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professorsnape394 · 11 days ago

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Day 7: Escaping the Manor

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC

Rating: 🥰?

Prompt: Flame

A/N: Inspired by the scene in Beauty and the Beast where Belle helps the beast when he gets hurt saving her from the wolves.

Warnings: Mention of sexual abuse. Mention of burns/injury. Mentions of blood.

Word Count: 2216

Credits to Gif Creator

Y/N had no idea how long she had been kept hostage by the Malfoy’s. The dungeon she was thrown in was damp and cold and had no access to any type of natural sunlight. Or any light for that matter. The small torches that had been lit the day she arrived had long since extinguished.

She didn’t assume they were planning on coming back for her any time soon. Their plan was presumably to wait for her to grow weak enough to torture for information when she was desperate enough to give it. They could wait forever and she would still not divulge the secrets of The Order. Her only hope now was to escape.

Long periods passed before she received a visitor but when they did eventually come, they came in two forms; those bringing her scraps of food, and those hungry for her body.

The first didn’t enter her cell and instead passed food through the gaps in her bars. She could attack them sure; she was feisty when she wanted to be, but how could she escape her shackles? The second were more promising. The men who visited her at night liked to get close enough to touch. But as far as she was aware they were under strict orders from Lucius Malfoy to not physically assault her; he was leaving that privilege to himself.

That is when she would strike.

Days came and went before the platinum haired man revealed himself. Impeccably well dressed, freshly manicured hands and well-kept hair, Y/N was positive he would not lower himself to molesting her here in the dungeons. He liked his home comforts.

Bound in even tighter shackles and cursed to remain powerless; Y/N had only brute strength and sheer will power to escape.

Multiple masked men escorted her through the mansion; presumably all waiting to take their turn with her after Lucius had had his fill.

His first mistake was not chaining her to the bed. While she was weak, Y/N would do just about anything to escape this prison.

Lucius locked the door upon entry; it was just the two of them now. That was his second mistake.

Slowly, carefully he started to undress, leaving his discarded clothes in a neat pile on the dresser. The sight of his naked body made her want to vomit.

Y/N lay stiff as a board in the middle of the bed, staring down her kidnapper.

“Don’t look quite so disgusted, Y/N. I’m the least of your worries tonight.”

The thought that that might be true turned Y/N’s stomach. She had seen some of the men waiting for her downstairs, even been touched by some of them, and she could say with certainty that she never wanted to be near a single one of them again.

Biding her time, Y/N played along with Lucius’ seduction, allowing him to think he was winning her over, even if just slightly.

She moaned into him when he kissed up and down her neck while secretly rolling her eyes at the same time.

She leaned into his touch when he caressed her breasts, though her attention was preoccupied by his wedding ring. It didn’t surprise her that a Death Eater was willing to cheat on his wife, but it turned her stomach just the same.

Y/N even kissed Lucius back when he stuck his tongue in her mouth, it had to be believable.

She moaned into his touch, running her still bound hands up the expanse of his bare chest, letting him think she was heading in the direction of his hard pencil-like dick.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resit me.” He panted at her touch.

Y/N simply moaned louder into his mouth, further deepening the kiss.

Finally, her hands reached his cock.

“Can I?” She asked, putting on her best obnoxiously horny voice. “Please.”

“Fuck yes.” Lucius permitted, moving to lay flat against the bed.

Y/N took her only opportunity to attack. Lowering her mouth down to his erect penis, Y/N took her time teasing the man with her lips. When he was finally zoned out enough, she wrapped her mouth around his shaft and bit as hard as she possibly could.

Lucius let out an agonising scream, shouting and swearing when his vision caught sight of the blood gushing from him.

Knowing she had limited time before a hoard of Death Eaters descended on the bedroom; Y/N opted for the only other exit in the room: the window.

Hands still tied and now working against the clock, Y/N descended the nearest drainpipe with the utmost caution, she was sure there would be men patrolling the grounds and she refused to fall at the last hurdle.

Her bare feet hit the stones with a thwack, but having no time to react to the pain she bolted for the gate.

The grounds were big enough that she managed to dodge the first few wizards she encountered, some of them never even having seen her at all. Others chased her for a bit, but being a lot bigger and slower than her they soon fell behind. She was almost away completely scot-free until she rounded the final corner of the house, ready to make one last mad dash for the exit.

Suddenly out of nowhere, three groups of Death Eaters descended upon her; two coming from in front, two from the left and one from behind.

Flames sprouted from each of their wands, barrelling in her direction. With no protection to defend herself, Y/N knew she was fucked.

Preparing herself for a nasty scolding, Y/N raised her arms over her face, and crouched down to avoid as many shots as she could.

The third man from behind raised his wand just as Y/N could feel the heat from the fireballs approaching. Miraculously she remained unharmed. A protection spell fell over her, deflecting the flames from her body, redirecting them in the direction of her attackers. The last thing she saw before being disappearing from the grounds, was the mysterious masked man, using his body to shield her from the single fireball that made it through his charm.

Looking around her Y/N didn’t recognise anything to decipher where she was; except for one thing. The man who saved her had quickly fell into a chair upon apparating, clutching his arm and hissing frustratedly.

“Severus.” She gasped at the sight of him. “You saved me?”

Her thoughts flooded with a million questions all at once.

How did he know I where I was? Where did he get a Death Eater mask from? Why did he save me? Is he hurt?

“Don’t sound too grateful.” He snapped in response. While he wasn’t expecting a congratulations, she could at least be a little thankful she wasn’t scolded to death. He, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. Peeling back the scorched material of his shirt, Severus revealed a smattering of burns and sores.

“You’re hurt?” She stared at him wide-eyed, finally piecing together the last few moments.

“That much is obvious. Now do you mind actually helping me?”

It wasn’t unlike for Severus to snap at Y/N but for once there didn’t seem to be as much bite to his bark.

“Of course.” She shook herself back to reality. “Could you?”

With a flick of his wand, Severus vanished the metal cuffs from around Y/N’s wrists.

Y/N hurried herself about Snape’s unfamiliar house in search for anything that might help ease his pain.

First thing on her list; whiskey.

She dropped the bottle off in front of the potions master before scurrying off to find something actually useful. Uncapping the lid and taking a swig straight from the bottle, Severus shot Y/N a thankful glance.

She brought back an armful of rags, cleansing solution and burn creams and ointments, along with a number of potions bottles she thought might help.

“Is all that really necessary?” He rolled his eyes at the sight of her.

“Do you want my help or not?” She dumped the contents on the table and folded her arms over her chest defensively.

“I wouldn’t need your help at all if I hadn’t had to save your life.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. I was doing just fine on my own.”

“That much is true. Until the quadruple fireballs came hurtling towards you, that is.” He raised a sceptical eyebrow at the witch, knowing she had nothing to throw back at him.

Begrudgingly, Y/N took her seat next to Snape, and began unravelling one of the rolls of bandages.

Snape watched the woman intently as she carefully rubbed a cold soothing cream over the rough texture of his skin, meticulously wrapping the bandages around the entirety of his arm. He loved to watch her dainty fingers at work, despite the grubbiness of her hands and the days of dirt buried under her nails, she somehow managed to still look pristine. He hated knowing a woman as pure as her had been thrown into a dungeon and forced to endure what she had. It took everything in him not to break her out the second she was imprisoned, but he knew it would have been a stupid risk to take, even for her.

Lost in his thoughts, Severus couldn’t help but let out a sharp hiss as the tight cotton rubbed against his sores.

“Careful.” He barked through gritted teeth.

“Stay still.” She warned him.

The tension in the room only grew thicker, the intensity of the man’s gaze pressured her into silence.

“How did you escape?” Severus finally asked, easing the tension. “I heard what Lucius had planned for you; I was going to get you out, but you got there first. So, how’d you do it?”

“I bit him on the dick.” Y/N admitted, blushing red, embarrassed by the implications of her confession.

To her surprise, Severus let out a loud throaty chuckle.

“That bastard deserves it too.” He laughed heartily, taking another large drink to ease the pain.

The room fell silent. The one question Y/N most wanted to ask dancing on the edge of her tongue.

“How did you know where I was?”

Severus seemed caught off guard by her query, like he hadn’t pre-planned a convincing answer for her to believe. He thought for a second, unsure whether or not the truth was the best response to give. With a huge sigh, Snape tipped his chin in the direction of his other arm, gesturing for her to pull up his remaining sleeve.

Y/N lifted his shirt, revealing a black splotch of ink covering his entire left forearm. The Dark Mark. He was one of them.

Y/N gasped, jumping from her chair, trying to put as much distance between her and the Death Eater as possible. A few bottles tipped over in the process, neither of them cared to stop them from spilling.

