#commission him if you can!! their stuff is really good :3

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[pawgleon]

SOMEBUNNY LOVES YOU !

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. hybrids, owner leon, slight coercion, cunnilingus..i hate that word, pussyjob, slight suicidal mention.. hybrids are treats like pets, they have more animal instinct, reader is nonverbal, gn but good boy is used :3

note. commission for @aizawas-dryeye !!! SPROUT I HOPE U LIKE THIS IM SORRY IT TOOK SO FUCKING LONG!!! hopefully there r no mistakes 😭 but if there r ignore them… i changed the plot a lot bc i really like hybrids and i think there r so many fun ways to use them butttt i ended up w this i hope u like it!! if u would like a comm :3 pls dm me! feedback always appreciated <3 this is older leon i think… di and onwards

Leon leaves the office late, but Hunnigan leaves later. She’s wound tighter than a nun’s pussy—Pussy, not asshole, everybody knows butt stuff doesn’t count. He wonders if she ever goes home.

The last time he did see Hunnigan outside of the office space was a month ago, they ran into each other at the grocery store and it doesn’t matter how long you know her, it still feels like bumping into a teacher in public. She looked hot with her hair down and her glasses off, but Leon kept that to himself like the good, decent man he is trying his best to be.

“You sure you don’t want a ride home?” He asks her as he pats himself down. Keys. Phone. Wallet. Gun. “The rain is getting pretty bad.”

“I still have work to do,” Hunnigan brushes him off, she doesn't even lift her gaze from the pile of paperwork.

“Okay, well, your last chance is going, I’m going, and I’m gone,” Leon supplies very obnoxiously as he waltzes past Helena’s empty desk to caress the edge of Hunnigan’s like it’s a really nice ass.

“You can do that quietly, Leon.” He hears when he steps out into the hall.

The rain is so heavy it patters loudly against his jacket—This is vintage fucking leather, but bringing an umbrella with you is just so uncool. The only one Leon has laying around is the one Ashley left at his place and it’s polka dot. He wouldn’t be caught dead in polka dots.

It happens as he’s walking past glass-fronted buildings, revolving doors and every hostile architecture strategy in the book. It used to be the President cracking down on the homeless crisis, not in the way you’d expect of course, but now it’s to ward off stray hybrids. Foxes mainly. Culling is unethical, TerraSave insists.

The occasional alley cat is nothing new, but bunnies? That’s a new one. Bunnies are spoiled little things. He’s only ever heard of show bunnies. Ones that get pampered and decorated like wedding cakes, taught how to jump through hoops so they can get a pretty sash to show off to all their bunny friends.

You tug at his jeans, curled up on the pavement like a fast food wrapper. From under your shirt you produce a muddied teddy bear and wave it around.

“Oh,” Leon says, and then he looks around like someone might catch him bending down to take a closer look at you, “hey there, little one.”

A flash of irritation wrinkles your face, it passes quicker than a lightning bolt. You’re wearing ratty house slippers, he notices as you thump your foot, shoving the teddy into his face once more.

You squeak, agitated by his inability to understand hand signals and bunny noises and twitching ears. Leon crouches down so the two of you are at eye level, and that was a mistake—A really, really big fucking mistake.

He’s always had a soft spot for small creatures with big, watery eyes.

(Sherry, Ashley, Manuela, a stray cat he took in for a couple of months before that left him too, and more recently Rebecca.)

“Fuck, okay, alright,” Leon curses into the open air, his ankles click when he stands up, god, he is getting old. He offers you his hand.

Your initial hesitancy wanes when he smiles at you as kindly as he can smile. No teeth ‘cause what if you think he wants to eat you?

“It’s not a long walk,” Leon tells you, and for a hybrid with such big ears, you don’t seem to understand him, blinking at him stupidly as you trip over yourself in an attempt to match his pace. He slows down, and then when he notices you flinching at every car that whizzes past, Leon shifts so he’s walking next to the road instead.

“Yeah, okay, just—Wait there, yeah?” He sits you down on the couch when the two of you get to his place, shaking rain water off his phone as he moves into the kitchen. It’s not like you can understand him, but if you’re just playing dumb and you really do understand, Leon doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or anything.

Ashley answers after the first ring.

“Hellooo?” Her voice is more nasal over the phone, his ears tingle.

“Hi, Ashley, uh—“

“Hi, Leon, oh my god, it’s been, like, forever!” Usually, he would entertain her a little because Ashley has only ever meant well, but you’re sitting there lost and soaked to the bone on his couch.

“Yeah, I know, I’ve been been busy—“

“You always say that, are you still in D.C by the way?” She’s talking over loud music and muffled voices and laughter.

“Yeah, I’m in D.C. still, wouldn’t go anywhere else—Are you still in Michigan, Ashley?” Leon knows she has a property in Grosse Pointe, more importantly that she has a hutch full of bunnies, a start-up, her father said.

“No, Leon, I left months ago— I told you that already, I messaged you, can you not just open my messages?” She demands, not harshly, rather imploringly. “I’m in Miami right now actually.” She adds a moment later, her pink lipstick likely rubbed off on the straw in her Mai Tai.

“I do read them,” Leon insists, but he does not, “I got a bad memory, but, uh, okay—Ashley, the bunnies do you have those?”

“No, that got shut down, like, when I left, Leon—It was your friend, the redhead?” Ashley huffs, he can see her pouting at him through the phone. “She shut me down, her company did, like, Terrorist something?”

“TerraSave.” He corrects.

“Yeah, Terrasave! They shut me down!” She doesn’t sound half as upset as she should be. She seems to be amused more than anything.

“Why?”

“Funny story actually,” she laughs, “the bunnies got sick super quick, I mean, Leon, bunnies get sick super fast, they also fuck like a lot—“ She says that word in a hushed voice. “Anyway, they kept making noise and my neighbours complained, and it turns out you need a licence to breed bunnies, I didn’t know that?”

“Holy fuck, Ashley, are you—“ He shakes his head, doesn’t even bother to try and fathom what goes on in that empty head of hers.

“Yeah, so, they told me if I didn’t get them to a local shelter on time they’d press charges against me, something about their rights? But, like, Leon, I heard that shelters can kill them if it gets overpopulated.”

“Right..?” He says, not liking where this is going.

“So, the night before my flight I just let them go.” She says breezily.

“Oh my god, Ashley.”

“Why were you asking?”

“Nothing, just, nothing, I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Before she can pull him back in with her absolute ridiculousness, Leon hangs up.

What the fuck is he supposed to make of that?

Leon frets in the kitchen for a few minutes, rubbing his hands over his face, scratching his chin, biting his nails, tosses a few things into the floor. By the time he’s done, it looks like the room was picked up and shaken.

He re-enters the lounge, smile taut like a stretched rubber band. You’re sitting right where he left you, swinging your legs absentmindedly, threadbare teddy sat between your thighs. “I guess it’s just you and me for a while, little one.”

A night turns into two nights into a week into a fortnight into a regular part of life. Caring for you becomes a part of Leon’s routine. It comes to him as naturally as holding a gun does.

Hybrid shelters in D.C. are overpopulated, pet shops only take cats and dogs, only he has space for you.

It's lucky you’re easy to love. Fluffy-eared and cuddly and sweet like a stuffed toy. You curl up in his lap and love him in the way no one else has.

You stay.

Mostly because you don’t have the tact to get up and leave. These four walls are your home now and you don’t know any better. You don’t know what’s past the front door. All you know is that it was cold out there and that it is warm and safe inside with Leon. He feeds you, bathes you, loves you—Why would you leave?

There used to be this coldness inside of Leon, an empty space so vast it felt as if galaxies had been compressed and placed inside his chest cavity. A black hole in place of a beating heart. Ada’s restless ghost on his hip like the gun in his holster, and then nothing but himself.

And now you’re here, loving him, making his heart flutter faster than your lashes when you want a treat and you’re so… You don’t doubt Leon, his word is law and it’s not making things easy on him. It’s hard to hold back when you wander around with his boxers on or in your birthday suit or in nothing but those silk shirts he saves for work events.

(He could tell you to bend over, he could ask you to open your legs, and you would do it, but he can’t do that to you.)

You’re a distraction he welcomes into his life, but holy shit, this is hard. Trying to be decent is hard. Vicodin killed his libido, but he took one look at your thighs and the way they squished when you sat down and his dick came to life. You did the impossible, you’re literally Freudian fucking Frankenstein and it sucks. He can’t do that to you. He can’t do that to you. He will not do that to you. He will not fuck this up.

When he gives you a bath, Leon tries to make it all very impersonal. Like he’s a nurse and you’re a patient, that only brings to mind all those nights he’s spent watching sexy nurses fuck men out of bed rest. When you prance over to him naked as the day you were born, Leon closes his eyes, counts to ten, and shifts his jeans slightly. When you’re playing on the ground, rolling around a brightly coloured ball, Leon does not look at the soft, wet spot between your thighs. He does not do that.

He will not do that.

“You seem happier lately,” his therapist notes delicately, he clicks his pen incessantly, it makes Leon’s ears buzz. He’s a man because Leon cannot keep his hands off the lady therapists. They’re usually older women, and that in itself is enough to get him clucking.

EAP bullshit, which by the way, is not a legal requirement—They only send nutcases to the thirteenth floor, and Leon apparently counts as one. Usually, he has a lot to say, a lot to complain about - the skyrocketing cafeteria prices, new recruits not laughing at his jokes, everything a therapist does not need to hear.

