in the halls for an extended period of time would help calm it down into something more manageable. If nothing else, they could pop into Ylva's office for a quick visit.

The human warbled something when Edix started to walk to the door. It tried to say something again but was just as quickly interrupted by a series of breathing hiccups that broke up the words to the point he doubted he would have understood even if they did speak the same language. Speaking was good, though. It meant it was settling enough to want to communicate intelligently.

“Mhm. Is that so?” Edix blindly agreeds, just as he did during any of their one sided conversations. Really, he was only trying to encourage it to keep talking during all of these interactions so it could practice picking up on venandix, but this was also a good way to distract it from its own mind. “Tell me more.”

It stopped talking as soon as they were out the door.

[frannyzooey]

Take Me To Church

Summary: Set in a brothel in the late 1800’s in the Wild West; you’ve only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes stops into town between jobs, he is known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you one night, he is pleased to learn you are well suited for him: your sweet nature soothing to his gruff temperament and surprising him with your ability to handle his rougher tastes. Demanding that you be made available to him every time he is in town, neither one of you is ready for where this request leads.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut – this beginning chapter has MFF, oral sex (female/male receiving), vaginal sex, dirty talk

Words: 3.9K

a/n: Thank you to my friend @profkenobi​ who not only inspired me to write this down and post it but has inspired me in countless other ways as well. Thank you for reading the endless 4:30am texts/tumblr chats/daily screamings I’ve left you about this over the last couple of months. 

CHAPTER ONE: THE BEGINNING 

The first time you see him in the brothel, you call dibs, your eyes fixed on the way his throat moves when he swallows his drink. The madam replies that you are too sweet for him – he needs experienced girls.

“He’s more generous than you’ll ever meet when it comes to money, but his appetite and size are also generous”, she says, giving you a lewd smirk. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”

A skeptical look on your face, your eyes follow his loose, slightly bowlegged gait up the stairs and into a room. Somewhat intimidated by her answer, but mostly intrigued, you decide to ask the other girls about him later.

The next time he comes into town, he hears that you have been asking for him. Eyebrow raised in a question; he inquires if you’ll be able to handle him. His dark eyes study you from across the bar, watching as you chat with another girl; your face breaking into a smile at something she says.

“All the men love how sweet she is”, the madam replies, looking at you appraisingly. “I think you might like her.”

Keeping his eyes on you, he nods his head in approval before going back to his food.

Slightly nervous as you are led upstairs, your stomach is tight with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as you listen closely to the madam explain how he likes things.  Always two girls, always a bath first, always the whole night and the next day. You and Gracie, the friend you were chatting with, exchange looks. Most men only get an hour – he must really be generous if he gets the whole night.

“The next day isn’t for him”, the madam tells you, beckoning someone through the door with the tub. “It’s for you, so you can rest” Her eyes briefly settle on the two of you, her face serious. “You’ll need it.”

Seeing to it that the tub is to be filled with alternating buckets of boiling and cool water, she rushes out of the room to get back downstairs.

Your first time together is interrupted by a commotion in the next room – shouting; the sharp cry of a frightened woman.

Fresh out of the bath with skin still damp, Din thrusts his legs into his pants and grabs his pistol, whipping the door open and barging into the next room. Chest flushed and heaving, his hair a wild mess; his eyes and hands are steady as he points his gun square at the man.

“I’m going to need you to get your things and get the fuck out.”

Glowering back at Din but deciding that he didn’t want to take his chances against someone pointing a gun at him, the man in the room quickly gathers his things before striding out.  Lowering his pistol, Din reaches towards the girl, touching her thigh as she draws back further into the corner between the bed and the wall.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, his eyes searching hers.

Nodding her head yes, he looks at her for another moment before leaving her. Heading straight over to the railing, his fist clutching at his pants to hold them up, he leans his head over and hollers, “Someone bring this girl a drink!”

Pausing for a moment to make sure someone heard him, he stalks back to his room, adding, “And give her the night off – I’ll pay for it!” before kicking his door shut with his foot.

Agitated at being interrupted and also from the confrontation, he is rougher than usual – his hands gripping and pinching your thighs as he spreads you, his mouth sucking the soft skin of your neck and biting down hard before running his tongue over it.