Severus remained seated, unmoved, despite her abrupt departure from his side.

“You’re one of them.” She gulped, her gaze darting between the mans face and his arm. “What are you going to do to me?”

“If I wanted to hurt you, Y/N, I would have let those fireballs hit you and saved myself the hassle.” He knew she wasn’t going to take it well, but he couldn’t believe she thought he wanted to hurt her.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want you to sit back down and please finish attending to my arm.” He begged, just wanting to be near her again.

“How can you be one of them.” She repeated, her voice barely audible.

“I’m a double agent.” Severus explained. “I spy for Dumbledore and feed information back to the Order.”

“How can I trust you anything you’re saying?”

“You don’t have to believe me, Y/N. But I risked my position to save your life because you thought it would be a smart idea to go off on your own. The least you could do is finish bandaging my arm, and then you’re free to leave if that’s what you want.”

Y/N hesitantly made her way back to her seat, not wanting to piss Severus off further. Afterall, she didn’t have much left to wrap.

“Why did you do it?” She said after a long moment’s silence, her fingers shaking this time as she held his arm.

“Do what?”

“Save my life. If it was a risk to do it, why bother? You could have left me there and no one would have been any wiser.”

“I saw you in the dungeons. I heard what they were going to do to you. I couldn’t leave you there after that. I never would have forgiven myself.”

“Why?”

Severus looked into the woman’s eyes knowingly. He had already revealed one dark secret tonight, he didn’t plan on exposing another.

Y/N quickly looked away, the sudden realisation dawning on her.

Is Severus Snape in love with me?

The look on his face said it all.

“Well, thank you, anyways.” She finished tying off the bandage. “If someone had to save me, I’m glad it was you.”

Y/N placed her hand gently on top of Severus arm.

“Just don’t make me do it again.” He placed his good hand on top of hers, his thumb rubbing the top of her hand affectionately.

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus snape fanfiction #severus snape one shot #alan rickman #severus snape x reader #severus x oc #severus snape fluff #severus x y/n #severus snape smut #severus snape headcanon #severus snape imagines #severus snape one shots #severus snape oneshot #professor snape #severus snape angst #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x oc

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rachaels · 1 year ago

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I'm rereading the Hunger Games books and I truly cannot overstate how little grittiness and bite and general depth of emotion has translated over to the movies. I know it would've been difficult to really capture how Katniss thinks and feels without the aid of her internal monologue, but the viewers lose SO much here.

in the movies, when Katniss visits District 12 after it's been reduced to ash, the only thing you realize is that it was her home and now it's gone — you don't feel the weight she feels, because none of the characters who are presumed dead by the start of the third book were ever introduced in the movies to begin with.

she walks through the remnants of the bakery where Peeta's family used to live. through the books, you know that Peeta had an abusive mother, and two brothers who were either too old to volunteer for him in the games or simply wouldn't sacrifice themselves to save him. and you know Peeta's father, who promised Katniss he would feed and care for Prim before Katniss went into the games in the event that she didn't come back, who bought game from Katniss and Gale when his wife wasn't home, who knew Katniss's mother when they were kids and dreamed of marrying her one day.

and as she walks through the ashes of their home, her internal monologue says they all died. just like that. she's numb to the emotion of Peeta having no family to come home to. she's numb to the fact that her childhood friend and the Mayor's daughter, Madge, who gave her the pin and effectively started the mockingjay symbolization, died along with her parents. and as she passes by skulls and bones, she tells them, "I killed you. and you. and you." because she blames herself for every single death in District 12.

the movies never stood a chance. they can't be meticulous enough to introduce the Mellarks, or Madge and her parents, or Bonnie and Twill — and that's just a fraction of the characters who were cut for time. they can't effectively make you feel exactly how Katniss feels. and they had to stay within the confines of a PG-13 rating. they never stood a chance and it wasn't even close.

#the hunger games #mockingjay #thg #anyways I've been REALLY enjoying reading the books for the first time in like. a decade. highly recommend they are SO good #shut up rachael

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coelii · 4 months ago

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let’s talk Castlevania lore~

so it occurred to me that, within the game material (I haven’t watched the TV show or anything like that so that’s not personally interesting to me for this discussion, sry sry), we don’t have all THAT clear an idea of why Dracula is A Bad Guy Who Must Be Stopped At All Costs, do we? I kinda feel like it’s mostly just treated as “c’mon, it’s Dracula, let’s go vampire killin’”

I mean we’ve got the accusation that he “steals men’s souls and makes them [his] slaves,” and, okay, if true (do we ever, like, see that?) I guess that’s pretty not great. And I’m willing to accept just a priori that he is A Vampire and therefore, okay, presumably there’s some drinking of innocent blood or something, not ideal. (Again, not sure that ever occurs on-screen?) I guess he also cursed Simon to have some pretty horrible nights? That’s not rad, i guess.

But like, fundamentally, do we ever have actual word in the games/game material of what exactly Dracula’s menace really IS? Just what kind of fate is the Belmont clan (et al.*) supposedly protecting us from? I guess I probably don’t want to live next door to an Active Vampire, but honestly it’s pretty amusing to me that I can’t actually think of what Dracula supposedly, like, wants.

(*from the Latin “et Alucard”)

So if we’re strictly looking at game material (and specifically main game and not the Lords of Shadow reboot) in my opinion there’s two origin games that have made a case for Dracula’s desires.

Castlevania Lament of Innocence

As covered in another recent ask, this is the official first game in the timeline

Here you play as Leon Belmont whose betrothed Sara is kidnapped by an ancient vampire named Walter Bernhard. Leon’s close friend Mathias Cronqvist, an alchemist who is grief stricken over the loss of his wife Elisabetha (who died of an illness while he was away), informs Leon that Walter was the one who kidnapped Sara and Leon goes to save her. Over the course of the game you learn that there are two powerful vampire relics and Walter is in possession of one: the Ebony Stone that produces darkness and makes Walter effectively invulnerable (as he is strongest in the darkness the stone produces).

You also create the Vampire Killer whip during the game which has the power to break the Ebony Stone and make Walter susceptible to damage. At the game’s climax, when Walter is close to Death (both metaphorically and physically) it’s revealed that Leon’s buddy Mathias had the other vampire relic, the Crimson Stone, the whole time. This relic absorbs the souls and power of other vampires (kind of a Ghostbuster situation).

Walter’s soul is captured in the stone, but Mathias uses it for his own dark purposes - to become a vampire himself and take revenge against God (whom he curses for taking his wife from him). Mathias eventually gives up his name and adopts the name Dracula instead and is canonically the Dracula in all Castlevania Games.

This origin story unfortunately leaves a lot to be desired in Dracula’s motivations because it basically amounts to Dracula being a man who’s just mad that God took his wife from him and uses another Vampire’s power (Walter) as his own. He isn’t noble or powerful without the stone (which is this red thing he wears in much of the official artwork apparently)

But I guess “stick it to the man” is technically a motivation…

Castlevania Legends

Now I’m a Lament of Innocence denier personally and would prefer to use the older games as the source to answer this question.

According to the Legend’s instruction book the story is:

IT WAS THE MIDDLE AGES IN TRANSYLVANIA. ONE MAN CAME INTO POSSESSION OF AN EVIL POWER, AND THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS WAS BORN. BEFORE LONG, THIS BEING HAD USED HIS NEW-FOUND SUPERNATURAL POWERS AND THE MAGIC POWERS OF HIS FOLLOWERS TO SPREAD HIS PLAGUE OF DARKNESS AND DESPAIR THROUGHOUT THE EUROPEAN CONTINENT, HE WAS COUNT DRACULA. EVEN TO MENTION THE NAME OF THIS PRINCE OF DARKNESS WAS TO CAST FEAR INTO THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE IN THE LAND, WHO WERE POWERLESS TO DO ANYTHING SAVE VOICE THEIR CONCERN. HOWEVER, AT ABOUT THE SAME TIME A BABY GIRL POSSESSING SPECIAL POWERS WAS BORN TO A FAMILY LIVING IN A REMOTE AREA OF THE COUNTRY. "YOUR POWERS ARE MEANT FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE AND NOT ONLY FOR YOURSELF” SHE WAS OFTEN REMINDED AS SHE WAS GROWING UP. THE PLOT OF THIS GIRL'S FATE BEGAN TO DEVELOP ONE NIGHT IN HER SEVENTEENTH YEAR WHEN SHE MET UP WITH THE YOUNG ENIGMATIC ALUCARD, WHO WAS ON A JOURNEY TO SEARCH FOR THE FATHER THAT HAD DESERTED HIM. THE YOUNG GIRL'S NAME WAS SONIA BELMONT, AND SHE WAS THE FIRST OF THE VAMPIRE HUNTERS IN THE BELMONT FAMILY TO BECOME LEGENDARY.