This time, he’s quiet, there’s no need to empty his mind when you’ve cleaned it out for him. It’s like you stuck a cotton swab up his nose and pulled the bad parts out of his brain. Just didn’t get to that sick, horndog part of it. Leon’s not sad anymore, more pent up, hard, turned on, aroused. All of that.

If he was a cop, he wouldn’t have to get a mental health check, he would just get a gun and go unmonitored, no one would worry about him killing himself or anything. Leon does get a shiny badge that gets him out of speeding tickets and to the front of the liquor store line though.

The session ends, he gets a message from Sherry as the door clicks shut behind him. Her flight is cancelled, she won’t be able to make it to lunch on Friday.

Before, this would’ve sent him to the nearest bar and Sherry would still be able to smell the liquor on him by the time they finally find another time to meet in the next month or so.

Leon has you now, so there’s no need to be sad. He goes home and is greeted by big eyes and your cotton puff tail and—You’re naked. Okay. That’s nice, it’s nice, he can’t lie. He would never oppose to seeing someone hot naked.

He also can’t pass up a good fuck.

You look like one hell of a good fuck.

Bunnies are, like, built for it. They’re like God’s gift to earth — organic sex dolls. Thighs and hips and ass. He can’t help it. Leon cannot help himself, and that is really an issue he should bring up with his therapist, but he spends his sessions chattering about things that won’t matter next week.

After placating you with pets and a twenty minute cuddle on the couch, shaking you off on the pretence that he’s gotta clean up after work, Leon sheds his clothes and tries to jerk off in the shower.

The cold water batters his back until he’s numb, like the day he found you, and then he spots your face peeking into the bathroom. Your nose twitches, taking in the scent of his body wash, padding closer and knocking on the steamed glass curiously.

Leon wipes it down with his hand, and he smiles at you tiredly, hopes you can’t see the blurred outline of his stupidly hard dick through the glass.

He makes out your figure through the steam, soft and plush and so fucking fuckable. His dick aches. God, he thinks he hears it whine like a kicked dog. Leon wants to touch himself, but he can’t when you’re right there, blinking at him with those eyes—Fucking blowjob eyes, man.

This isn’t right.

Don’t do it, you’re so fucking cracked, Kennedy—If you do this to them, you’ve got no fucking morals—

Leon steps out of that shower, dripping wet, his feet sinking into the bath mat. You chirp and press into him, little hands gliding over the protruding ropes of flesh that sweep over his back. You don’t know what they mean, but Leon always finds that you’re drawn to touching his scars, soothing any phantom pains.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs, saddened that he has to do this to you, that he has to fuck the shit out of you, “just stay right there, okay?” His dick is leaking like crazy, the tip is wet and it’s pressed right up against your tummy.

If you notice, you don’t say a thing, but you never say a thing.

You just take it.

Shifting slightly, Leon angles his dick between your thighs, keeping you close to him under the guise of a hug. “Press ‘em together for me, sweetheart, a little tighter, little tighter—There we go, my good boy.”

Preening at his praise, you don’t seem very bothered by the cock that wets your slit with the sticky tip. Leon places a hand on the back of your head, bringing it to rest on his shoulder as he rocks back and forth, dick cushioned by your puffy pussy lips.

His body trembles, wrapped around you so tightly his embrace is crushing. You whine and squirm, wanting him to loosen his grip. Leon’s shaking hands find purchase on your hips instead, the tip of his cock bumps your clit and your floppy ears move so fast they almost hit him in the face.

Little by little, you begin to get it. Bunnies are sex-crazed little maniacs. Give a bunny the tip and they’ll take the whole cock. They are nature’s pocket pussy.

Each time Leon pushes his hips forward, in turn you push up on him, the two of you fall into rhythm, matching pace and panting quietly in the heat of Leon’s badly ventilated bathroom.

His cock jumps like he’s a fucking virgin, it’s so sudden, tip smushing against your clit in a nasty wet kiss, and you squeak, eyes wide like saucers, blunt nails digging into his shoulders.

“Sorry, baby, can you—“ Leon shudders, every nerve in his body alight, tingly as a weight settles in his gut. “C’mon, baby, that’s it atta boy.” He urges you onto your knees, cupping your cheek with one hand, keeping your chin up so he can spunk on your cute little face.

“You’re a good boy,” he says shakily, toes curling as his stomach muscles contract, dick twitching with each stroke, “you’re so good, baby.” That keeps you at bay, and you watch him from below with great fascination, running your hands up and down his thighs and driving him fucking insane.

The first dribble of his seed splats on your upper lip, you recoil and squeeze your eyes shut. Leon apologises under his breath as he palms his cock, wringing every last drop out of it. He doesn’t stop until his balls feel like the weight of the world is lifted off of them.

You blink up at him, mildly mortified, wildly confused and partly happy when he smiles down at you guiltily.

“Sorry, baby,” Leon sighs, pulling you up off the ground and wiping you down with a hand towel.

In response, your ears flick from side to side, flattened against your skull and your foot thumps stubbornly. You’re agitated. Maybe ‘cause of the facial, he thinks, but Leon notices that you’re shifting from foot to foot, knees going inwards as you squeeze your thighs together.

Oh. Right. He blue balled you. And pulled your ears a little too hard. God forbid he fucks you from behind, he might rip them right off your head.

Ushering you out of the bathroom - the steam was getting to his head - Leon lays you down on his bed, spreading your legs and placing gentle kisses up your inner thighs.

It’s ticklish so you squirm away from it, tail twitching and your body twisting. Leon splays a hand across your abdomen to keep you in place, keeping his eyes on you, on your curious face as you push up onto your elbows to watch him. Aw. Bunny’s first orgasm, what a treat you’re in for.

He likes going down on people, likes to watch himself in their eyes, likes watching himself make them feel good. Call him narcissistic, but it makes Leon feel better about himself. Like, yeah, he did that. Made them cum so hard their brains melted out of their ears.

“Settle down, baby.” Leon soothes you with a kiss to your mound, the soft fur is matted with his pre.

His kisses trail down your slit, then back up, lips smacking wetly on your twitching clit. Leon pulls the hood back with his thumb, rubbing away at your bud with the pad of his thumb until he frays your nerves. His tongue works its way into your slick hole, curling upwards, as far as it can go—And the whole time, all Leon’s thinking is, damn. He should’ve waited it out. Shouldn’t have lost his composure back there, god, this cunt is so tight he should’ve had a go at it.

Oh well, he has tomorrow, and the day after that, and a whole lifetime with you hopefully.

In a matter of minutes, you come undone and it might be the cutest thing Leon has ever seen. You’re the cutest thing he's ever seen, so this is fucking adorable. He wants to squeeze you until you burst, snap you in half like a popsicle. It washes over you like a wave, lapping at your curling toes and making its way up your body. Your thighs tense and snap shut around his head, Leon pushes them open with ease, and then your back bows off the bend and you let out the cutest little whimper and god.

Why did he wait so fucking long?

You liked this, you liked it a lot.

Leon finds that you can’t get enough of it. Insatiable. He can’t blame you, it’s in your genes, and tomorrow he is going to push his dick so far up into you, he’ll knock something out of place.

A letter drops through the letterbox a while later. It’s from Sherry. A postcard from wherever she is. She sends them often to placate him. It’s a vintage painting of a bunny in a bow, and in cursive font along the bottom it reads: Somebunny Loves you.

Leon smiles without even reading what she’s written, filing it away for a rainy day and slipping under the sheets where somebunny is waiting to love up on him.

[jweekgoji]

Yandere!Five/Reader (platonic/headcanons)

the story contains: spoilers for season 4 (+ some changes in plot), yandere!five(-s), strictly platonic, five here is in his 20s (physically) and in his late 60s (mentally), overprotective old man five, soft yan!Five, OOC cuz it's yanderes 🤷

I really like to imagine Five being overprotective over someone young and still full of joy. You can be either a kid of one of his siblings, or just a random child he found during his time in The Commission. It wouldn't be that far away from reality, The Handler took little Lila and trained her to do the dirty job, no one would be surprised if that creepy woman ends up kidnapping another child born on October 1st for herself.

Either way, Five is a good familial figure. We all saw how he acts towards little Grace, making small cheering comments from time to time to his niece when she is enjoying her birthday party. I expect him to be much softer if it's someone who is always close to him and constantly tags along with Five. Let's say, he knows you enough to let you go with him at the end of Season 3, since all of his siblings left, he basically has no other choice but to be the only one who has to protect you.

At first, he might get a little irritated because of it. It's not because he finds you annoying or hates being around kids. The problem is, he is not a social person himself. He never had a proper childhood because he spent 45 years stuck in the apocalypse. Then his time in The Commission, stuck with people either invading his personal space, or always staring at him due to him being him. The man got no time for a good rest. He also got no experience in how he should take care of a kid.

Despite a good bag of problems on his back, like the fact that he is still considered a child himself because of his appearance, no job, no money, no place to stay, he somehow gets everything you need. It would probably cost him a lot of pride to sacrifice, people constantly saying «Aww, are you looking after your little sibling at such age? Where are your parents?» makes him want to say something snarky, but he would bite his tongue, since he doesn't want people to ask more questions. He is used to doing everything on his own, dealing with every trouble by no one but himself because it's how he got things done for ages. Not so surprising, Five is pretty good at it.