His body unsettled and restless, you work to absorb that energy into you, meeting it with your own soothing coos and soft, pliable body; letting him have you as many times as he needed before eventually calming down. Impressed with how sweet you truly were against his rougher nature and how well you took his demands, he made a silent note to speak to the madam about you; requesting that you always be made available to him in the future.

You’ve gotten to know him better since that first night - visiting the inn every couple of weeks, he only asks for you and Gracie now. Going so far as to make it known that you are “his girl”, he will even come and get you if you are with another patron, including showing up one night right as you walked another man upstairs.

Leading him into the room, you had the man sit on the edge of the mattress and dropping a pillow on the floor between his feet, you knelt between his spread thighs. Working his belt open, you startled at the door kicking open behind you, your patron protesting with a shout when Din strode in.

Looking at the man with a challenging gaze, he bent down to gently grasp your elbow, pulling you up off the floor.

“You’re gonna have to find yourself another girl; this one here is mine.”

His grip still on your elbow, he pulled you towards the door as you looked back at the man and then up at Din, a slow smile spreading on your face as he led you to his room.

On this night, word gets to the brothel quickly that Din is in town. A bounty hunter by profession, his first stop is the sheriff’s office: the settling of his quarries, the payment of services, the collection of flyers and other useful pieces of information. The time there always seeming to drag, he is impatient to see you and his replies eventually become one-word responses until the sheriff finally lets him go.

Heading directly to the inn and seating himself at the bar, you watch as he orders his usual – whisky and a hot plate of whatever is available – and makes small talk with the barkeep; his hands pushing through his thick brown hair, scratching lightly at his scalp as he listens. Knowing you have some time before he’ll be done, you get yourself ready, asking someone to go get Gracie and requesting that the tub be brought to your room for filling.

When he gets up to the room, you are already in it, cheeks pink with heat and Gracie perched on the side, soap and rag in hand.

Savoring your touch after weeks spent alone, he likes you to take a bath with him until the water gets cold - his heavy weight leaning between your thighs, his broad back pressed into your front. Wrapping your slippery legs around his waist, you coax his head back to wash his hair; your nails dragging on his scalp as you work out the oil and dirt of a couple of weeks in the saddle.

This is his favorite part, the way you massage his scalp and neck; you can tell from the deep groan of contentment that he lets out as he relaxes into your body and squeezes your legs under the water, running his palms up and down the length of your shins.

When Gracie leans over with sudsy hands to wash his chest, he pulls her face down to his and kisses her, full and deep. Watching his tongue dart out into her open mouth before pressing his lips to hers, you can tell from the way he is shifting in the water that he is getting impatient for this bath to be done. With a full belly and a clean body, his hunger for the next part of the night shows.

Once out of the tub and dried off by Gracie, he pulls you to him, his arms wrapping around your torso.

“It’s been too long, girl” His nose sliding up the side of your neck, his hand traveling down your back and over your hip; his thick fingers press into you and you arch into his touch. “I’ve been dreaming of that cunt of yours.” His other hand roughly grabbing the plump flesh of your ass, he leans his mouth down to your ear and murmurs, “Let me taste it.”

Positioning you on the mattress on all fours, he stands behind you and watches as you plant your knees wider on the bed; Gracie climbing up next to you, laying back against the pillows to watch.

Spreading you with his hands, you feel the rough calloused skin of his thumb push into you, sliding down from your entrance to your clit and you feel his hot breath ghost across the back of your thighs as he leans closer. Replacing his thumb with his tongue, you drop your head down between your shoulders with a shaky exhale when you feel the first lick – the flat of his tongue running up the length of your cunt, his bottom lip dragging against you.

Spreading you open further, he repeats the same wide, wet lick and you feel a deep contented groan vibrate against you as he slides his nose into your cunt to open it further for his mouth. Moaning into the bedding when he pushes his tongue into you, you hear a soft sound come from Gracie and look over at her just in time to see her slip her hands between her thighs; her eyes fluttering shut.

Using his tongue to draw your arousal out, you feel how soaked you are when he pulls back and grips your hip to slide the heavy, blunt tip of his cock through your folds; pressing it against your clit before gliding it smoothly up to your entrance.