Now unfortunately this doesn’t tell us too much. In this origin Dracula exists already, obtained his power by coming “into possession” of it, and his motivation is simply “spread his plague of darkness and despair throughout the European continent” (Africa, Asia, the Americas, and Australia are all safe apparently).

Now I don’t want to theorycraft too far off the actual game material here, but I do know that Vampire Hunter D was heavily inspirational to the development of Castlevania. Many people know the anime films, but Vampire Hunter is a series of novels first published in 1983 (three years before the first CV game was released) and in these novels the being known as the “Sacred Ancestor” is the progenitor of all the other vampires and the oldest among them. He is known as the Vampire King or God and D is the Sacred Ancestor’s son (so to speak). This was the inspiration for Alucard, who we know in Castlevania lore to be Dracula’s direct descendant.

The VH novels present vampires as a race unto themselves, not the traditional mythos of humans given vampiric power (although they can still create vampires from humans).

Novel #17: White Devil Mountain (published 2014) is more explicit in this stating that vampires predate humans by possibly millions of years. The Sacred Ancestor, as the oldest among them, felt it was his duty to watch over his people and did many experiments over the years to try and save his race from eventual extermination (not necessarily by the hands of Hunters, but through a variety of circumstances). Some experiments included inventions that could block out the sun and give eternal darkness (a common theme in vampire lore).

The Dracula of Castlevania seems as much inspired by Bram Stoker’s creation and the historical Vlad Tepes as he was by Vampire Hunter’s Sacred Ancestor.

If the Sacred Ancestor’s motivation was as ward and protector of his race, acting in various ways to save them and ensure their continued reign and existence then I would say Dracula’s motivation is similar: “spread his plague of darkness” by ensuring that the curse of night spreads and his people can remain powerful and eternal.

In Short

Both games present Dracula as a man who obtained power through unholy means. Walter Bernhard’s origins aren’t necessarily explained in the game and it’s possible that like Vampire Hunter D he is of a race of vampires older than humanity and Dracula simply is just a man using his power as his own. However I feel Dracula’s motivation may still be similar to that of the Sacred Ancestor from VH: with great power comes great responsibility (thanks Ben!) and his duty is to protect and allow his people to thrive in a world hellbent on destroying them.

#coelii.ask #Castlevania #castlevania games #vampire hunter d #vampire hunter #vampires #196 #infodump

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diazsdimples · 1 month ago

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Hi, it's new wip time. I started watching Man in the High Castle and had the biggest hit of inspiration I've had in weeks. The TV series is based off the premise of "What if the US lost WW2 and were occupied by Japan and Germany?" Here is a snippet, with context and tags below the cut!

Buck shifts restlessly from foot to foot. It’s stiflingly hot in the station, the air oppressive and suffocating. Every glance from an officer seems condemning, as though they suspect something. Beside him, Lucy is the picture of tranquillity. Her hand rests gently on the swell of her abdomen, cradling their – no, her – baby as she waits. Sensing his unease, Lucy lays a hand on his arm. “What’s the matter, darling?” she asks. From the outside, it seems like nothing more than a concerned wife checking in with her husband, but Buck can read the subtext. Quit fidgeting, dickweed, you’ll blow our cover. Buck moves towards her, his lips ghosting over her ear as though leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Omnis nox mox vertetur in diem” he whispers, repeating the code they’ve spent days mulling over. The only clue Nash had given them about the identity of their contact. “How do we know which one he is?” Lucy reaches up and brushes a curl off his forehead, smiling sweetly. “Best hope he’s got a great fucking sun on his shirt, hadn’t we?” She pats his cheek, outwardly reassuring, but he knows she’s reminding him of their situation. One slip up could end them both in the cells, beaten for information until they spill. She might not actually be his wife, but Buck feels a sense of duty towards Lucy and her unborn child, at least until they’re through the checkpoint and he’s met the contact – night turning into day or whatever the fuck that means. The line moves forward, and Buck takes the opportunity to scan the people waiting on the other side. There’s an elderly couple, the lady clutching a handy to her chest as she waves at someone behind him, a severe looking man in a black trench coat and a hat – far too obvious to be their contact – standing beside a harried looking couple with four young children, all clamouring for their parents’ attention. A man catches his eye. He’s tall, brown hair flopping over his eyes as he eyes the people in line. A thick moustache rests on his upper lip, but he’s otherwise clean shaven, smooth brown skin that vanishes into the crisp, pressed collar of his shirt. He looks to Buck to be of Latin descent – something he doesn’t come by often in the East. Beside him stands a young boy, leaning heavily on a set of wooden crutches. His legs seem to be bent, but if he’s in pain he hides it well. He looks up at the man – presumably his father – with wide and trusting eyes. Waiting for the return of their mother and wife, Buck assumes. Lucy takes his arm and ushers them forward again, jolting him from his daze.

Context: In this fic, Buck is a member of the resistance and escapes the German East with Lucy (also a member of the resistance) so he can deliver information to R. Nash in Los Angeles. Lucy only goes as far as Colorado. Eddie is also a member of the resistance, living in the Neutral Zone. He and Buck meet in Colorado and travel together the rest of the way to the West, where they finally reach the resistance stronghold in LA. And the rest I shan't say. But here's a snippet, beneath the cut to save your dash!

Tagging @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @buckera

@steadfastsaturnsrings @actuallyitsellie @bigfootsmom @jesuisici33 @rainbow-nerdss

@lonelychicago @monsterrae1 @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard @wikiangela

@cal-daisies-and-briars @tommybuckleykinard @bibuckbuckgoose @wildlife4life @bucks-daddy-issues

@dorkydiaz @queerdiaz @bucksbignaturals @exhuastedpigeon @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @thekristen999 @perfectlysunny02 @inell

@epicbuddieficrecs @bekkachaos and anyone else who wants to share something (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

#james writes #buddie #buddie au #evan buckley #eddie diaz #lucy donato #man in the high castle au #911 abc #911 #911 fic #911 au

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boochanz · 1 year ago

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how you can look past the 2,000-odd children who have been murdered for existing the past 3 weeks, the children who have lost their parents, the 7 year old who now has to act as her siblings’ de facto mother, the little girl with her head blown off by israeli airstrikes, the father who died with his baby in his arms, the dead pregnant woman who had her baby cut out of her to save him, the doctors who are coming face to face with their dead family members as patients, the little boy with his head blown open, the hundreds trapped under rubble and presumed dead, the little girl who texted her sister that she was afraid before she died, the child with his limbs blown off by an israeli attack, the children brushing their hair before they sleep so they can look presentable when they die, the children on life support, the mothers writing their babies’ names on them so they can be identified when they die.

the families whose bloodlines have completely ended, who have ceased to exist because they have all been murdered, the children being pulled from the rubble embracing one another, the unidentified people being put in mass graves, the people being buried on top of others because they are running out of space to bury the dead, the ice cream trucks being used to preserve dead bodies, the amount of funeral prayers conducted for children daily, the father carrying pieces of his children in plastic bags, the amount of people who went to sleep with their families and woke up as the only one left… the fact that anyone could see these people as anything but that, innocent people. the fact that anyone could condemn them to a painful and torturous death, struck by weaponry, trapped under a building with no way to escape.

the fact that anyone can still say ‘israel has a right to defend itself’, and believe with everything in them that that is what is happening here, a defense of themselves against terrorism. the fact that you can see these numbers, you can see these children lying dead for themselves everywhere you look, and you can chalk it all up to ‘collateral damage’ and to ‘well, if hamas hadn’t started it…’ is insane and completely inhuman.

it’s ‘children and civilians are always off limits’ until they’re palestinian. then, somehow, when israel strikes a family home and kills everyone inside, they were just going after the bad guys. a full hospital. they were just going after the bad guys. a mosque. they were just going after the bad guys. a church. they were just going after the bad guys. they’ve spoon fed you a poorly constructed narrative that can be picked apart so easily and you’ve willingly accepted it. you can condemn all of these innocents to death because you thought they were sub human anyway.

collective punishment is fine. it’s self defense. who cares that doctors are amputating limbs without anesthetic because there is none left? who cares about the hundreds of babies who will die in about ~30 hours when the fuel reserves are gone? who cares that post traumatic stress isn’t post traumatic in gaza, it is ever present? who cares about the 50 day old twins who almost died under the rubble? who cares about the family who tried to have children for 16 years, only to succeed but for his quadruplets and wife to be killed before his babies could even take their first steps? it’s just self defense. they have that right.

evacuate every hospital is self defense. destroy ambulances is self defense. no fuel into gaza, leave babies to die is self defense. bombing malls, markets and family homes is self defense. 5,000 dead is self defense. they can admit that they care more about mass destruction than precision and you will still stand by them. it’s not an invasion, it’s not a war crime, it’s not genocide. the bad guys started it.

it’s not genocide. it’s self defense. self defense against the most harmless and the most innocent. it’s not genocide. it’s collateral damage. it’s not genocide. it’s everything but genocide, even though no other word in the dictionary can explain why these people are being meticulously and mercilessly slaughtered.