When he gets his job as a CIA agent, he does not get so much time to be with you, he's more busy even though he is «the one of the professional young agents», trying to investigate more and more. But I believe that he would absolutely think about you during his work, he would go nonchalantly in his mind «Should I buy them the cereal with that dumb colourful toy inside? No, that stuff has too much sugar for someone their age—», which is pretty ironic since Five has a little sweet tooth himself, knowing his famous toasts with peanut butter and marshmallows. He doesn't give you a chance to eat that stuff too much anyways, because he believes « You'll get to eat those when you grow older», while you probably pout and tug on his clothes, trying to make him share with you this tasty sweet thing with tons of deadly sugar! He will give up after a good 15 minutes of you jumping around, being noisy and whiney, so he would roll his eyes and give you like less than 1/3 of the toast, saying 'here is your half, happy now?🙄'. At least he managed to keep you quiet for some time, while he can focus on some little time of his rest.

Five wants you to be independent just like him. Mainly because he doesn't want to think about potential scenarios where you are without him, all defenseless and have no idea what to do. He will teach you everything, how to protect yourself, how to use the oven, who you should call immediately if something happens (he will probably write a phone number with a marker on your wrist, since kids tend to be forgetful and easily distracted and he does NOT take such a risk).

But Five would never push or press on you, he doesn't want to make another child assassin with childhood trauma, think of it as a grandfather taking you to the lake to teach you how to fish. He is constantly near your side, guiding gently but firmly, to you it's mostly about having fun but also learning new things. Five will praise you, give you some advice and will pet your head if you do something right. I do believe he is overprotective, that he doesn't want to even let you near anything dangerous, but he's also paranoid that if another apocalypse comes back, you should be able to survive.

When Five gets his powers back and reunites with his siblings, you will always be with him. Of course I can imagine him having a nanny to call so you would be away from all his family stuff and there is someone whom he can trust enough, but...he might trust himself more than anyone else (but also it's more interesting for the story than you being somewhere away from all the fun lol). When weird things start to happen, Five is looking for anyone even slightly suspicious. Why is this Elf Guy looking at him? Is that guy looking at YOU ? Stop looking at his kid!

Thankfully for him, you weren't around when Lila and Five stuck in that subway. But instead of spending years here, giving up on the idea of coming back home, that would never happen. Because come on, it's Five. He would never give up on coming back to his family and you, someone he also considers as a part of his family. Maybe they're not ideal, they might hate each other, sometimes even annoy him, but he would never allow himself at least a single minute of proper rest since he believes that his only priority is to come back to people he cares about.

The moment he finds the notes on how to come back, he will do it in an instant. When he sees his family safe - he is happy, even though he would hide his inner feelings. You're a little confused when he just hugs you tightly to his chest all of the sudden, sighing in relief the moment he realizes you're with him. Still the same little you, not a single change in your appearance. « Something happened?» you ask softly, carefully placing your arms around him. for some reason, it feels weird. he was never a person who could hug you just because he feels like it. the only time he might give you that it's only if you initiate it, needing comfort because you were afraid of storm or just woke up from the nightmare. « No, no, just stay like that for a little bit,» Five whispers, trying to calm his racing heart. he's thankful that this body at least can take all the stress he constantly experiences in his life. you are probably surprised and confused but he doesn't care about it now. he just came back to you after years of being apart. at least for him it was, for you — a few hours. Despite how unusual it makes you feel, you don't question it, you will give him all the comfort he deserves after whatever he went through.

A good happy ending we deserve would probably be Five (accidentally) taking you to this buffet full of his other versions. You're probably so shy and awkward to see all of them, so you stick closer to him, holding his hand. Five is a little more protective too, he doesn't trust his other selves as we know. I can imagine a little you being so scared to even make a single move, because the moment you look away, you might get lost! Is that your Five? Or is it the one who's near the other table? Why is that Five drunk? When did he find the apron?? But all of them are very nice to you. Five who works as a waiter would gladly help you to find your guardian and maybe he'll spoil you with food they serve here— Your Five is definitely not happy with how much attention you gain from.. other versions of him, but he knows that they all care the same of you.

[luveline]

Hi jade, I have a hurt/comfort request for Steve, maybe reader was there with the party for all the vecna stuff and maybe gets hurt, afterwards Steve taking care of her and staying w her in the hospital and stuff? Love your writing!

thank you for requesting <3 fem!reader

“Did you know there’s like, a concessions stand?” 

You moan at the pain between your shoulders, turning onto your arm. Steve lounges in the chair beside you with a paper plate of donuts on his chest. His legs are kicked up on your bed. He’s taken his shoes off, at least. 

“Free donuts, coffee, they even had flapjacks.” 

“Steve, I think you have to pay for those.” 

He puts the plate on your bed. “Well, they can’t send you to jail.” 

“‘Cos my back’s broken?” 

“‘Cos you’re too pretty for prison.” Steve sits up properly. “You need help?” 

He moves the donuts again onto your nightstand and hooks you under the arms to ease you into a sitting position. You’re back isn’t broken, for the record, but you fell funny coming out of the gate a few days ago and you haven’t bounced back yet. Worse, you've got an infected burn on your hand, wrist and arm from your Molotov cocktail. It’s out of commission, as are you while they pump antibiotics into the crook of your elbow. Steve’s careful not to tug your IV. 

You gasp, the twinge in your back turning to flame. “I know,” Steve murmurs, shockingly sincere, “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to lie down all the time, or it won’t get better.” 

“I know.” 

“Yeah, of course you do. You know everything.” 

Insult or compliment, you’re unsure. What you do know is that Steve’s come to see you every day since you were checked in, he’s the one who checked you in, and he’s taken good care of you so far. He’s not even your boyfriend, you thought he liked Nancy— but he’s rubbing his hands down your shoulders and looking you in your face despite the horror he’s sure to be witnessing. Bruised eye, greasy nose, hair thankfully clean but completely untouched otherwise. 

“Better?” he asks, cupping your cheek. 

Is he gonna kiss me? you think. You glance down at his lips, then back up. Steve doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it, his fingers drawing a gentle path behind your ear as his thumb aligns with your jaw. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Sorry, you just looked so sad for a second.” He laughs wryly. Though you don’t feel like he’s making fun of you, he teases, “Cheer up. What have you got to be so sad about?” 

“You keep harassing me.” 

“Oh, that’s how it is!” He tips his head back. “Nurse! I’d like to report a thief!” 

You gasp, laugh, and attempt to cover his mouth as strikes of pain nibble up your spine. “Steve, don’t–” He catches your hands to stop you from silencing him, but he doesn’t shout again, holding your hands together in his lap, smiling smugly and affectionately at once. He has nice eyes that are almost almond in shape and a lovely light brown. They glow in the slither of light that sneaks its way through the blinds, raw amber, stomach-achingly pretty. 

You can’t look at him for too long. You defer to your hands scrunched up in the sheets instead. 

“I did pay for the donuts, by the way. I’m just messing with you.” 

You try to laugh. “Why doesn't that surprise me?” 

“You act like I’m such a jerk,” he says fondly, pulling you in for a cautious hug. He’s tender when he needs to be, you’d never have thought it of him, how sweetly and softly he rubs your back, how he murmurs near your ear. “Do you need more meds? I’m sure they can get you another dose of the good stuff if you pretend your gummy arm is aching.” 

“Thanks, Steve, but I’m fine.” 

He hums. “Think I can get them to let me stay the night?” 

“Steve, I’m really okay.” 

“It’s not about you, I just don’t wanna go home,” he lies poorly, “they don’t have donuts at home–”

His hand leaves your back. “Are you eating over my shoulder?” you ask. 

He hugs you tighter with the remaining arm. “What? No.” 

You feel sprinkles falling down your back and ignore it for now. He’ll have to help you out of bed in a few minutes anyways. He can sort it out then. For now, you lean into his chest and close your eyes tight. 

“I’ll sleep better in the chair by your bed,” he promises. 

[curseddollfaye]

“baby can you call me back?…it’s so lonely in my mansion”

drug dealer bf! gojo x reader

✩ intro for our lovely couple , a look into the beginning of their relationship to start off! 😋 enjoy! ✩

ᥫ᭡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ty! please let me know what you think! ^.^ requests are currently CLOSED ᥫ᭡

masterlist

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ੈ✩‧·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· *ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Mmmm I think I want…the pink one” Your eyes basically sparkled as you look at the selection of diamond earrings in front of you. Your sunglasses pushed up and out of your face. A array of bags on one arm, and a drink on the other. Iced matcha latte with caramel cold foam. Fresh French tips tapped against your cup as you hummed a happy tune to yourself.

“Of course ma’am, would you like me to take anything else out of the show case?” The jewelry sales associate offered you a wide customer service smile. Who wouldn’t with the amount of money you were charging to the black plastic card tucked away on your heart juicy couture bag. The commission the man was about to make was nearly enough to make him the happiest person in the damn store probably.

“I’ll let you know if anything else catches my eye! Thank you!”

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?” Your friend Utahime pipped up beside you. She had her own set of shopping bags. But not nearly as many as you. She had watched you run that debit card the entire day and she was shocked at how it kept approving.

Well. She had an idea.

Your new boyfriend Satoru Gojo

Utahime watched you hum and tilt your head as you looked at her with a glossy pout on your lips.

“Whaddya mean Ime?”

She laughed at your response and shook her head. “I mean won’t Satoru mind with how much money you’re spending?” Utahime was never not worried about you. Haven been your bestfriend since you were in Kindergarten she knew you like the back of your hand. You weren’t the type to date any guy. So it shocked her when 2 months ago you told her you had a boyfriend. Sheepishly admitting that you had really been dating him for 3 months prior to her finding out. Telling her that she wanted to make sure he was a solid guy before introducing him to your friends. Even though Utahime was familiar with the white haired man. They both grew up in the same neighborhood, Saturo was always the kid in their street that every knew. Every wanted to be friend with Satoru Gojo. Everyone’s PARENTS wanted to make friends with his parents. They came from money, not that Satoru didn’t work for his. It’s just what comes with generational wealth.