Creeping his hand up your back and into your hair, he grabs a fistful of the thick locks and tugs on them; pulling your head up and back as he sinks into you. Squirming to adjust to how full he feels inside of you, you arch your back to give him deeper access and his grip tightens in your hair, the sharp pull on your scalp slightly painful as he pulls slowly out before pushing back in.

Going slow at first to make sure that you are completely ready for him, he eventually lets go of your hair and presses down between your shoulder blades to push you further into the mattress as his strokes increase in pace; his hips sharp against your ass as his weight forces your legs open wider. He knows just how you like it by now, deep like this, and he smiles at the restless way your hands fist at the sheets, your muffled groans filling the room.

His fingers curling around your hips, he focuses on the way you are squeezing him, your soft skin under his hands, the soft, hoarse sounds you make when he fucks you and he closes his eyes for a moment before turning his gaze to Gracie. Watching her fingers disappear into her soaked cunt, his lust blown eyes are fixated on how her fingers glisten with arousal and he reaches to roughly pull her thigh toward him, opening her legs wider.

“Go ahead and spread those legs for me, Gracie” His words clipped between heavy pants as he continues to thrust into you. “I wanna see you get that cunt nice and wet – you’re next.”

Even though he can see it with his own eyes, he dips his hand down to feel how wet she is, his fingers joining hers and she inhales sharply as he slides two fingers against her clit in time with the flexing of  her hips. Watching her face for a moment before moving his hand away, he pulls you up and back against his chest with a grunt, his forearm locked tight around your front, the muscle taut under your hand as you hold onto him and he drags the fingers that were just in Gracie over your lips; his thick digits slick against your mouth. You open up, sucking his finger in and gliding your tongue over the rough pad of it before biting down, dragging your teeth over the skin.

You feel the stutter of his hips as he damn near comes at that, the boldness of the action in contrast with your usual sweetness, but he catches himself in time. Moving his damp hand away from your mouth, he brings it down to your folds, spreading them to reach your clit. Rubbing it in tight circles while he fucks up into you, your head lolls against his shoulder and he watches the way your mouth goes slack; your eyes shut tight, a tiny frown in your brow. When you open them, they are unfocused, unable to concentrate on anything but the way he feels heavy inside of you, the warm ache in your belly spreading through your hips and down as you are about to come.  

Pinching your chin with his damp fingers, he tilts your face towards Gracie, making sure she can see it before he speaks to her.

“I’m gonna fuck you dumb, like your friend here.” Watching his thrusts getting harsher and deeper, she looks at your face and presses another finger inside herself, flexing her hips up to meet her hand with a moan as he continues talking. “Look at her, she can’t even think about anything but my cock buried deep.”

Turning his attention back to you, his voice is low in your ear when he taunts, “Isn’t that right, girl? Go ahead – tell your friend how I feel inside of you.”

A sharp whine crawls out of your throat as he presses and holds your clit, roughly gliding his fingers over it frantically as he shoves himself into you. “Tell her the reason I pay for you to rest the next day is because you can’t sit down without thinking of my fat cock buried so deep within you—”

Pulling up sharp and fast, you come around him with a cry, spurred on by the filth pouring out of his mouth. Still unable to articulate any words, you clench down on him and a soft moan slips out with every exhale, your nails digging into his forearm and thigh as you ride it out; his strokes still deep within you but slowing down in pace.

Pulling away with a whimper when it gets to be too much, you sag forward and he lays you down gently on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face, kissing you sweetly on the mouth. “You did so good for me girl, so good. Now lay down – it’s your friends turn.”

Leaving you, you feel a dip in the mattress when he immediately crawls over to Gracie. Knocking her hand away from her soaked folds and keeping her legs spread wide, he kneels between them, his hand circling his length and lining up with her cunt.

Dropping his weight onto his forearm, he slides into her in one stroke; one hand fisted into the bedding over her head and the other grabbing roughly at her breast, the flesh of it spilling out between his fingers.  