#n.txt #palestine #gaza #israel #free palestine #i’m fucking pissed #ask to tag

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americanwh0rerstory · 2 months ago

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her patient, his savior [kit walker]

SUMMARY: when kit gets thrown into briarcliff for a second time, yet again for a crime he didn’t commit, he meets a nurse: Y/N

CONTENT WARNING: violence, briarcliff, mental asylums, angst, platonic relationship but could be romantic depending on your perspective

A/N: the dates might be wrong, but i couldn’t find any explicitly stated dates so i had to use what i could. this does not match up with the ending of the show but it’s an idea that came to me

NO NSFW. PLS ENJOY

being a nurse at briarcliff wasn’t an easy job. you’d deal with the aftermath of the brutal punishments that the sisters would give to the patients. the welts, the burns, you saw the lot of it.

nobody there was anyone you wanted to associate with, it was clear that 9/10 people seemingly deserved to be there. granted you didn’t know most of them, but you read their files and found their backstories. however one person stuck out to you: kit walker.

a charming man who managed to be discharged from briarcliff. he was framed for the bloodyface murders and thrown into the asylum without a second thought. judging by his files he endured a lot. the electrotherapy, the beatings, the hydrotherapy, it was atrocious. he was discharged in 1965 though, so why was this relevant? why were you reading his files in 1971?

kit was back. back for murder. He knew that Alma murdered Grace, but he couldn’t let Alma take the fall for it; he gave himself up to save her, a chivalrous act for his wife.

This same Mr walker had just entered your infirmary looking beaten up. his eye was blackened, bottom lip bloodied, and god knows what else. But kit was your nicest patient, he wasn’t creepy and was polite. he was like a saint in a house of devils.

“sista’, mind fixin’ me up?” he asks in his boston drawl, standing in the doorway waiting for you to give him permission to be seen. he knew he didn’t need to ask, but he still wanted to be polite and keep that sense of humanity in him. his hair was messy, sticking to his forehead a little with the sweat presumably from the fight he got himself into. kit was such a sweet soul, you never believed anyone when they said he was violent.

“of course kit” you beam softly, not wanting to seem overly eager but also not wanting to seem monotonous like everyone else here. it was either monotony or anger, no in between. to kit you were his ray of sunshine in this place, he appreciated having a nice nurse this time round rather than Dr Arden.

“thanks-” he began to say, cutting himself off with a hiss of pain when the antiseptic made contact with some of his grazes and cuts.

“sorry, ‘s just hurtin’ a little” he mumbled, apologising for his reaction to the cool antiseptic wipe you began to run along his battered body.

the two of you made idle chit chat whilst you fixed him up, your eyes meeting his occasionally. he made you laugh with some sort of witty comment/remark he made, and you giggled like a school girl with a crush.

nothing could happen though, he still had alma on the outside. nothing would ever happen… right?

A/N: i’m gonna be real and say i got a bit lazy towards the end and also couldn’t be bothered to make a banner. i’ve got a lot to work on so fics might be slightly lower quality than usual, but i’ll try my best <3

#american horror story #evan peters #ahs #kit walker x reader #kit walker #ahs kit #ahs asylum #asylum ahs #ahs season 2 #kit walker fluff #kit walker angst

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helloheyhihowdyheya · 1 year ago

Text

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 3

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Masterlist

Summary: At the fundraiser, you and Parker go undercover as husband and wife. Which puts you two in some very interesting positions.

Word count: ~6.5k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Fake dating!! Forced proximity!!! (< my excitement for those tags lol). Kissing. Banter. A lil' bit of jealousy. Sneaking around. Mention of throwing up. Swearing. Tension.

A/n: Sorry it's been awhile. You know how it is. Thank you for the love on the past parts :) I like how this one turned out. Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! <3

As soon as Parker led you through the towering front doors of the mansion, you clung just a little tighter to his arm. Your fingers fidgeted with the simple wedding ring sitting on your ring finger, something he had picked up yesterday — presumably from “the guy he knew.” To save your nerves, you hadn’t asked, instead just accepting the likely fake diamond ring that felt too heavy and gaudy for your tastes. It certainly fit right at home here.

People in gowns and tuxedos you guessed cost more than you could ever afford walked throughout the sprawling main room. The clicking of their shoes against the hardwood floor joined their voices and the small live orchestra sitting near the podium at the other side. The sight of all these people only made your fingers play with the ring faster, your nerves alight.

A soft touch along the back of your hand had you stopping your fidgeting, your muscles stilling as you looked to your right. You slowly blinked your eyes at Parker’s, the chandeliers above bringing out the shades of brown they held.

In the boyish grin he gave you, there was calm reassurance flashing across his face. It sat somewhere between the confidence of his persona for the night, Sam, and the smugness of the Parker you were often met with. In an instant, his expression dropped easily into the facade as he grabbed two flutes of champagne for you both from a passing waiter holding a tray.

“For you, dear,” he said, handing one to you before taking a sip of his own. You watched his gaze flick across the crowd of wealthy guests. Maybe they were in the dark about where their donations went, but you guessed that more than a few knew the truth — and benefited from it.

“Hello,” a soft voice said from behind you, and your body fought the urge to jump at the sound. A smile that didn’t reach all the way up to your eyes spread across your face as you turned.

Parker’s arm wrapped around your back while you were met with an older couple focused on the two of you. The women introduced themselves, but you found trying to play your part convincingly while focusing on their names and the conversation proved harder than you’d expected. Especially as the heat of “your husband’s” body settled along yours.

But Parker’s voice pulled you back into the moment as he answered a question they must have asked, the rumble of his voice vibrating against you. “Rose’s grandmother recently passed. She loved this city and Beaumont’s work. The two of them were good friends, so we’re here to support him in her memory.”

The one on the left reached her hands out, clutching onto your free one. “I’m so sorry. What you’re doing here would make her very proud.”

You quietly thanked the woman before her wife asked, “And what do you two do for work?”

A long beat of silence passed over all of you, to the point where you could hear Parker swallow hard beside you. In all the planning you’d done the last few days, neither of you had come up with jobs.

Shit.

“Teacher.”

You both said the word at the same time, a slight panicked look passing between you.

You turned back to the women, letting out a laugh that felt too tight and forced. “My grandmother left our family money. To donate,” you clarified with a straight smile. You muttered out, “Since there’s not too much money in teaching…”

“Oh, how lovely. Do you work together?”

“Not anymore,” Parker answered. “But we’re happy with our jobs.”

“And what do you teach?”

Internally, you clenched your jaw and cursed these women for being so friendly and asking so many questions you didn’t think about beforehand. But that didn’t seem to stop Parker as he responded with ease.

“Chemistry for high schoolers. And Rose here teaches, um…” His words briefly trailed off, his tongue coming out to wipe over his bottom lip as he hesitated. Okay, maybe not as smooth as you’d hoped.

“English,” you finished for him. Leaning into Parker, you let out a laugh. It almost felt natural to place your hand on his chest as you spoke, lied, to these women. “Sam would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him.”

That sent them both into loud giggles, a smile spreading across your face as they held onto one another.

“Oh, you two sound like an old couple already,” the left woman said between breaths.

At least you had the bickering side of things down already.

But as their laughter died down, the one on the right opened her mouth once more, probably to ask another question you had no answer to. The tightness holding your body hostage sagged as another couple came up, hugging the two women like longtime friends.

Your rapid heart silently thanked Parker as he took the moment to lead you both to a quiet corner and around the crowd of people waltzing to the soft music, but you still gritted out, “You didn’t think to come up with our careers?”

“Guess my pea-sized brain can’t do all of the work here. What’s your excuse?” he whispered back. His words had you shoving your elbow into your side, but all it did was earn your bare arm a light pinch from him.

Finding a quiet-enough area, your steps slowed, letting your mind calm down for a moment. Somehow, Parker still wore that casual smile as one hand held the glass and the other sat along your side. But you took a step out of his grasp once you saw no one was looking, letting the space between you two give you extra room to breathe. To think.

You took in the sight of the busy mansion. Mentally, you ignored the now cold spot from Parker’s missing heat, instead marking doors and noting who spoke with who. You were able to recognize some of the attendees — most of which were other local politicians.

How far did all of this go?