“Satoru mind that I’m spending his money?” You snorted back a laugh and took a sip of your cold beverage. “He’s the one that gave it to me babe. And I quote ‘Whatever you want baby’ “ You grin as the associate finally came back out with your earrings wrapped and tucked in a velvet black box. He slipped it in a bag quickly and handed it to you. Your receipt tucked neatly away in its contents.

“The one day I don’t go to a dumb party that Choso throws and you’re telling me he invites his stupidly handsome rich friends?” Utahime grumbles. “I have a bone to pick with that blonde hair runway model”

“You mean your boyfriend Choso?” You tease as the two of you make your way out of the store. Finally enough having done enough shopping for the day. You truly wanted to run back to your apartment and wait for Satoru finish whatever it is he was doing so you could finally snuggle him.

And fuck him too of course.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Utahime’s cheeks got red. By the looks of the way she’s fighting that smile off you concur and give her a wide smile telling her everything she needs to know. She’s not hiding her crush on you two’s mutual friend that good.

hmm I wonder what time saturo is going to be back…

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ੈ✩‧·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Going back to your apartment went smoothly. You gladly put all your new stuff away in your very large closet (thanks to Saturo who insisted moving you into a better place. He said it suits your lifestyle more now. You nearly sunk to your knees at his confession)

You managed to eat something really quickly, shower, shave, and do your skincare with enough time to spare before-

“I’m back gorgeous!” A happy man announced as he stepped foot through your door. Keys dangling on one hand using his own spare to get inside.

You were in the middle of applying your coconut bliss body butter on your arms when you hear him. An excited smile appears on your face. You haven’t seen him since he went back home earlier in the morning and it wasn’t fair! You deserved his time more than anyone :( , it’s obvious he spoils you way too much but to be fair it’s his fault!

“Baby!” You run to him. Looking absolutely delectable in a long sleeve black shirt and some sweats you swore he’d stolen back from you. His clothes were always way too big on you; he was a tall man, not that you wet complaining. His sunglasses were still on his perfect face but the grin that graced his features was enough for you to jump into his arms. You were wearing some tight booty shirts he had bought you, stating that you looked too good in them. Resulting in the only pair you previously owned to be torn.

At least he replaces them tenfold :D

You inhale his scent. You missed him so much. Your heart feels warm. Because truthfully you loved this man. He treated you so sweetly without expecting anything. His love for you was apparent in the past few months. Indescribable feeling of cloud nine and you never wanted to get out of it. His actions, his words, and overall the way he heard you, understood you, and cared for you. Satoru Gojo was a man of his word, keeping you safe and loved was his number one priority.

In the past dealing with assholes was what you were used to, not by choice of course. But after a while you started to despise the idea of finding that someone until he came along.

“You okay pretty girl?” You open your eyes, you didn’t even realize you had closed him. His large hands had came down to hold you up by your ass. Fingers pressed snuggly into the soft skin. Your tits pressed against his chest. Your arms around his neck already scratching that spot in his scalp that always makes him melt.

“Better now that you’re here” You lift your head up from his chest slightly amd purse your lips to ask for a kiss. Satoru gladly obliges and leans down shaking his head slightly and chuckling to himself. His girl must’ve missed him so much. However will he make it up to you?

“Well thankfully your hot sexy boyfriend is here to keep you all warm again hmm? Fuck you smell so good, you know I love it when you wear that coconut shit” Satoru leans down and inhales deeply from your neck. He feels his boxers start to tighten up a little bit. That combine with the way your breasts pressed up against him. He hasn’t touched you all day!

“Take us to the couch-ahh!” You scream as your boyfriend manages to toss you up over his shoulder effortlessly. Your ass right next to his face, he wastes no time giving your left ass cheek a harsh slap before his palm rubs to smooth the red forming skin over. Instinctively you feel your legs squeeze together. Bastard.

“Nah I think we’re going to bed baby girl”

“Damn no hi, hello, how are you?” You snort as he carries you down the hall and pushes your bedroom door open.

“You think m’not gonna converse with you baby? Don’t hurt my feelings you know me better than that” He sets you down on the bed gently and looks down to stare at you.

Your pretty lips swollen from the way he always eagerly sucks your bottom lip when he kisses you.

Those fuck me eyes yours always had his head dizzy.

You slowly rose to your knees as he stood at the edge of the bed. Your hands trailed up under his shirt as you (almost) managed to reach his height. Satoru started down at you, admiring all your prettiness, of course. His hands leaned down to your ass again and he softly started to grope you.

“Take this shirt off, it’s in the way” You mumbled in annoyance.

He snickered at you teasingly.

“Patient baby, I wanna have a conversation with my favorite girl remember?”

“Boo, you whore”

“Your whore though remember?” Satoru removes his hands from you and painfully backs away from your touch. Leaning down really quickly to press a kiss to your forehead. Basically having to force himself away from your touch before he ends up pounding you to sleep in the bed.

Patience HE has to remind himself.

“How was your day today?” You watched him take off his shirt, leaving him shirtless. He then proceeded to take stuff out of his pockets, his pack of cigarettes, his keys, his familiar bright blue flame lighter you had gotten for him as a souvenir from the beach. He swears it’s the best lighter he own and states it’s lasted him so long. The last item he pulls out is a bag containing a pre rolled blunt. You’ve smoked with him once or twice but it really wasn’t your thing, you left that all for him. Despite having the best discount on some of you ever needed any (it was free, Satoru would never charge his pretty girlfriend a dollar for some shit he could cover, a man dedicated to making sure you’re straight).

You sit back still on your knees. Your hands behind you as you watch Satoru walk over to your window and crack it open. His hand already flicking the lighter to spark up his blunt. Bringing the end of it to his lips. He winks at you as he inhales and exhales. Repeating it 3 times before he finally fills his lungs with that familiar sting. Blowing it out and relaxing from how long of a day he’s had. He works hard for his shit, he deserves it.

“It was good, got my nails done, went shopping with Utahime”

Satoru scoffs and his hazy eyes look at you as he laughs.

“Be nice! You act as if she’s your mortal enemy!”

“She’s hated me since like 4th grade. I’m telling you babe I think she needs to get laid immediately before she prunes up or something”

“By who? Choso?”

“Might as well be, I’ve seen him stalking her Instagram” Satoru loves gossiping with you as well, which made your relationship that much more entertaining. Sometimes he’d listen to you talk about drama that’s going on, and he’d always join in with you. Always taking your side / perspective as well. Because Satoru agreed with you without second thought.

A personified munch , in two ways.

You store the new information tucked away in the back of your head to tell Utahime, already picturing the wide smile she’s going to try to hide whenever you tell her Choso was looking through her insta.

Satoru puts his half smoked blunt out on a tray near the window that you had just for him. His muscles relaxing and the stress of the day finally disappearing from his body.

“Enough about Utahime, I’m tryna spend some quality time with my favorite girl. Gonna show me all the pretty thongs you bought later yeah? Lemme see those pretty tits first baby…”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ੈ✩‧·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your lights were turned off, the window was cracked open letting in the cool cold air in as it makes its way into your warm bedroom. The only light really was the moon shine.

Your headboard obnoxiously hit against your wall, and your bed noisily creaked from the speed in which Satoru was snapping his hips into you.

You positioned on your side. A leg thrown on top of Saturo’s. Your neck and chest littered with purple marks. Your hair was a little messy, and your thin lace purple panties pulled to the side. Revealing your swollen pussy. Your boyfriend’s cock stretching you out nice and wide. Breathless whines leave your swollen lips. The man’s hands held both of your tits in his long slender fingers. The fat of your boobs slip in between his fingers from his harsh grip. Occasionally rolling your nipples in between his fingers. Pulling and tugging making them even more sensitive. As if he wasn’t just sucking them desperately 30 minutes prior as he fucked you with his fingers. The sound of your squelching pussy while he plays with your clit and curls his fingers feel inside of you just like you need. The vision is always engraved in his head every single time.

“Ahh! Fuck, ‘toru!” You look down to where you’re both connected. Your man grunts in response and lets out a hiss as he reaches your g spot just right with his swollen mushroom tip. The angry red tip bullying your plush velvety walls. He wore no condom, which you both knew that was not a good idea , neither of you were ready for a child so it was a little reckless. But cumming inside of you was his favorite part. Tied with cumming on your face or inside your mouth.

Cumming on your ass

He shivers at the thought and reaches down to grip your hips. A shudder escapes down his spine.

“Doing s’good for me baby fuck…” You feel his lips near your ear. His breath fanning down your neck. “It’s all for me? Hmm? Tell me, say it you fucking slut” Satoru demands. His right hand leaves your hip and grips your jaw to turn your head to look at him. Intense blue eyes stare back at yours. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open as your head bobs furiously while you try to keep it still. His pace is unforgiving. He needed release so much, but most of all he needed you to come for the third time.

He was a selfless lover, you always came at least twice before he even came once! Mouth, fingers, and then his cock. That the goal everytime before he pounds you into the mattress.

“It’s all for you!” You wail and squeeze your eyes shit. Pursed lips feigning for a kiss, you feel his tongue trace over your plump lips before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth.

“Should spank that ass raw for tryna run from me earlier while I eat my pussy, should’ve played with that swollen little clit till your legs went numb” You feel your stomach tighten at his words. A band inside you is about to snap and you know he’s not that far behind.