Pressing his mouth against her neck, his tongue sweeping over the skin, you watch as he buries himself into her over and over, the firm muscles of his back flexing with effort. You both know what she sounds like when she is close; her skin flushed with pink and the most delicate needy whimpers coming from her throat, you watch her hands settle on his ass, pulling him into her as her hips grind up into him and you see her body begin to tense against his. Reaching for her wrist and pinning it into the mattress above her head, he presses his weight into it and looks over at you.

“How are you doing over there, girl?”

Gracie moans loudly at a particularly rough thrust and he turns back to her, clamping his hand tight over her mouth while continuing to push into her. Her eyes widen above his broad hand before rolling back, her brow bunched when they slide shut. Pressing a kiss over the top of his hand where her lips would be, he shushes her. “Shhh; I’m trying to talk to your friend here.”

Turning his attention back to you, his request is punctuated with a soft grunt when he asks, “Think you can get me a hot rag, girl?” His thrusts getting sharper and deeper, his voice is strained and his breathing ragged when he continues. “I’m about to make a real mess of your friends’ cunt; I wanna have something handy to catch anything I don’t catch with my tongue.”

At this, Gracie comes – her legs squeezing tight around his waist, her whines still muffled by his palm as her body arches underneath him. Digging her fingers into his sweat slicked lower back, he holds himself inside of her as he feels her cunt contract around him, a fresh release of arousal coating his cock and he stills for a moment before resuming a slow slide into her as she comes down from her peak. Her limp body sagging into the mattress, he wraps her arm around his neck and nuzzles his nose into the damp skin at her temple before slowly resuming his pace and asking you again to go get a rag.  

Your limbs still shaky from earlier, he watches as you slowly sit up and slide to the edge of the mattress, but it’s too late; he’s too close.

Pulling out of Gracie and quickly climbing up over her body, he pinches her cheeks together until her mouth opens up and he shoves his cock between her lips, coming with a loud groan as soon as he feels her tongue slide against the head. Flexing his hips forward, he presses himself in deeper as he spurts into her mouth and you watch Gracie’s eyes look up at him as she swallows him down; her hands sliding up behind him to hold onto his hips as her tongue swirls around him until he is too sensitive and he sharply pulls away and slides out of her mouth.

Climbing up between the two of you and drawing your bodies close, he always sleeps like the dead after he is done with his first round. So different than the restless sleep he gets while camping out, he likes to be nestled between your warm bodies, holding you tightly to his front as Gracie wraps around his back.

The first time he was with you and fell asleep like this, you fell asleep just as quickly; exhausted from all he demanded from you. Now with each visit, you will yourself to stay awake a little longer; your fingers delicately tracing his as he clutches you in his sleep. Thinking about how nice it is to have him holding you close, his soft, deep exhales gusting through your hair as his face is pressed into the strands, you eventually drift off to sleep with a small smile at the thought of him calling you “his girl”.

In the small hours of the morning, Gracie softly snoring next to him, you’re asleep on your stomach when you feel his heavy weight press you into the mattress as he climbs on top of you, his warm chest against your cool back. Sliding his hand up the back of your thigh, he pushes your leg to the side and settles himself between your legs.

His hand is soft and slow as he strokes over your seam, gently parting you and dipping his fingers inside. Bringing the digits to his mouth, he coats them thoroughly with his saliva before bringing them back down to your cunt, easing them into you.

Arching into his touch, you are half awake as you feel him push his fingers into you, slightly curling them inside before pulling them out; repeating the action over and over while you feel the soft tickle of his hair between your shoulder blades; the warm press of his mouth against your skin.

When he is satisfied that you are ready for him, he pulls his fingers out and rubs your slick onto the head of his cock before lining up and pressing into you. Your mouth against the pillow, a soft groan works its way out at the stretch of him. Coupled with the weight of his body, his hot breath on the back of your neck, his lips delicately pressing into your skin, you feel overwhelmed and surrounded by him as he settles his mouth next to your ear to murmur his praise.

“You’re such a good girl.” His forehead sliding against the soft skin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin. “You always take me so well, girl; you make me feel so good.”

Pushing against the mattress, you turn around and wrap your legs around his hips, flexing up to meet his slow thrusts. Grabbing his ass and pulling him deeper inside of you, you kiss him - a touch of your lips at first, but when his tongue glides against your bottom lip, you open your mouth wide to let him inside.