Before you could think further, Parker leaned over to speak close to your ear, a distinct scent of coffee and something familiar wafting from him. You’d expected him to explain your next steps, so you quickly looked at him in surprise when he asked, “Did you want to be a teacher as a kid?”

Raising an eyebrow, scanning the expression he wore, you replied, “Yeah… I did. You too?”

“Yeah…” He nodded, staring downward as if in thought.

Your attention went back out to the people, chewing on the inside of your cheek as brief moments passed in silence. All too quick, he followed up with, “Though there’s not much espionage or breaking and entering in teaching these days.”

You gave a quiet laugh, suddenly wishing you’d gone into teaching. The thought made you take another sip of your champagne. A small sip — you needed to stay focused on tonight and learn as much as possible about Beaumont.

But Parker once again came close, the back and forth of him almost making your head spin more than the alcohol could. He whispered, “I spotted a sort of VIP section I could make my way into. It’d be easier to do with just one person, so you can mingle yourself into some important conversations. Beaumont’s not out here. And his little speech and the auction aren’t until later anyway. How does that sound?”

His eyes traced over your face. A slight crease forming between his eyebrows was the only indication that he wasn’t actually the suave Sam Bennet.

You gave a few hesitating nods, your gaze looking at anything but his eyes. You could do this — you’d spoken with people to get information from them before. And even if you couldn’t, maybe Rose could.

Before leaving, Parker shot back the rest of his champagne and set the glass on the nearest flat surface. You fought back a disbelieving scoff when he winked at you and strode toward a closed door on the other side of the room.

For a few moments, all you could do was watch after him. The party felt much bigger as you stood there alone. A small part of you wondered whether he also felt like that.

You shook your head, clearing your mind with a deep breath in and out. You straightened your back and lifted your chin. Scanning the crowd, you spotted a member of Ellis Beaumont’s team. The middle-aged man stood along the wall near the orchestra, his attention fixed on his phone. You felt as if you’d found your prey as you set down your drink and made your way toward him, one heavy step in front of the other.

You knew he handled marketing for Stronger Together and Beaumont in general, a target full of information ripe for your picking — information you could ask about without drawing suspicion. But all the false confidence you built up deflated as you approached, watching as another member of Beaumont’s team pulled him aside for a hushed conversation.

Swallowing down a frustrated groan, you instead pivoted to look as if you were enjoying the band. The dancing strings and piano would normally be lovely to listen to, but now it felt like the soundtrack to a headache threatening to form along your temples.

The two team members walked to the door Parker went through. You didn’t have long to look around for another person to question before you felt a presence to your left.

“So, do you prefer the upbeat plucking style of Brahms or the legato tone of Debussy?”

The question came from the young man next to you, and within an instant of seeing his styled hair the color of the night and the sharp line of his jaw, you knew who he was.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, flashing a white smile that crinkled the corner of his dark eyes. “Classical music’s never been my strong suit, and I stopped learning their names years ago. Though…” He paused, admiring you, “I wouldn’t mind learning yours.”

Your mouth opened slightly, your mind forcing out a small laugh that you hoped sounded believable enough. Was this actually happening?

Shaking your head, you stuck out your hand. “That might be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. But the name’s Rose,” you told him.

He took your hand, wrapping his long fingers along your skin with a smile that could take anyone’s breath away. “You’re not wrong about that, but it got you to talk to me,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m Will.”

You bit back the urge to say I know. You’d done enough research to recognize William Beaumont, the only child of Ellis. In his mid-20s, Will had already quickly risen through the ranks of politics — though not that it seemed to interest him all that much.

But he had to know something and might just share that knowledge with you. Whether he saw the wedding ring around your finger, he didn’t say.

Flirting for information was not something you had much experience in (or any experience in), but how hard could it really be?

At the expectant look he gave you, one that said he’d rather have his attention on you than anything else in the world, it suddenly felt very hard.

Shoving down your worries and trying to fall into your role like Parker could, you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Will.” You let your hand drop back to your side as you said, “And for the record, I’d have to go with Debussy.”

His hands sat casually in his pockets, his head giving a light nod. “Since I’m not entirely sure who he really is, I’ll have to agree with you.” He let out a soft laugh, his easy tone lightening the tightness in your chest just a fraction.

A moment passed as you laughed along, the band continuing to play softly. “So, if you were being honest with me, do you ever get tired of these things?”

He sent a sly side eye your way, a smirk crossing his face. “If we’re being honest, then I’d have to say yes. If you’re going to repeat my answer to my father or his associates, then I’d say that I never bore of helping this wonderful city of ours.” The way his voice turned almost mocking at the end made you hide a smile, your face turning slightly away from him.

“What a very professional answer. I can only imagine how many meetings you’ve had to sit in on and say something like that.”

“An excessive amount, yes,” he said, running a hand down his jaw.

“Do these fundraisers all go the same way? Conversing, speech, dinner, auction, then more conversing? I’ve never attended one like this before.”

He gave a short nod. “For the most part. It’s close to the same speech every time, and nearly the same kinds of things auctioned off — most of them coming from donations made primarily by the wealthiest guests here.”

Things you were sure you could only imagine owning. The thought of listening to another speech from Beaumont after all your research only made the small stabbing in your head increase.

Trying to sound casual, unassuming even, you asked, “And what do you exactly do?”

His face shifted toward an unreadable look, making you fight uneasiness rising through your body. You followed up with, “I think it’d be boring if you just sat and listened, so I hope you get to actually play some part in the organization.”

You watched his gaze consider you for a moment, the seconds passing forcing your heart into your throat. Part of you debated faking getting an emergency phone call to get away if this went south.

Tilting his head, a soft smile spread across Will’s face. He held out his hand toward you, palm facing up. “Would you care to dance with me, Rose?”

A twisting feeling reeled through your stomach, your body on edge in an instant. At your hesitation, he said, “Just one dance. And I can answer your question while we’re out on the floor.”

As you raised your hand and laid it in his, you mentally said every expletive you knew at this terrible summer internship, at Parker, and at yourself. But you held an easy smile while the two of you made your way to where others danced along to the orchestra’s playing.

He brought your right hand up in his left, his other hand smoothing across your arm and landing on your back. You tried focusing on your fingers laying atop his shoulder, feeling the soft material of his jacket beneath you.

“If we’re still being honest with one another, I am not the world’s greatest dancer. I apologize for any toes I step on,” you quietly told him, your words accompanied by a nervous laugh you didn’t have to fake.

His hold on you supported your body as he began to move, your feet trying to follow his. He gave a kind laugh, his hand squeezing yours once. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your gaze cast downward to make sure you moved the right way. Slowly, you began to recognize the repeating pattern of steps, your muscles becoming a little less wound tight.

“That’s it,” Will said with an encouraging tone. “Now, can you bear looking up instead of at our feet?”

A laugh slipped from your lips as your eyes trailed higher until they connected with his. You appreciated his kindness, but being here by yourself, there was no way you’d relax enough. Not until–

From the corner of your vision, you spotted Parker walking from that door he’d slipped through. You watched him begin walking this way and scan the crowd, one hand holding another champagne glass and the other running through his hair. It was only once he found you that he stopped, and it brought a relieving sigh from your chest.

As you danced and turned though, you couldn’t see Parker from this angle anymore, but Will said, “There you go. Not so tense anymore.”

You offered him a grin, one that you fought to maintain as too many thoughts ran through your head. You needed to focus.

“So, I’m dancing,” you began with a laugh. “Your turn to hold up the bargain.”

He returned the laughter, those crinkles around his eyes returning. “Fair enough.”

People passed by in a blur as he continued to lead you across the floor, the orchestra’s music thrumming along with your heart. You’d long lost sight of Parker with all the spinning.

“Sometimes, I do just sit in meetings — whether I’m also listening depends on how boring the topic is. And other times, I pitch ideas for projects or try to lead them.”

You nodded. “Which seem to be doing well, correct? I haven’t followed Stronger Together all that closely lately, so I haven’t seen its impact up close yet.”

Please, you silently begged him, to give you something.

His eyebrow twitched upward as he hesitated, the muscle of his jaw feathering. “It’s never as easy or quick as we’d wish, but that doesn’t stop us from working toward the organization’s goals. Especially ones I’m passionate about.”

“Like what?” you asked almost a bit too quickly. You tried giving a look that said you were just excited to hear about him.

“Like ensuring everyone has the right to a proper education. We don’t always have jurisdiction for these projects, but what does jurisdiction matter when people’s lives are at stake?”

A smile — a real, genuine smile — overtook your face. “That’s exactly what I say. How can we let red tape get in the way of helping one another?”

He let out a sigh, one that seemed to course from his whole being. “I sure wish my coworkers thought the way you did,” he said, pulling your body just a little closer to his.