The intensity of it all is almost too much, but just right. That perfect balance that only Satoru Gojo can provide. He was your own personal drug, and as cliche as it sounded his words flowed into your veins and released serotonin that had you almost too fucked out to speak. You respond the only way you know how;

“Should’ve fucked my tits, would’ve squeezed them around your big cock and stuck my tongue out for you-“ You gasp and toss your head back on his shoulder. Your eyes rolling back. “Ahh! S-Satoru! Please , please, please” You inhale deeply , tears prickle your eyes from pleasure. A pressure wraps around tour throat as Satoru uses you as leverage to fuck himself harder and faster into your tight cunt.

If that was even possible.

“So fucking naughty- oh fuck..s-so perfect for me. Could fuck you everyday baby…s’what you deserve for being so perfect f’me.”Saturo is pussy drunk as he keeps talking to you through the orgasm that’s sneakily approaching.

“Yes please! Wan’ you inside me all the time- ahhhhh!”

You scream and arch your back. Reaching down to your pussy and rubbing your clit , causing your legs to spasm and you swear all you see is white. Your toes are curled and you know after this you’re gonna be an overstimulated mess. You’d be surprised if you even make it past Satoru carrying you to the tub for some after care before you passed away from tiredness.

“Gonna come inside you baby, gonna claim Whats mine” He spits at you roughly. His balls tighten and before he knows if he’s shooting his hot cum deep inside you. Riding you both through your orgasm and continuing to spill his load and fuck it back inside you. Your soft pussy spurting some of it back out, not being able to keep all of it inside you.

“Fuck I love you so much” Satoru says after a few moments of silence.

“Gonna make you my wife one day I swear” He grins and lets out a breathless chuckle. His famous grin spreading across his lips. His lips find your forehead. He’s still inside of you, but it’s more comforting this way before he has to pull out and clean you up.

“6 months and you got me so fucking whipped for you , you know that? Did you do some of that witchy woo woo stuff and make me in love with you or something? That’s what it feels like when I’m around you” Satoru says honestly. Rubbing soft circles on your back. Your breath evening out.

“Whenever I’m around you I’m at complete peace…I don’t know if I ever knew what that feeling was before you….Eh, I’m being sappy because I’m tired I think” He laughs and shakes his head.

“You good baby? I’ll run a bath for you Im a few minutes” Yawning and scratching his head Satoru kisses your cheek. Slowly pulling out of you. Watching his spent leak out of you.

“Baby?”

Silence.

Then soft snores erupted into the silence. A content smile on your boyfriend’s lips.

You had heard none of what he said but it didn’t make it any less true. He meant every word, and he’d say it a million times over and over again without getting tired.

Because truthfully , you had his heart in your palm. Ball was in your court no matter what. He knew he was never leaving and he only hoped you felt the same. Maybe you would grow old with him just like he saw whenever he was sleeping.

6 months and you’re driving Satoru insane with how much he needs you already.

“I’ll just tell you tomorrow…” Reaching over to snatch his phone he watches it light up, his eyes meeting the bright light as his brightness was turnt all the way up. His lockstreen a picture of you wearing a light pink juicy couture track suit. A clip in your hair, posing in front of the Hello Kitty food truck that came to the city. He had taken you and brighten you everything you even stared at for longer than a second.

(Bought one of everything from the whole truck for you is what I’m tryna say)

He quickly sets at alarm for 30 minutes from the current time 1:30 am , so he could clean both of you guys up and maybe order some late night food.

Satoru pulls the covers over both of you and hold you from behind. His arm tucking around your entire body.

Satoru Gojo hopes he can fall asleep this way for the rest of his life, truly.

For now he looks into the present and what’s in store for the two of you.

[pansyfemme]

jude + he/him + twenty

art account: @fagboyfriend

music recs/indie pop uploads blog: @upforabit

i'm a trans, queer, and disabled art student, diehard indie-popper, colorfreak and amateur tboy appriciator from the east coast. i post about music and comics and art and my boyfriendddddd💖💖💖 and all my other favorite topics with frequency.

testimonals from real life jude pansyfemme friends on why i’m epic and you should follow me:

“jude is one of the sweetest people to ever grace this planet and one sexy motherfucker” - M, jude’s number one coffee shop buddy

“he’s just a little guy” - L, jude tolerator (and fan) since 2022

“you’re legally not allowed to be mean to him” - F, jude’s bestie for life maybe

“1# boyfriend. in the world. 💖” - you can probably guess this one

follow at ur own risk, i do not tag and i reblog nudity, sex jokes, discussions of kink or other things generally considered nsfw <3

putting a short faq under cut bc. i get the same questions a lot. check it before you ask about my icon or header or anything

faq:

Art blog/Commissions? @fagboyfriend is the blog. dm me and i can send you my professional portfolio site/organized portfolio/past commission work if you’re interested in commissions. closed for a little bit since im moving into college atm but still hmu if you have interest in originals ive posted or have a project you dont mind a few months waitlist on <3

How long have you been on T/How long have you been transitioning? I came out at 12 years old, started blockers at 14 and HRT later that same year, and had top surgery at 17, making me 5.5 years on t and 3 years post op, and transitioning/out for about eight years.

What’s your tagging system?/What does this tag mean? #Jude pansyfem irl is for selfies and ootds. #songposting is my now retired method for posting song links. (all new song links are now at @upforabit) #echo is the name of my boyfriend, it’s posts that remind me of him, my interactions with him, etc. (that tag is very lovey-dovey and really just for him to look through) other than that i don’t usually tag. you can expect untagged nudity and sex, at this point you have been warned twice so dont get on my ass about it 👍 my blog my rules

What show/game/comic is your icon from? its a cropped version of the album cover of the 1999 album “shake the pounce” by vancouver based twee pop band Gaze. It’s a favorite album of mine as well as just a cool little guy i like a lot

Where is your header from? a painting i did in gouache a year or two ago and thought would make a nifty header.

How do I refer to you/How do you identify? I’m a queer femme transgender man. I use he/him pronouns and masculine terms. i like many genders, i’m strictly t4t and primarily interested in men though. i enjoy femme/gnc gender presentation, but i do not identify as anything other than a binary ftm transgender person. I do not use they/them and have not at any point in recent history. referring to me as such is misgendering/degendering and will probably get you blocked like any other misgendering.

What compliments are okay? most are okay, masc or fem. so pretty, handsome, all thats good 👍 i am a taken man tho so if you flirt with me hard or dm me looking for pics or something you prob wont get much of a response.

What style are you wearing/where do you get your clothes? I originally identified as a decora boy, but i kinda do my own thing these days. I like bright color and clashing patterns and maximallism. I shop a variety of places, but a lot of my stuff is from Kei Collective and Candy Trap. All of my kandi and most of my jewlery is homemade.

What is Twee/Do you Make Music? Twee is a music genre I developed a special interest in a few years back. It's a style of indie pop that originated after the UK rise of the famous c86 compilation tape in the late eighties, and was developed with a focus on low-fidelity, diy sound combined with upbeat, bubblegum-y pop sentiments and a naive, childlike outlook. It's both cute and somewhat rough around the edges. I do not make music, and don’t hold any musical skill. I’m just a major fan.

Do you have a DNI? I haven't in a long time, due to it being pretty frequently ignored and my following count growing to the point i can't really control that anymore. I can and will block people, but i feel my opinions are made fairly clear through what I post here.

[flowerfreya]

About Me/Masterlist :

Please include Age in bio of blog !

I have been reading fanfiction for the longest time and i thought it’s finally time for me to write some stuff lol.

I am currently obsessed with COD men , but I also like Bucky Barnes and The Witcher.

Ko-fi (commission open) ❤️❤️

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Dr. Dad

Anthology Just some post about Simon and Reader being doctors as well as parents.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Top Chef Reality TV

Simon is a videography and you are a contestant and quickly become obsessed with him.

Quick Fire : Eggs

Elimination Challenge : Ribs

Cancelled - A famous athlete didn't like what reader had to say about her wedding gown and sends all her follows to cancel the reader , but then Simon fixes it

Yes, Chef , Part 2 , Part 3- Reader works at Simons fancy and exclusive restaurant but there is a rude guest and then the reader embarrasses herself after getting saved by Simon

Hockey AU - Simon is a famous hockey player and he is in a long term secret relationship with reader

John Price

No knock Raid - Mafia AU

John Price is the head of the mafia and you know that. You have three children together.

Part 1

Part 2

Practice (E) (daughters best friend)

Your John’s daughter’s best friend. And you’ve wanted him for a long time and tonight’s the night

Did you want a picture?

Reader is an influencer and John Price is a retired celebrity athlete with two teenage daughters that are obsessed with putting him on TikTok. Reader think John wants a picture with her , John thinks reader want a picture with him, chaos ensues.

Weaponized Incompetence (Multi Chapter)

John is not a good husband. Weaponized incompetence is his middle name and you have tried to get him to be better but it only works for two weeks until he’s right back where he started.

Kate Laswell x Reader

An Understanding

reader is bi but has never been with a women. Price knows someone that can help with that.

Poly!141

The Office (Multi Part)

Well I was watching the office and got inspired.

Ghoap x Reader

Cherry Wish (Multi Part)

Johnny and Simon are in a established ten year relationship and Reader works at a grocery store, hasnt been in a relationship in three years and can't go to sleep without Nyquil, and they want her but she likes to be alone (not really, in fact it's quite the opposite)

Drabbles

Ramblings

Ramblings

Ramblings

Rambling

Song Fics

First Thing to Go - Hayley Williams

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

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

FIVE YEARS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat locks up with tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re really not saying yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squint at him. Liar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop.

This is. This is new.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sammy,” you sob out.

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

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

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

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

“Take it off,” he rasps.

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

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t.” He begs.