Slanting his mouth over yours, he presses his tongue into yours with the rhythm of his thrusts and you swallow each other’s soft moans before he pulls back, whispering to you that when he comes back in a month, he is going to settle down in this town; build a house and take you home with him, keep you all to himself.

You laugh lowly, your head tipped back into the pillow as he runs the tip of his nose against your throat.

“They all say that.”

You feel him smile against your skin. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pushing into you harder, he holds your shoulder for leverage to hit that deep spot inside and with each heavy thrust, he makes you repeat his words back to him, each statement sounding needier than the last: you tell him that no one fucks you like he does, that you aren’t going to be able to sit down tomorrow, that you can’t think about anything else when he is deep inside of you and lastly, that you’re his girl; only his girl.

When you both come, he rests his head on your chest for a while, listening to the rapid thrumming of your heart as you stroke his soft hair away from his temple. Rising to get dressed in the hazy light of dawn, you watch as he searches for his clothes, his belt, his boots. Your eyes sliding shut, you feel him press a gentle kiss to your lips before slipping out of the room, shutting the door with a soft click as you roll over into Gracie’s warm heat and go back to sleep.

[ocw-archive]

New York Times, Men's Fashion of the Times; March 2004

Piazzaman

By Josh Patner

''Could I have some more ah-gua, per fah-for-eh?'' Owen Wilson asks the waitress in a restaurant just off Piazza di Spagna in Rome. His Italian is 100 percent Texas tourist; you almost hear President Bush speaking Spanish. ''I don't know why they can't make the Italian food at home taste like here,'' Wilson says, eyeballing a piece of tuna in his salad. ''Go into any dive, and it's the best Italian food you ever had.''

As the wonder rises in his flat, twangy voice, it's hard to imagine anything more charmingly American than Owen Wilson in Rome. He flops down at a cafe table with all the formality of a guy about to pop open a Bud. Certainly the shaggy blond hair, baseball cap and blue jeans do their part. Or maybe it's because he's bowlegged: he always looks as if he has just jumped off a horse. ''Can you imagine how I felt, coming here from Dallas?'' says Wilson, 35. ''I mean, it's so beautiful!'' The actor, who co-stars in ''Starsky & Hutch'' opposite Ben Stiller, has been in Rome for the last five months working on ''The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou.'' Directed by his best friend and college roommate, Wes Anderson, it tells of a father-son conflict between Bill Murray's Jacques Cousteau-like man of the sea and Wilson's airplane pilot. When Wilson talks of living among the wonders of Rome, he speaks elliptically, stymied, like a suburban guy who has landed on a dazzling new planet. ''After being in Rome, flying into Dallas/Fort Worth and driving by the Dairy Queens and the 7-Elevens . . . it's sort of . . . Europeans must find . . . here they are with all this beauty . . . the churches with the Caravaggio paintings . . . it's so . . . different.''

Movie stars in Rome have long enjoyed the affections of a city that loves celebrity. But Wilson reverses that equation: he has thrown his arms open to Rome. ''It's not like I'm Bruce Willis,'' he says with a sheepish grin. ''He probably has a hard time going outside.'' But Wilson is everywhere: watching American football at an Irish pub near Piazza Navona, buying cheese at an outdoor market, zooming past the Vespas on his bicycle. ''I tear around Piazza del Popolo and then go down to the Colosseum, and I ride around that, and then I hit that place -- what is it? The Circus Maximus.'' You might think Wilson -- the handsome brother of the handsome actors Luke and Andrew, and Sheryl Crow's ex -- was on his junior year abroad.

But Wilson is no wide-eyed hick. Writers have called him a ''big-popcorn movie star'' and ''bankable headliner.'' He is an actor who has it all: down-home folksiness and art-house weight, megaplex sex appeal and a deep sense of complex characters. His peculiarly deadpan delivery (he sounds like an old-time character actor playing a boozy cowboy) and versatile presence on screen (he can be ironic and naïve) have made for a charmed career. ''Bottle Rocket,'' his first film, a crime caper written with Anderson, who also directed, was screened at the Sundance Film Festival in 1993. ''It's kind of incredible,'' he says, a toothpick twirling in his teeth. ''Wes and I were friends in school; we'd go see two movies a night. Wes worked in the projection booth, so we went for free. And here we are at Cinecittà, where Scorsese filmed. It's good, man.'' The two continued to work together on scripts for ''Rushmore'' and ''The Royal Tenenbaums,'' which received an Oscar nomination for best screenplay in 2001.