A small feeling, one spreading from your chest, hoped that he was telling the truth. That if you discovered Ellis Beaumont’s crimes and told the world, maybe there’d be a better future in his son.

As that comforting thought passed through you, your eyes caught a moving figure from the corner of your vision. You couldn’t miss the sight of Parker dancing with a woman several yards away. She looked vaguely familiar, perhaps someone involved with the non-profit.

Your gaze drifted to where Parker’s hand laid on her, the deep plunge of her gown’s back letting his hand rest across her skin. The two of them danced easily, their hold on one another looking so natural.

You eventually looked up, your steps nearly stuttering when you saw his eyes were already on you. They traced over your form, just the flash of a hard look crossing his face before his mouth began to move. Hopefully, he was asking a question that would lead you both somewhere. But even as he spoke, he stared over her shoulder at you.

That warmth in your chest spread outward. Up your neck, the heat snaked through your skin until your breaths came a little quicker.

Only once you and Will turned again were you able to break from the moment, to focus back on the man you were dancing with. You squeezed your eyes shut for just a second.

Determined to get something out of this whole thing, you opened your mouth to ask him another question — but he spoke first.

“So, tell me about your husband, Rose.”

Your gaze immediately found his and the expectant darkness waiting in them. “What?”

“Your husband,” he repeated, angling his head toward your wedding ring. “What’s he like?”

A breathy “Oh” passed between your lips…

So this wasn’t flirting? Your mind couldn’t make sense of what William Beaumont wanted, not as you danced in his arms while “married” to another man.

“He’s, um. He’s nice.”

At Will’s laugh, one of your own following, you said, “Most of the time, he’s sarcastic — and I wish there was a way to attach a zipper to his mouth. I think, though, underneath it, there’s kindness that he doesn’t always show. But you know it’s there when you get to know him.”

As you turned again and made eye contact with Parker still far away, you mindlessly muttered, “Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t so smart. It makes me look bad.” A wry smile crossed your face, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a grin appeared on Parker’s as well. “And while he’s the most chronically late person I know, he’s there when you need him.”

A moment passed before Will pulled back, staring at you as if he could see all the way through you. The orchestra played the final note of the song, your steps slowly coming to a stop. You could only stand there as he leaned closer, his mouth right along your ear. His breaths made goosebumps rise across your shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Heart pounding in your veins, you whispered, “For what?”

“For dancing with me.”

With that, he pulled back, squeezing your hand once more before letting it return to your side. “Enjoy the night, Rose,” he said, nodding his head and turning. You quickly lost him through the sea of people, not that you really tried to search for him long.

Guests around you began to disperse to their tables, a sign to get your feet to move — wherever your own seat was. Lights dimmed above, creating a stir of conversation between people while you looked around, searching for Parker.

You barely finished the thought when he appeared at your side. His arm wrapped around yours as he whispered, “C’mon.”

You followed, the cold shock of Will disappearing under the warmth of Parker against you. But as you both weaved through people still going to their tables, you saw he wasn’t taking you somewhere to sit down and listen to Beaumont’s speech.

Instead, the two of you went through double doors into a hallway leading to the bathrooms. People walked in and out, and if you hadn’t done the research beforehand, you would’ve seriously questioned where he was taking you.

But you’d remembered there was an exit near here, past the bathrooms. There would also be another door — one that took you up and further into the mansion.

With minimal guests around to witness, he walked right to it.

The staircase behind was thin and illuminated by only a few warm lights. Unable to walk side by side up the steps, Parker let go of your arm and led the way. You only heard the muffled sounds of the hallway behind you, making you a little hopeful that this wasn’t an often-used section of the house.

“What did you find?” you asked, your hands pulling up your dress while you climbed the stairs.

After two flights, Parker stopped before a door. He turned the knob, letting it swing open silently into a hallway shooting off into many rooms. As he stepped through, he angled his head toward you and said, “Nothing. Which makes me very worried.”

All you could do was begin chewing on your bottom lip and follow him. The plush carpet luckily hid your footsteps, but every nerve in your body stood on edge. You imagined that they’d be fraying and burnt out by the end of this night.

“I know there’s something here though.” Parker motioned toward a door on your left. “You check that one. I’ll look in this one,” he told you, pointing to the room across from it.

Eyeing him, you grumbled under your breath, “A please would be nice.”

And without looking, you knew he was rolling his eyes. Still, you went to the room — even though some instinctual part of you almost insisted that it was safer to go together. You had no idea what was on the other side of this very nice and expensive hardwood door.

The only thing that got you to turn the handle was the sound of Parker going into his room without hesitation. Though you thought calling it the “sound of his audacity” had a better ring to it.

And following in his footsteps brought you to a… bathroom. Sure, it appeared fancy with its probably imported floor tiles and French-inspired sink or something, but the only suspicious thing in this room was why anyone would choose those ugly decorative towels.

Still, you looked through everything — even the medicine cabinet, which made you feel like some sort of rude house guest. You took a photo or two of the bottles inside, most of which turned out to be painkillers. Strong ones.

Before moving to the next, you listened for any footsteps or voices. With silent steps and slowed breathing, you crept from the bathroom — only to be met with Parker walking freely from his room without any caution. At the incredulous look you gave him, he just gestured for you to hurry up.

You made a point to glare at him as you approached the next door. As it creaked open, your body wincing at the noise, you stepped inside. At first glance, it seemed to be a bedroom, which wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. It had no computer to search through or a convenient map laying out their entire plans.

It appeared to be largely unused, a faint layer of dust coating most of the furniture. But as you walked toward a small desk in the corner, you saw some papers scattered atop it. Some appeared to be emails that held no significance without any context. Others seemed to be invitations to a few of Beaumont’s fundraisers.

The walls or shelves in the room gave no indication as to who these papers belonged to, but you took pictures of them regardless. As you set them back, you looked further down. The desk also had drawers.

One pull on it told you they were locked though, and surprisingly, lock picking wasn’t a skill you listed at the top of your resume. Maybe you could try and get through the back…

The door squeaking open made you jump, your body straightening up and hitting the desk. You stifled a groan as your eyes found Parker at the entrance of the room. Silently, he held up his hands — not in apology but in a way that was supposed to somehow absolve him of any guilt.

You could already feel a bruise forming along your hip, your hand rubbing the bone. Parker approached you, whispering, “Settle down, Nancy Drew. Have you found anything useful?”

“Unless you can open these locked drawers, how about you keep your mouth shut, Parker,” you quietly gritted out.

His grin grew into something taunting. “Guess I’ll keep this mouth wide open then, sunshine.”

You watched with furrowed eyebrows as he knelt down and took two bobby pins from his inside pocket. Before you could even ask, he interrupted. “I come prepared, so keep your smart comments to yourself.”

Widening your eyes with a huff, you stood there, leaning against the wall. Your arms crossed in front of your chest as you observed him.

“So… when did you learn to pick locks?”

Under his breath, you barely heard him mutter, “When’d you learn to flirt for information?”

As you were still processing his words, your mouth opening slightly in shock, Parker popped open the drawer. Any retort died in your throat — but stayed very clearly in your mind — as you looked past him at the papers he pulled out.

They seemed to detail some sort of… super suit? Scribbled notes sat on the margins of blueprints for a suit with metal arms, protective armor, even grenades. Almost like they were a mismatch of parts from Spider-Man’s villains. Doc Ock, The Rhino, The Green Goblin.

A shaky breath punched from your lungs, your stomach sinking so low you had to set a hand on the desk to steady yourself. Was Ellis making himself into a supervillain?

The thought barely seeped into your mind when you both heard a floorboard groan from out in the hallway. Your head whipped to the door, neither of you moving an inch. At another creaking sound, Parker silently made his way to peek out from the room.

He must have heard something you didn’t because his entire body tensed, but your hands were already moving. By the time he turned back to you with wide eyes, you stood next to him, your heart beating rapidly in your ears.

“We’ve gotta go,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You fought back the urge to say no shit. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to utter the words with how your body now shook.

Parker crept out into the hallway, looking both ways. He nodded for you to follow with a quick jerk of his head. But as you closed the bedroom door behind you, the squeaky hinges echoed into the air. Your eyes met Parker’s, his jaw tight as alarm flashed across his face.

In an instant, his fingers grabbed onto your wrist. He pulled you across the hall to the nearest room and clicked the door shut behind you.

Through the whiplash from sudden movement to stillness in complete darkness, you felt a hand cover your mouth. The back of your body leaned against what felt like wooden shelves while your front pressed into Parker.

You felt the beating of his heart against your own.

Despite him covering your mouth making you want to do the opposite, you willed your breaths to slow down until they were nearly silent. Though you couldn’t see, you guessed the two of you were sandwiched inside a closet of some kind.