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

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

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

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

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, I love you,” he moans.

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

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sammy!” You choke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me you love me again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

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

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kaahgyuya]

saving u . ! (FLUFF)

. synopsis ; you get hurt, so kinich saves you.

. warnings/notes ; g!n reader, kinich might be a little and or completely ooc, forgive me.. 😓 he's kinda nonchalant, and no ajaw for this oneshot, and mention of being exposed to drug substance? (oneshot with plot), and reader in this might not be a liking for you! (Reqs are open, so feel free to recommend some stuff of your own!)

REQS. are open!!! (Open until 10/3)

You were always out in the wilderness going out and taking commissions one from another. Whether it'd be fighting, or simply delivering something, you'd always get it done in time.

All of the customers/clients you'd take commissions from, would always have something nice to say about you. That you were always a sweetheart and kindhearted.

Sometimes, your kindness would get you blind, and for this commission you took on, you didn't notice a single thing.

"Ah, isn't that Y/N?" You were passing by Kinich's tribe looking for him until someone called out for you.

"Hm? Hello! What is it that you need?" You turned to them. A slightly older man, maybe up to his 60s or 70s went up to you.

"you take on commissions, don't you?" The old man asked.

"Yes, I do! Is there anything I need to do for you?" You replied in a cheerful like tone.

"Ah, would you mind getting rid of some dangerous foes around the area? It's been bothering me and some of the fellow tribe people." The old man said.

"Uh huh, but first I have to know about the details about this commission, did you put it up on the adventures guild board or anything like that?" You asked.

"I did, but nobody took on the commission so I took it down." The old man looked sad, and you felt bad for him.

"Don't worry, sir! If you give me the details of the commission, then I'll be sure to get it done." You said in a reassuring tone.

"But before that, what's your name?"

"It's Junan." He replied.

"Don't worry Junan, if you have the commission details with you, I'll be able to get it done."

"Yes, yes, I have the paper details." Junan gave you some old paper that had a few rips and tears, and the paper looked quite old.

Some ruin guards and ruin hunters were around the area, that's not good, people can get hurt!

"I see... do you have a payment?"

"Unfortunately no, it was given to me by Kinich."

'Kinich? Huh that's kind of odd. Why would he give out a commission like this?'

"Kinich huh, alright. Do you have the location?"

"It's nearby the entrance, go a little to the left and then go straight. My memory is slowly getting worse by the years. Haha." The old man laughed.

"It's alright sir, well then, I'll take off."

"Thank you, Y/n." He waved goodbye to you and you walked off.

"Why would Kinich give out a commission like that?.. Something doesn't seem right."

"Whatever, maybe he was just too lazy to deal with it?"

You arrive at the place, surprisingly, there's no ruin guards or monsters anywhere. But since there's none, you get a little suspicious.

"I'll just take a quick look around just in case.." you look around the area, getting distracted by the beautiful view around you.

You then wince, something doesn't seem right.

Some horrible smell comes from somewhere, you don't wanna go near it.

You block your nose and mouth and slowly back away.

You then turn behind you to find yourself...

Being ambushed.

A couple of guys suddenly grab your arm and then say something, but that horrible smell/substance made you feel light headed making you feel really weak.

You suddenly see a silhouette that scoops you up before falling to the ground, you feel a gush of air as if you're flying.

You feel so tired that you suddenly...

"Huh?.. where am I?" You looked around you to notice you weren't at the place where you got ambushed, but under some tent.

"You're awake, you were ambushed by some people." You look over to where the voice came, and it was Kinich. He had some bandages with him and a wet towel.

"Owie, that stings." You whined.

"They hurt you pretty badly." You couldn't help but look at his face, and he looks a little guilty.

"I had took on some commission from someone, and they said that—"

"I know." Kinich cut you off.

"Huh? How?"

"I just do." Kinich says, while patching up your wounds. He totally wasn't stalking you when you were taking that suspicious commission from that guy.

"That commission wasn't from me, besides that issue was resolved a long time ago, it was just used to ambush you, or even kill you." Kinich said in a stern tone.

"I had already dealed with the guys so you're fine to rest here. Take as long you need to recover." He added.

You slowly sat up, while wincing at the pain.

"You know, I could've taken care of my wounds even if I did get ambushed." You said while looking over at him.

"Yeah, but there was this drug or substance that would make you pass out and or weak. You could've died."

"But you didn't have to take care of me like this."

"I'm just repaying the price, am I not?"

"For what? The commission I finished for you ages ago?"

"I guess so," kinich said.

You sighed as his hands gently lingered over your arms and body, making sure he patched them right.

"You're doing alright, right? Do you need water?" He asked. Even though his tone wasn't full of emotion, his eyes showed it.

"I'm doing.. fine. My body just hurts all over the place right now." You awkwardly looked away.

"You really didn't have to patch me up, though. Don't you already have stuff to do?" You added.

"I finished my stuff eariler today, so I'm free." Kinich looked up at you.

"Kinich, you know, you really didn't have to. You've already done so much stuff for me, and I don't know how to pay you back."

"It's fine, maybe think of a payment you can pay me back with."

"But you always say that and then just don't care about it after."

"That's because I really don't. For you, I'd do it for free. No need to pay me." He was still kneeled by you, as he looked at your wounds again.

"But really, you didn't have to patch me up, I could've done it myself." You felt pity.

"Sure, I didn't have to patch you up, but I needed to."

"Needed to? Did you mean want to?"

"No, I needed to."

@kaahgyuya 9/29/24 10:10 pm

a/n; lazy writing today, might post smt tmrw if I have my creative juices flowing!! Otherwise I hope you enjoyed this >_<

[goatpaste]

Alrighty, this has been something I'v been putting off for awhile because I really just wanted to save all the money myself but I just dont think its gonna be able to happen anytime soon and I'm tired of putting it off for Daisy's sake

but this is officially the Donation Post for us to start pooling together money to move daisy up from Texas to Pennsylvania. I'll bore you with the details under the cut but in the mean time here is links and info on the ways you can support the move!

[My commissions are Open] [My Etsy is Open]

[My Kofi were i offer PWYW commissions as low at 3$]

[My Toyhouse has designs for sale on it]

[You can Donate here and all the saving made toward this will be going directly into savings]

These are all the ways you can directly support us and help us work toward the goal of getting Daisy into a safe and better environment! I know not everyone is going to be able to chip in but anything helps even reblogs and sharing around! We've been talking about this move for over a year and I want to try and move her by the end of this year at the latest.

For more info on our specific situation and bit more details, please read under the cut

Daisy has been my friend since we were 6 years old, she is like a sister to me! We've been at each others side through thick and thin and I care about her so much.

Daisy's home life has never been the best and her parents are nightmare people who are a blight on the general public but as well as Daisy's home life.

Daisy doesnt have the ability to drive, work or save her own money even when she did work as her mother would take the money she earned constantly, and was ultimately the reason Daisy was unable to keep her job.

So for Daisy's end she has no ability to save and moving funds, it will primarily be on me to round up the money.

We are not 100% sure how much we are going to need at this moment in time but have a rough estiment.

Were hoping to get Daisy's mother on a good mood and have her pay for Daisy's plane ticket. We are going to be unable to move all her stuff and will just have to pack as much as she can into a large suitcase and fly up. So we will not have to pay for the plane, but will have to pay for bedding, and everything else she will need once up here. we have some temporary arrangements Via my bed and couch and potentially picking up a blow up mattress. But my current apartment is extremely small and not much room for two people let alone just me. Not sure how long I will be in this space while Daisy is up here if at all.

I may potentially reach out to my step father and ask him to dip into the savings he has kept for me to get Daisy furniture and necessities. But im avoiding that for as much as i can as im not on the best terms with my dad.

I will start looking for a bigger place for us to live together once we start getting in a comfortable area on savings. As the only money maker currently i will be needing savings to afford a place for us to share that will of course be much more expensive than where i am right now. Daisy will start looking for a job once she is/has moved up here and hopefully we will be able to support ourselves at that point, it will just be the first little bit of time we will need a cushion.

this is one of the areas im not 100% sure how much were going to need but certain in the thousands area knowing rent for a place big enough for two individuals.

after that its just gonna be us figuring it out.

but this is the situation as it stands right now, we are trying to help a trans woman out of her shitty living situation and across the country where her friends who love and care and want to support her are. We dont know exactly how much its going to be, but its going to be a lot and were really just looking for a bit of support!

thank yall so much!

[beneathsakurashade]

Hallo!! Can I req Savannaclaw with Fem!Reader who does diamond art? :3

(Lemme know if this req bothers ya BTW!!)

Leona Kingscholar

Originally he didn’t care much for your talent, seeing it as boring. Just something that his favorite herbivore found interest in that he did not. Which was most things actually...

 But one time when Cheka snuck onto campus and saw you carefully placing the diamonds onto the canvas, slowly forming the design of a little lion. He was amazed immediately.

“There’s nothing special about putting plastic stones on stuff” Leona groans as he lays on his bed and listens to his nephew go on and on about the diamond art. “‘S just placing fake little gems on stuff. Not really useful”, he watches lazily as you and his nephew work together.

 You share a knowing look with Cheka as Leona falls asleep. Picking up trays of tiny diamonds you both get to work on showing a certain cat that your talent is indeed useful.

 Leona woke up from his nap with a bedazzled face. Cheka, Ruggie, and you had a good laugh about it.

 You’re now the Prince’s official Diamond Artist of the Sunset Savannah.

Ruggie Bucchi

“Y’know, you could make a ton a’ money with that talent of yours!” He grins as he passes you a little tray of diamonds. “I know, but I’m doing this for fun, not for money” You smile as you fill in the empty spaces with colored gems.