Wilson's first major roles, in ''Shanghai Noon'' and ''Zoolander,'' showed his finesse with action and comedy. In ''Behind Enemy Lines,'' his portrayal of a military pilot shot down in Bosnia and on the run revealed an equal gift for drama. Now, with his character in ''The Life Aquatic,'' he has another chance to broaden the goofy screen persona that isn't far from his real self. ''This character is a lot less of me. He's very innocent and sweet-natured. A lot of characters I've played are rife with insecurities. But he seems happy.''

With three new films in the works, he could be dizzier than a rodeo pony. (He has roles as a villain in ''The Wendell Baker Story,'' written with Luke, who co-stars and co-directs with Andrew, and a romantic lead in ''Wedding Crashers.'') But as our lunch ends, he kicks back with one foot on a stool and talks of leaving Rome. ''I think the thing I'll miss most is the feeling I have here -- feeling really relaxed and just kinda riding around on my bike, seeing stuff.'' After a polite ''Thank you, and see yuh,'' he zooms off on his bicycle, so deeply American that the grandeur of Rome seems to shrivel in his wake. You imagine for a moment that you are on some college quad, not before a palazzo made of stones dragged from the Colosseum.

Ah-ree-ve-der-chi, man.

[calaofnoldor]

Driving My Baby

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 2,183 (i can’t drabble)

Summary: Dean doesn’t know about your mad skills behind the wheel, but it turns out there’s nothing hotter than seeing his baby driving his Baby.

Warnings: implied smut, language, fluff, dean’s bow legs, references to the fast and furious franchise

A/N: was originally gonna post a slightly angsty 2-part dean fic next, but decided against it in light off recent events lol. there’s really no plot or substance here, just some light floof. (and yes, the title is a reference to the song ‘you’re having my baby’)

MASTERLIST

The roar of Baby’s engine rumbled to a halt as Dean glanced over at you, “Alright, so you gonna sit tight while I go scope this place out?”

You sent him a close-lipped smile, trying your best to repress the excitement bubbling within you. “Mhm!” you concurred with a bouncy nod, pausing to sneak a quick peek at his shapely behind when he stepped out of the car, “I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of that morgue guy again.”

Walking over to the passenger side, Dean bent down to kiss you through the open window. “Mmkay, I’ll be back soon,” he mumbled against your lips, before turning to commence his search for the potential vamp hideout you suspected was in the vicinity.

“Oh wait! Dean!” you called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?”

“The keys?”

Dean looked down at his pocket where the Impala’s keys were safely nestled and then back up at you with raised brows.

“You’re not gonna leave me in here like a dog, are you?” There was a subtle hint of amusement in your voice, but also a challenging edge, as well as a slight pout which you added for good measure. You knew he could never really say ‘no’ to you.

And as expected, Dean returned to deposit the keys into your waiting hands. You gave him a wide smile in return, “Thank you! Love you!”

Your boyfriend narrowed his glimmering green eyes at you, imparting one last suspicious glimpse in your direction as he grumbled somewhat warily, “Love you too,” and then finally sauntered off for good.

Biting your lip, you watched with bated breath as his figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror. Normally, you would have enjoyed the exquisite vision of what you often dubbed his ‘sexy ass bow-legged swagger’, but this time, it was when Dean was no longer in sight that a devilish grin broke out across your face.

But really, who could blame you? You’d been a car enthusiast all your life, and classic cars were your weakness. “It’s just you and me now, Baby.” Your fingers glided along the dashboard.

With Sam on the bench due to a broken ankle (courtesy of the werewolf from your last hunt), you and Dean had driven out to Piedmont to take care of this vampire case on your own. So now after two years with the Winchesters, you finally had a chance to explore the front seat of Dean’s Baby, his pride and joy, the glorious, refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala.