You brought your hand up to remove Parker’s from your face. You might’ve pinched him if you weren’t hiding from whoever was also here, though that didn’t stop you from flipping him off in the shadowy closet. You felt him push your hand away with a quiet huff.

Only a moment later, through straining ears and clenched muscles, you heard a door open. Then footsteps.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the heat in the tight space beginning to grow unbearable. That, on top of your mind and body turning into a live wire from your nerves, made it feel harder to breathe.

And you knew you had to be quiet, but your back screamed at you to move from the hard shelves digging into your spine. As you tried to silently shift forward to find any kind of relief, you were stopped by palms quickly landing on your hips.

You heard a strangled sigh come from Parker as he held you firm, your body unable to move any further under his grip. Your top half leaned into him more in this position, your hands instinctually holding onto him and finding hard muscles beneath.

In the dark and under the threat of making any noise, you were unable to ask him what he was doing. All you could do was feel him.

But his head came nearer. You swore he whispered, “I…” before trailing off. He was close enough that you could feel the word caress your cheek. Then, as if time froze for a few seconds, neither of you even breathed while the footsteps grew louder and louder until they came so close to the door.

And then they kept going, the footfalls becoming just a bit quieter with each one.

You would’ve sighed had the hands on your hips not still held on so tight. His breathing sounded labored, his body rigid. With worry starting to take over your senses, you barely let his name pass your lips. So quietly, you whispered, “Peter?”

You knew he heard you because every muscle of his tensed. The movement had his arm hitting the shelves, and all of the blood rushed from your head as something fell and hit the floor with a dull thud.

The footsteps stopped.

Parker grabbed your shoulders, his grip twisting the material of your dress wherever he touched. Maybe he knew that your mind was spinning, that your stomach threatened to empty itself, or that most of your extremities had gone numb despite the heat. He held you there, keeping you grounded as the steps became louder once more.

“Do you trust me?” Parker said, the words wrapping around your body with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

Your mind’s first instinct was to tell him no, you absolutely did not trust him. You wanted to ask him whether he even trusted you. But your throat allowed no response to pass, your tongue unable to shape any of the sounds.

And… if you were to once again follow your heart, follow the pull in your gut, you’d nod.

So you did.

With that, he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. A quiet noise of surprise came from you as his fingers now danced up to hold your jaw. Only once you responded, your fuzzy mind catching up enough to kiss him back, did he lunge further forward.

Quick breaths came from his nose as his mouth overtook yours. His body pressed roughly against you, the feeling doing nothing to slow your dizzying senses. Your fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck. And by the time you’d finally responded with the same intensity as him, nearly fell face first into the feeling, light flooded in from behind your eyelids.

Breaking apart from Parker with a start, you blinked until your vision made out the security guard in front of you. Your chest still heaved and your heart still pounded. Even your fingers still itched for him to ground you again — so much so that you grabbed his hand as the worker let out a scoff.

“Christ… Don’t you have anything better to do? Or any place better than this?” he asked, his flashlight flicking between the two of you.

“Sorry, sorry. We’ll go,” Parker muttered, his voice tighter than you remembered. He used one hand to shield his eyes from the light and put the other on your back to guide you from the closet.

He made a good show of not knowing which way to go, making the guard point toward the door you came from with a tired look on his face. It took everything in you to not hide behind your fingers, embarrassment crawling up your neck and heating your cheeks.

Neither of you said a word while walking back to the main room, just pointedly not catching each other’s eyes. It felt harder to swallow, to think even.

Finally, outside the bathrooms, Parker broke the silence. He turned to you, saying, “Your, uh, dress.”

He approached, trying to fix the rumples he created in your gown. But you batted his hand away, unable to deal with his touch on you again right now. Your fingers smoothed it out yourself while you told him, “Flatten your hair back down.”

And before he even finished, you’d begun walking down the hallway to the doors. Anything to create room between you two — because you could still feel the weight of him clutching your jaw and the burn still present on your lips.

And you didn’t want to think about what you just did for this story, or about kissing Peter fucking Parker.

His shoes clicked against the tile as he caught up. Your eyes saw a glimpse of him reaching out, your body bracing itself for his grip around your arm. But he stopped short, instead pleading, “Wait.”

“What?” you asked, a soft bite to the word. Your head sat on a swivel for anyone who could be watching or listening.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, thinking. “Should we go back? To take pictures of the diagram?”

With a tight smile, you told him, “No need.”

Your fingers pulled the papers from where you’d tucked them into the front of your dress. You only paused long enough to feel smug at the surprised look on his face before hiding them once again.

Without seeing whether he’d follow, you strode through the double doors — just always walking barely ahead of him. Luckily, your seats were near the back and away from the spotlights trained on the stage.

Once settled into the chair, your hands firmly in your own lap, you let out a long breath. From beside you, Parker leaned in close, whispering, “Sunshine… Can I ask you something?”

Your eyes darted in his direction, nausea suddenly flooding your system all over again. You only looked at his shoulder as you slowly nodded, wondering if it was a mistake to do so.

“Am I…”

He paused, and you could’ve bolted right then and there. Letting out a sigh, he asked, “Am I like the best kiss you’ve ever had?”

He barely made it to the end of the sentence before his usual shit-eating grin returned to his face.

You relished in the way it twisted in pain when you kicked him under the table, hoping it’d leave a bruise. Partly, you were grateful he broke the tension, but that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of breaking his foot too.

Turning back to the stage, you finally focused on the man standing atop it. That salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and “winning smile” looked back in return.

It was hard to pay attention to his speech still going on when all you could think of was Beaumont’s diagram of the super suit. In your head, those eyes turned hateful, that smile cunning. You still felt them even as the speech ended, all of it just propaganda as you expected.

What information you took from the auction was just how much money was going toward Stronger Together — which was a hefty amount. And all you got from the dinner was that they needed to learn how to better season their food.

After it all, Beaumont was immediately surrounded after the auction. People you assumed were shareholders or investors (i.e., rich people) took the conversation back into the VIP area before you could even think of approaching him. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could handle any more sneaking or lying for the rest of the night anyway.

But you had what you needed, for now.

And while making your way toward the mansion’s towering front doors alongside other couples, you could’ve sworn there were two sets of eyes burning a trail past your every move. One of them you refused to meet.

@reidslovely @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @dil3mma @hollandweather

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #peter parker x fem!reader #tasm spiderman #andrew garfield #tasm!peter #spiderman x reader #spiderman x fem!reader #peter parker fluff #enemies to lovers

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celticcrossanon · 6 months ago

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Excerpts of a podcast discussion about H&M

Celta, there’s a podcast called Juicy Scoop, hosted by Heather McDonald, where she has Spencer Pratt on an episode (SP is an American reality television personality and hears gossip in Hollywood) and they discuss H&M. There’s not really any new tea but I thought I would pass it along to you anyway what was said. :)Below are excerpts transcribed by “RBXChas” at https://www.reddit.com/r/SaintMeghanMarkle/comments/1ch2ayp/summary_of_august_2023_juicy_scoop_podcast_re_hm/

Spencer says he has some “real deal” information from a friend who tried to go to TMZ, but if you don’t have a photo, they don’t care, even if it’s a really good story. His source said that H&M do not live together (H lives in LA), and H cannot believe that they need two nannies because he and Prince William only had one. Heather reads that as he is bitching about M as a mom and why does she need two nannies (e.g., complaining about her spending), which Spencer confirms.

Spencer says he has another source at Netflix who says that “the numbers that we heard had a lot of extra zeros for their Netflix deal, so there wasn’t that much money coming in”. He thinks they went too big with their house and wants to see her get back into acting because he liked her on Suits.

Heather asks him if he thinks M will have to go on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. He thinks H&M are not going to make it (Heather agrees) even though he wanted it to work out, but he believes his source (presumably about their living apart). He thinks H will go back to England and “get back in the family” and do the RF thing, only coming to the US to visit, because he thinks he could do so much more if he teamed up with Prince William.

Heather says that she has her own source of really good intel, definitely not the same source as Spencer’s. She says that it is true that “they are grifters” and that “they are constantly social climbing and trying to get free shit”. She knows someone who “they did that exact same thing to, met them, asked if they could stay at their very fancy third home” and then “asked ‘can we use your jet’ all that kind of stuff”, that “it’s her, that she’ll like zoom right in, but he’s down for the free shit, too, he’s used to getting free stuff, and he’s used to people wanting to host them”. She says the people who’ve gotten to meet them and are trapped into socializing with them realize H&M have the “stink on them”, so even if they socialize with them, “they don’t even want to take a photo with them” because they “don’t want the world to know that we’re buddies or that you stayed at my house, and by the way you’re never staying again.”