“Well, maybe you should consider” he teases and snatches a diamond to study. “Hmm maybe..”. Spotting his curious eyes you resume your teasing “They’re cool aren’t they?” you snatch it back and glue it into its numbered spot.

“You should make a design for me” Ruggie smirks. “Why? Do you want a visual reminder that you love money more than me?” You quip back and motion for him to join you at your desk.

Your duo works on a piece together, a design made from a photo of the two of you on your first date. Cute and memorable. Ruggie hides it in a place that only he knows the location of.

You both run a little diamond art side business, taking commissions when it suits your fancies. (Ruggie charges more though-)

Jack Howl

He stumbled across you fully enamored in your art. At first, Jack didn't understand it, you enjoyed sticking diamonds to material?

But as he watched you he soon grew to respect your determination and precision.

You decided to make a custom design of a little cactus for him. Watching Jack during one of his Track club meetings, as he finished. "Tada! I made a present for you" You smile as you show him the little package.

Pretending to ignore the embarrassed flattening of his fluffy white ears and the hyper-wagging of his tail. "Thanks..." he mutters and continues "It's not that bad...". (He loves it)

He hangs up the design in his room proudly. Along with several other things that you added diamonds to, his favorite cactus pot included.

Thank you dearest mootie for requesting a headcanon set from my shop! I do hope that you enjoy your purchase. Please visit again whenever you can and have a most wonderful day ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧.

[ihaznoclue]

Hiiiii!! I really love your ZZZ content and wanted to make a request! Could I request Wise, Grace, Nicole and Von Lycaon with a partner that loves to dote on and take care of them (cooking their meals, reminding them to take a shower, etc.)?

TYSM!! <3

Pairings -> Wise, Grace Howard, Nicole Demara, Von Lycaon x Reader

Warnings -> none

Note -> Reader taking care of their partner

Genre -> fluff

Wise

Okay so we all know this guy is working his ass off every day

Like taking care of the video store as well as doing commissions with belle

And other stuff that makes him forget to take care of himself

That's when you come in as his partner always reminding him to do stuff

Like eating, drinking and taking care of himself and not burning himself out

You would also drag him to bed sometimes since he is always up late doing his other work

But in the end you always win

Wise doesn't mind you helping him even now and then and he's grateful to have you always taking care of him

But he can sometimes always get in his mind and you would always have to remind him to take better care of himself

Grace Howard

Okay Grace is a way to always be stuck fixing her technology as well as her babies

Sometimes the machines never works and that causes her to work overtime sometimes

And you always feel bad for Grace

You're her partner, you always remind her to take a rest ever now and then but she can sometimes get into things too much to make her go crazy

You would have to calm her and take her with you to bed in her little dorm room

She's thankful she has you with her and that she choose the right person

You always remind her to always stay healthy and to always take a break ever now and then

You would sometimes help her with her machinery to make things faster and easier

Nicole Demara

Okay so I know this girl is trying to do everything in order as well as money to pay her debts and other stuff

So you would always help her with money and to make sure she would take a break because she's always busy

She very thankful of you helping her as well as her friends

But you guys would take a break on that and have some chill time together in her room

You would be playing with her hair as she lays on your lap to relax

She felt like she was being helped by an angel

She would also tell stories from her missions on just stuff in general as you play with her hair

Then eventually she would fall asleep from your soft touches

This girl also needs a break for sure

Von Lycaon

...

Do I need to say that THIS MAN NEED A GOD DAMN BREAK

He's always cleaning, making sure everything is in order, making sure his work members are in a good condition as well as their weapons

He even makes sure that his clients are well taken care of as well as taking care of their commissions

So that's when you come in, his partner that can't stand to bear to see him working his ass off

So you would ask him to come with you and you would trick him sometimes into having a break from work

He feels defeated as you ask him to get comfy and take a clean shower and then you guys would have cuddles

His tail would wag as that request so he simply nods

And when he comes back, he's such a puppy

Asking for pets and well as ear scratches

That would sure make him fall asleep

-A<3

[seelestia]

If you really want to write something for me (crab 🦀) then how about some Kaveh fluff because he is way to relatable right now, especially in my current situation (doesn’t have to be though, I didn’t expect you to want to write something for me so get a bit creative with it lol) 🦀 🦀 🦀

— 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 & 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲.

SUMMARY. when you offer a friend a suggestion on how to increase his efficiency, you don't expect your intimacy for him would also increase alongside it. (he doesn't expect it too.) (1.5k+ words)

CHARACTERS. kaveh + GN!reader.

GENRE. fluff, angst with comfort, friends to ??? (when ur friend starts looking a lil too good for some reason...).

CW. references to kaveh's backstory, implications of crying and stress (kaveh our beloved <//3), reader wears reading glasses (cool stuff) and rambles abt naps.

THOUGHTS. ik all kaveh simps and kinnies want to give him a hug, so here you go! i cherish him vv much. to 🦀 anon, let's just treat this as like your commissioning me in a way (i hope this ficlet is alright?? i'm rusty hhhhh) ♡

✰ masterlist.

"Ughhhhhh."

So, the rumors amongst the people of the Akademiya are true, after all; that there can never be a silence that lasts too long when a certain man with blond hair is present.

"Gahhhhhh."

For someone who is still at the prime of his life, KAVEH sure looks like he has already aged a hundred years in the span of a single night. But according to the people at the Akademiya, this occurrence is nothing out of the ordinary and as someone who has known him for years, you can absolutely concur with them.

With a hand on his temple and a heavy sigh that weighs a thousand troubles, there is no other way for the blond male to express his frustration besides verbal means — and to that, too, you are a witness sitting across from him on the table.

Guess that's just the price you have to pay for agreeing to help him when he begged you yesterday. According to him, your "job description" is just to stop him from dozing off because a deadline from a client of his is nearing way too quickly for his liking.

Thus, here you are — watching him do his work while you do your own work on a table at his place (or more precisely, his room in Alhaitham's place but you don't want Kaveh to fly into a fit of rage).

"My head hurts," Kaveh groans.

"Because you've stared at that blueprint for hours now," you answer.

"My back hurts too," he complains again.

"Because you haven't changed your position ever since we started sitting," you retort again.

If anyone were to ask for some sort of proof about the frequency of Kaveh's grumbles, the fact that you could respond so naturally and quickly while barely taking your gaze off the documents spread out in front of you, as if you've done this so many times before (which you have), would have sufficed.

"[Y/N]," Kaveh calls your name in a dramatic whine, "You're supposed to sympathize with me...!" But you don't find the need to look up from your paper when you can almost feel the pout forming on his lips already.

It isn't as if you don't want to empathize with him, but that sight of his pout happens to be quite adorable — does it count as being mean if you want him to keep it on for a bit longer? Ha, what a strange feeling.

"Then, why don't you take a nap?" you give him a suggestion as you look up to spare your colleague a glance, "I'll wake you up in about 20 minutes or so."

That look of hesitance on Kaveh's face makes you raise an eyebrow. "Sounds tempting, but are you sure doing that wouldn't waste more time instead of saving it?" the man tilts his head questioningly with a frown as if he is unsure of the right answer himself.

"Idiot," you blurt out.

Thank goodness the circumference of the table isn't wide enough to interrupt your movements as you put down your reading glasses and reach out to pull on Kaveh's cheek gently. He, as the one on the receiving end, doesn't think the gesture is as gentle as it looks though.

"Hey! Ouch, ouch—" Kaveh cries out a little yelp that is a perfect representation of his surprise. "Let me ask you this," you release his cheek from your grasp and he expresses gratitude to the Dendro Archon like never before while you continue, "Why do you think you've been staring at that blueprint without being able to function properly?"

"Uh, umm," he stammers, "...Because I feel tired, maybe?" Again, he sounds unsure of himself but that is most likely because you've shaken off half of his brain cells by pinching his cheek just now. Fortunately, judging by that satisfied expression on your face, he seems to have gotten it right.

"Good," you nod approvingly, "Naps have been proven to provide relaxation, reduce fatigue, and increase alertness. The most optimal time for adults is between 10 to 20 minutes."

Kaveh listens to you intently, but that dumbfounded look he has on almost says otherwise. Noticing this, you decide to feign an aura of seriousness as you add, "I was being generous when I offered to wake you up after 20 minutes, by the way. I could've set it to 10 minutes instead."

"You're ruthless," he gapes.

"So, are you going to take a nap or not?" you stifle a giggle.

"Seems like that's the best option I have right now," your dear friend can only shrug his shoulders defeatedly. In order to prepare for his nap, Kaveh sets aside the blueprint he has previously spent hours working on and neatly folds his arms on top of the table.

"Sleeping on a desk isn't very comfy but it'll do," he heaves out an exhausted sigh. Not even one second into placing his head atop his folded arms, he is already missing the softness of his bed back at home — but he can't really complain, so he closes his eyes in silence despite the slight discomfort.

You observe, picking up the disgruntled noises Kaveh makes as he shifts around to find the right position to lay his head. This quiet moment where your banters with him finally die down is when you can truly see the burdens weighing upon his shoulders and your gaze can't help but soften.

Despite how empathetic he appears or how his dramatic antics always elicit a laugh out of others, you know Kaveh really has been through a lot — and you wonder if you didn't suggest he take a nap, would he have neglected his health to do more in a state of low efficiency? Does he often allow himself some time to rest like this?

"You're really tired, aren't you?" your voice lowers into a soft murmur.

"...Yeah," his answer comes out quieter than your question.