When you’d joined forces with the brothers, it was readily agreed upon that you would be better off riding together in the sleek American muscle car, so you ditched your stolen, rusty 2003 Honda Accord and never looked back. Since there was a giant moose to accommodate, you were naturally relegated to the back seat, and rightfully so, but boy, did you miss the thrill of being in the driver’s seat.

You were always a bit of a demon behind the wheel, and it’d been ages since you’d gotten the chance to flex your driving skills. Back when you and Dean first got together, he promised you joyrides (and other recreational activities) in Baby, but the hunting life never seemed to let you get it on.

Sliding across the bench seat, your lungs released a contented sigh as you wrapped your hands around the leather-bound steering wheel. Dean’s bowlegs, however sexy, were not the same length as yours, so you pulled the lever beneath the seat to adjust its position to your liking. Perfect.

You took your time getting to know the ins and outs at the helm of the Impala, though it seemed like none at all had passed when you suddenly heard Dean’s deep voice cry out.

“Y/N!” Your eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror to find an image of the older Winchester running towards the car. “We gotta go!”

Well that’s strange, you thought. Dean never ran – not unless someone, or more often something, was chasing him… Oh shit. Had he somehow woken the vampires? But the sun was still thriving; how much could they retaliate out in the open at this point during the day?

“We gotta get outta here! Now!”

Dean’s voice was much closer now and if you’d learned anything from your experiences hunting with the Winchesters, it was to never doubt your boyfriend’s commands. He was a seasoned pro and possessed instincts like you’d never seen. It’s a good thing you’ve also got some of your own.

Plunging Baby’s key into the ignition, you started the car without hesitation, allowing yourself only a second to relish in the thunderous purr of the engine below you and the incomparable feeling of glee that always sprouted in your chest whenever you were sat at the wheel of a powerful, capable vehicle. Indeed, the adrenaline was already rearing.

As Dean approached the car, you quickly reached over to open the passenger side door for him. “Get in the car!”

“You- Wha-“ Dean stumbled for a split second, so accustomed to taking the driver’s seat. “Y/N, they’re awake and they’ve got bikes – a bunch of Harleys!” he continued to explain, as if that would get you to move out of his designated spot.

“OK, so hurry up!” you yelled again.

Seeing no better option, Dean hastily climbed into the car. Just as he got in, your ears picked up the unmistakable resounding growl of revving motorcycle engines. From the sound of it, they couldn’t be too far off. So when Dean slammed the door shut, your foot came down fast and heavy against Baby’s gas pedal, propelling you forward with an aggressive lurch before you whizzed off, burning rubber and leaving nothing but flying leaves and dust in your wake.

“Jesus!” Dean bellowed; his eyes had grown to about twice their usual size.

You paid him no attention though, too busy reveling in the delightful buzz that vibrated through your body starting from your fingers and toes, where you could feel every unit of Baby’s intoxicating horsepower, and travelling up your limbs until the exhilaration settled deep within your very core.

Stealing a glance at the rear-view mirror, you caught sight of the monster-driven motorcade advancing considerably, so you decided to take the next available turn as an attempt to throw them off. Things were getting truly exciting now.

“Vamps on bikes? Really?! And covered in leather?” you huffed mirthfully with a shake of your head.

But it was Dean’s turn to ignore you. He was clutching at his door tightly, as if afraid your driving might somehow hurl him out of it. In fact, when you took the first corner without warning, Dean just about fell over.

“Woah! Slow down, Toretto!” he shouted in alarm, looking over at you as if you’d grown a second head.

Seeing you’d managed to surprise the vampires with your unexpected maneuver however, a loaded smirk was your only reply.

It took you about twenty minutes to get the vamps off your tail, during which time Dean managed to recover from his initial shock and began instead to absorb your radiant form. The look of exuberance on your face and the utter determination in your bright eyes, mixed with the mischievous tug of your lips, and combined with the all-around liberated and euphoric aura that surrounded you was sexy as hell, not to mention your sheer competence. All of it astounded him and caused his blood to flow to places he could not have foreseen.

You seemed to be completely at one with his esteemed Baby, handling her with perfect control and aptitude, and all the while enjoying yourself so very much. It was something Dean never knew you were capable of, but more so, it was something he never knew he needed.

Dean had always loved how much you loved and appreciated his car, but this made him feel like he was seeing you in a new light; it made him feel like he was falling for you all over again. That devilish glint in your normally kind and virtuous eyes, your ever jubilant and fervent love for life after enduring so much pain and grief, the way you never ceased to amaze and surprise him – it was all gloriously heady and irresistibly addictive. His teeth couldn’t help but pull at his lower lip, emerald eyes glazing over with lust and adoration as he stared over at you in the driver’s seat.

So when you ultimately pulled into an empty clearing, not wanting to lead the vamps straight back to your motel room, Dean was at a loss for words.

“So, a bloodsucking motorcycle gang, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” you speculated in a cheery, nonchalant tone, feeling perfectly satisfied after your little stunt driving escapade.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared not unlike a fish out of water with his furrowed brows and pouty lips which appeared undecided as to whether they should remain open or closed.

“That was… I just- You-… I don’t even know…” he ran his hands through his hair, pulling the short strands forward roughly, “What just happened?”

You sent him a small, innocent shrug, rather amused at his adorably stuttery response.

“You never told me you could drive like that.”

“You never asked,” you replied truthfully.

“Fuck, Y/N. That was… so… incredibly…”

What? Your curiosity was killing you. Dean’s opinion always mattered to you and at the moment, you could read a myriad of emotions upon his face. He looked stunned and confused, perhaps a bit frightened, but at the same time awed and impressed, and maybe even – were you reading that right? – slightly… aroused?

Dean lowered his voice to answer your unspoken question, “Hot,” he finished emphatically.

You heaved a breathy laugh, “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! Baby, that was incredible. The way you handled Baby like a fucking pro, the little faces you made when you were living for the thrill of the chase. The skill, the speed, the Tokyo drifting, all of it. Goddamn, you are so sexy when you’re driving my Baby like that.”

“Well that’s a coincidence ‘cause I also happen to find you amazingly sexy when you’re behind this wheel,” you joked lightly, “In fact, I think seeing you drive this car might’ve been part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“And I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” came Dean’s suave response.

You giggled a bit, but soon sobered when you saw his gorgeous eyes cloud over with wanton desire. One minute you were dwelling in the heavily charged sexual tension that seemed to consume the entire car, watching his gaze wander down to your lips while yours did the same, and in the next your mouths met ferociously as your bodies swooped forwards simultaneously, crashing together in the center of Baby’s front seat.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around Dean’s ridiculously broad shoulders and up to his thick neck. When you were forced to come up for air, his lips began to work their way down to your collar bone. “Mmm, god Dean.”

“Seriously baby, that was such a turn on,” he rambled across your skin, “I didn’t even know driving could be so hot.”

Your laughter was really more just an exhalation of air. “Are we finally gonna do it? Are we gonna christen Baby now, thanks to your newfound kink?” you whispered salaciously, your brain already presenting obscene images of the two of you re-enacting something akin to the infamous Titanic scene.

Dean paused for a moment, allowing you to rip off his outer layers with relish before he brought his large hands up to cup your cheeks. “See I wouldn’t call it ‘newfound’,” he started, dazzling forest orbs boring into your soul, “Cause I’m pretty sure it only turns me on when it’s you behind the wheel, and I’ve always had a kink for you.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You are such a smooth fucker sometimes, Dean Winchester.” And with that, your lips and bodies collided yet again. His strong hands held you impossibly close while yours ran joyously across his expansive chest before travelling down to find the zipper of his jeans.

“Ungh, wait a sec,” you pulled back a little with knitted brows, a playfully incredulous tone taking over your voice, “Did you call me Dominic Toretto earlier?”

“Well, yeah. You were driving like a madman!” Dean exclaimed candidly.

You smirked, “So does that make you Letty Ortiz?”

“Sweetheart, I will gladly be the Letty to your Dom anytime you want… I still can’t believe you just took me on a high-speed car chase, that was fucking awesome! Just wait ‘til Sam hears about this one!”

Laughing as you pulled him back in, you shut him up with your tongue as it invaded his mouth, pausing only to smile against his luscious lips, “Mmm, well maybe he doesn’t have to hear about this next part?”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading, feedback always appreciated! oh and here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com :)