"Deadlines are killing me. I know it's meant to help me be organized and all," you see how he opens his eyes to glance at the blueprint mere inches away from his face, "But right now, it's putting more pressure on me than anything."

Kaveh exhales another drained sigh, "And I still have my debts to worry about too. God, when will this all end..." His voice eventually trails off into an evident crack like he is about to choke, "So many things at once, I feel like it's all crashing on me..."

Your heart clenches. He's about to cry, you note.

"Hey," you speak tenderly. "Don't frown so hard, it'll make your head hurt more," you extend your hand to rub soothingly at the deepening frown on his forehead with your thumb. "Oh, s-sorry," his lips try their best not to tremble when he lets that apology slip, but you're not here to scold him.

"Even if it all comes crashing down on you, you'll be able to push them all off eventually, right? One at a time," you say as you rub a few more circles on his forehead to soothe his headache. You're not certain on how he'd receive your words, so you purse your lips with a tinge of reluctance, "Even now, you're still working on it, aren't you? Don't beat yourself up for not reaching your goal when you're still in the process. That's not fair to yourself."

There is a moment of silence before you hear a series of sniffles. "Curses..." he mumbles with a pathetic chuckle, "Look at me, putting this all on you when I'm supposed to be taking a nap." Just as you're about to shake your head in denial, Kaveh's eyes flicker to meet yours — and you're momentarily stunned by how they look.

Mesmerizing irises in the color of red stare back at you; they're glassy as if a single touch would make them ripple and a dam of tears will burst from it, yet filled with unspoken gratefulness.

"And... thanks for saying that," he smiles, "It's been a while since people actually took my problems seriously, s-so um, shoot—" Darn it, his tongue just has to mess up at the worst timing! Kaveh picks himself back up with a small cough, "Uh, anyway, what I was about to say is that it means a lot to me... So, thank you."

He peers at you worriedly after finishing his words, concerned that you'll laugh at him instead. But rather than a laugh, he is met with the softest smile and Kaveh swears— he swears that his heart has never thumped this hard before. Never ever.

"I'm glad," you say and suddenly, he feels oddly exposed underneath your gaze. He has always been more used to your sterner yet caring side; so, this gentleness of yours is sending inexplicable warmth rushing through his veins.

Oh no.

How is he supposed to sleep now?

Then, comes the sensation of something in his hair and Kaveh winces before registering the fact that it's actually your fingers that are combing through his hair. The shock easily fades into relaxation and he lets out a sigh of contentment, "That feels nice."

"Should I stop?" you ask.

"N-no," his hand grabs onto your wrist almost desperately as if keeping it in place. "Keep going... please," Kaveh utters the last word so meekly you almost mistake it for a whisper.

You smile to yourself.

"Sleep well, Kav."

Perhaps, you uttered those words with more love and newfound affection for him than you realize.

And maybe he, too, realizes the same.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops @lleoll @xiaosonlybeloved @chiisananingen @irethepotato @ainescribe @blooodyvampy @starlightaura @jihyuniepark @duhsies @maybemiko @lordbugs @sakkaku-squared @lupicalbestwolf — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged because of url changes or visibility settings + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

© SEELESTIA, may 2023. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.

[fieldsofwriting]

Hi hi!! I was scrolling through and found your stuff really cute, and this game has literally taken over my mind since EA launch. If you haven't already, could you please write for Valen, Eiland, and Balor? With the prompt of, say, they see you pretty beaten up from a day down at the mines, and they try to care for you? OR if you're feeling down, they take notice and try to give you a comfort food? Take your pick, I'm sorry this is a pretty long ask 😅 -🍓🧋

You’re all good!! I decided to go with the farmer being beaten up in the mines! But once requests open back up, let me know if you want the other one!

But HC’s under the cut!

Valen:

- Given the fact that she is the doctor? She gives you a look every time you come in with a scrape or a bruise.

- “Y/N. I thought we agreed for you to get better armor if you insist on going through the mines.”

- She still patches you up though, and if you’re dating she gives you a kiss durning the ones that especially sting before going, “That’s what you get for being reckless.”

- She’d also walk you home and make you some food before getting you tucked into bed.

- In the morning you have a health tonic next to you with a little note telling you to take a sip if you feel achy.

- No matter how many times you go down in the mines and get scrapped up, she’s always there to take care you. <3

Eiland:

- If he sees you all scrapped up? He feels AWFUL. He’s the one who pushed for the mines to be opened and now you’re hurt!

- He’d fuss over you so much. Like a little mother hen. He doesn’t let you lift a finger after you get home from seeing Valen- because yes. He makes you go to Valen.

- He would also debate on closing the mines, but after you assure him that it dramatic and you will be fine once you get an armor upgrade and a sword upgrade.

- Conveniently. The next time you go to the blacksmith, March is shoving a full suit of armor in your arms and a new sword.

- Eiland hears none of your protests and just asks you to be safe.

- …and begrudgingly it’s really nice armor so you take it.

Balor:

- He sees you covered in bruises and scrapes as you run past his cart at midnight to get home on time.

- At first he doesn’t do anything because it’s your prerogative…but damn it he really likes you so he needs to make sure you’re alive.

- The next morning he wakes up early to get over to you. He’s got bandages and some disinfectant to make sure you stay unharmed.

- He doesn’t let you get a word in, just telling you to show him the wounds so he can help.

- He would make it his mission to get some more ore from his contacts and commission March to make you a better sword.

A/N: Sorry thier kinda short! I didn’t know what else to add really! But like I said once requests open back up let me know if you want me expand!

[sigmalvrr]

﹙★﹚HEADCANONS ! ౨ৎ

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ SIGMA X CHILD!READER HCS

[PLATONIC!]

If you have long hair, sigma loves to braid it since he has long hair of his own, it does tend to get a little tangled. he also teaches you to braid it yourself if he isn’t around, he also does take you to the casino on occasions but mostly makes you stay in his office and gives you random stuff to keep you entertained for a few hours while he deals with other things, sigma does play some child like games with you, for an example he does enjoy playing hide and seek, tag, sometimes even the floor is lava! once you guys played and you tried to climb onto him(you both ended up falling into the imaginary lava)

If you have nightmares, sigma is surprisingly really good at singing you back to sleep, if you can’t go back to sleep that way then he’ll either read you a story(classic) or lets you sleep on his lap and soothes you back to sleep while rubbing circles on your back, if you don’t wanna go back to sleep then he’ll let you stay up a bit longer and you both can watch movies until you’re able to go back to sleep, he’ll even let you make hot chocolate or any drink of your choice!

Sigma usually keeps you away from fyodor and nikolai, he doesn’t quite trust them to be around you as much, he knows what they’re fully capable of, and he doesn’t wanna lose you. He has lost a lot of people even though only being in 3 years of existing in this world, hes been through a lot, he cares about you deeply.

When your birthday rolls around, he actually goes all out on your party! he gets you a lot of gifts and for your cake he gets a cake that was commissioned making everything detail to your liking, you want vanilla? Done! you want chocolate? Done! you want strawberry? DONE! Anything you want! he also gets every gift to your liking as well, you like books? He’ll get your favorite genre, or you want toys? He’ll get everything toy you wanted that you mentioned to him once, and if you convince him you’ll wear matching party hats! Overall sigma is glad to have you as his sibling !

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Hiiii me again

Related to the post about the ownership of characters and the tags you put-

I just wanted to mention that you’ve given me a lot of confidence. I used to be the type of person who believed “if your oc even breathes in the direction of a canon character, it’s cringe and Mary Sue and you’ll be ripped to shreds for it.” I’d have to tread so lightly with characters I enjoyed and love them from afar because I felt if I made even a joke post someone would bring it up.

I’ve only just gotten into the cod fandom, found your blog a couple months ago, and it’s given me a lot of like. Idk!! Just “fuck it, do what you want” kinda vibes in the best way? It’s really hard to word this lmao. But since finding your blog I’ve made a 141 character, a shadow, literally shipping an oc with ghost now, and I’m having fun that I wouldn’t have if I didn’t find your blog

So thank you <3

Hello! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

Well, It's been an apparent issue in this fandom. idk why, but when I visit other fandoms, the sense of ownership and possessiveness to the characters is not that high, like what's up with these people I don't know. Like, the characters in media, especially in games, don't belong to anyone except the studios that made them 😭

We as fandom members can create original characters, alternative universes, and stuff for them. I can't imagine a piece of media without fanarts, fics, and OC's really. Heck, that's what keeps the fandom alive. If there's one thing we can learn from history of media, is that you can't hold back people's creativity. OF COURSE, there are cringe ones and unhinged ones, but it's fandom, of course, it's filled with different types of people from normal to bizarre ones.

Here's the thing, just because one person has already shipped their OC with one character, that doesn't mean that character is LOST forever to that one particular OC like it's a damn popularity competition 😭.

I've also seen some people saying that they're so emotionally attached to this one character, that if they see him with someone else's OC. they get super emotional and super angry?? Okay that's just-- WOW.

If you feel uncomfortable seeing your favorite character being shipped with someone else, then that just means that you're NOT ready and not mature enough to be an OC creator and be in a fandom space. Full stop.

and if I may speak from experience, I've lost a few friendships due to being... quite popular OC shipper with Ghost 🥲 I personally don't feel anything when I see other's OC's with Ghost, or any character I like with other OC's -- I EVEN DRAW OTHER OC'S WITH GHOST FOR COMMISSIONS 😭

But yeah, before I yap too much, thank you so much for the good words in the last paragraph! It's very very lovely, and I'm glad you have your own OC to have fun with! Happy creating and happy drawing💖!