Heather talks about the phone hacking case. She thinks it’s about money and staying in the press. She thinks H should let it go, especially if he is going to divorce M, and just say he is “moving on from this chapter” of his life.

Spencer says that H just needs “a reboot”, that he’s not too old to do it, that “this is like red alert, like you’ve got to turn this around”. Heather and Spencer agree that the only way H can save himself is a divorce, which they both think is sad.

Enjoy the tea!

Hi TeaWithBooks,

Thank you for sending that in.

Here is the link if anyone wants to read the entire interview transcription (it is a lot more than the above)

https://www.reddit.com/r/SaintMeghanMarkle/comments/1ch2ayp/summary_of_august_2023_juicy_scoop_podcast_re_hm/

I agree with the conclusion that was drawn (8 months ago?) If Harry is to make anything of his life and redeem himself, he needs to get rid of his wife. Unfortunately, I don’t think Harry sees it that way.

#submission

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ravenousrampage · 3 months ago

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My lovely lovely friend (who wishes to remain anonymous) wrote me an amazing little snippet for Knight, and has given me permission to share! Please enjoy, I certainly did! Enjoy Knight eating some Goblins and being very unsettling to people!

Could it even be called a knight?

Nothing about the being that stood before Lord Kelvin struck him as particularly human. However, the details were trivial, and the innkeeper claimed that the "Knight's" bravery was unparalleled. He wasn't sure what that meant in this case, but he knew he was desperate and the mission was simple enough.

"Your pay will be ten gold pieces."

The helmeted head of the creature creaked in his direction, but otherwise made no sound. It was unnerving. Statue still but emanating an aura that made a cold sweat prickle at the back of his neck.

It stared at him - into him.

"And five silver, as well."

He tacked on, barely able to stop the tremble in his voice as the Knight grunted.

"My duties begin now?"

The lord nodded and Knight turned heel, walking from the room with no sense of urgency. This was a simple mission. Miss Innkeeper would be happy to get paid and he would be happy with a free meal.

-----‐---------‐

The woman he accompanied was vibrant and oddly chatty with Knight, it was similar to how Miss Innkeeper treated him, and he liked that much better than the screaming that often followed his appearance.

"Such a willowy, waifish fellow. What court do you hail from?"

She mused, hiding a chuckle behind her hand while astride her steed. Just at eye level, Knight failed to notice the cheeky curvy to her lips. Even if he had, he held no interest in that sort of thing.

What an interesting question though.

Knight wasn't particularly sure himself.

One day, his eyes opened and his empty stomach grumbled - he had been on the move ever since.

This plating that covered his appendages seemed to earn him a lot of undeserved perks, but it also usually roped him into situations that did not interest him.

Had it not been for the pay, and, more importantly, the promise of a meal, he didn't think he would have taken this mission.

"What?"

"Your court, dear fellow!"

That answered none of his questions, but he was saved from having to answer as a small creature tore into the path.

"Oh, my! A goblin! Slay it, knight!"

The goblin looked unsurprised to see them there, drawing a dagger to brandish at the two with a bored air.

"Surrend the woman to us. Tell your lord to pay our ransom and she will be returned promptly."

A few more goblins appeared from the brush, each had daggers and bore the same expression as the presumed leader.

Knight's charge shrieked and squawked, calling the goblins 'vermin' and 'monsters' from the back of her Palomino. It all felt very staged… because it was.

Lord Kelvin had made a deal with the local goblins. Once in awhile, when his wife started to drive him batty with her nagging, he would send her on a little outing with a knight. They encountered goblins at some point in the trip, the knight would defeat them, and the lady would be back in her husband's arms grateful that she was alive and that he had spent a pretty penny to keep his wife safe.

The longer the charade went on, the harder it was to find knights who would take such a task and to appease the goblins who demanded more and more each time.

Knight was here to eliminate the problem.

He strode forward, feeling his stomach rumbled in approval when he unceremoniously grabbed one goblin, not the ringleader, and, without warning, scarfed it down.

His helm tipped back, revealing to only the goblin about to enter his maw while lie beneath, and shoved the monster in. There was some scrabbling and clawing - nothing he wasn't expecting from alarmed prey.

Gulp

Completely ensconced within Knight's elastic throat.

GULP

The squirming goblin settled in his stomach, fighting for an exit that would never appear. Another groan from his belly. Knight leaned down and repeated the process, savoring the heaviness of gut when the second goblin was down.

Only then did everyone start screaming.

Knight sighed.

Before the group had time to disperse, Knight grabbed a goblin in each hand, tucking one under his arm and lifting the other over his head.

"What kind of knight are you?"

One screeched, Knight's tongue wrapping around the creature's waist and began to drag the stuggling goblin closer.

"A hungry one."

This one, although it writhed and wriggled, he tried to take a moment to appreciate the flavor. Miss Innkeeper was always getting on his case for eating too quickly.

Rot and earth. Smoky and musty. Putrid in a way that deterred all other predators with olfactory senses, but not Knight.

He took his time, taking a few shallow gulps and feeling his throat bulge as his muscles worked hard to drawn his prey deeper into his belly.

The sharp plate that usually protected his abdomen was digging into him uncomfortably. Although elastic inside and out, Knight could still feel the discomfort and he took a second to stop swallowing his prey and pry his chest plate off.

Stomach bulging and writhing, Knight lifted a hand and covered his helm with a fist, so much movement was making him burpy.

For a moment, he debated if he could even fit another goblin. He felt quite full and he didn't have the luxury to sit down and digest. No Miss Innkeeper to soothe his swollen stomach with calloused, but kind hands (she would probably wait anyway, she didn't like when he came back with a stomach full of a fresh meal).

However, he had a job, and the last goblin he caught was the ringleader. There was no pointing waiting for the goblin to begin bargaining, Knight wasn't interested in whatever sob story the creature constructed. The goblin's head was in his mouth and the creature disappeared into the tight confines of his already full stomach.

He stood there, swaying on the spot with his hands soothing over taut flesh. Ah, he could really go for a nap. Unfortunately, he had to slosh to their next destination - there he could sit back and digest.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Knight's hopes were dashed. His dream of capturing and consuming a whole dragon seemed so out of reach if a few goblins had him second guessing his capacity (physically and mentally).

Stomach lurching and small noises of discomfort puncturing each step, Knight returned to Lady Kelvin's side.

Horrified did not begin to describe her expression.

#oc: knight #v.ore #implied digestion #im definitely a little obsessed :3 she's such a good author #if you see any mistakes its because she wrote it very late so be nice

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thepringlesofblood · 1 month ago

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Ayda Aguefort character sheet!

I went through FHSY transcripts and wrote down every spell she used and figured out what level she was and made a full character sheet for my beautiful wife, Ayda Aguefort.

Actual character sheet and plaintext description below the cut: here's how I figured it out.

Ayda has one (1) 7th level spell slot, and presumably no 8th level spell slots, since she can only cast Teleport once per day. This puts her at either 13th or 14th level, the only difference being that at 14th level, Divination wizards get "Greater Portent", aka an extra Portent roll per long rest. Looking through the transcripts, she never uses more than 2 portent rolls per long rest, so we will assume she is 13th level.

In terms of background, "Sage" makes the most sense. Like, you roll to determine your “specialty” and one of the options is librarian. She’s gotta be a sage. This gives her proficiencies in arcana and history, two languages of choice, and the "Researcher" feat - “When you attempt to learn or recall a piece of lore, if you do not know that information, you often know where and from whom you can obtain it." Extremely in character

Wizards pick 2 proficiencies from Arcana, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, and Religion. I picked Investigation & Medicine, since she already gets Arcana and History from "Sage".

Spells are tricky - I included every spell she uses in the series, but wizard spellbooks are weird in that there's kind of no limit to the amount of spells you can know, the limit is just on how many you can prepare. You automatically learn two new spells per level, so I went through and added other spells (in italics) up to the minimum amount of spells she would know, and then made a list of other spells that seem likely for her to know, or that you could switch in if you like. she does fully live in a library so like. who knows what she could know?

Also, there's a spell she uses during the fight aboard the Goldenrod that sounds a lot like Steel Wind Strike, though it isn't 100% confirmed, so I put a question mark next to it. We also don't know what exact spell she was going to use to "flood hell" - I chose Tidal Wave because it seemed most likely, but it could also be a spell of her own invention.

Final product below the cut!

the reason these don't have image IDs is bc I'm putting the IDs after the images bc there's so much text. also sorry the resolution's shit i don't know why that happened it looks fine on my computer. also i don't know how passive wisdom works im sorry its probably just her normal wisdom (11)??

image/page 1:

Character Name: Ayda Aguefort

Class & level: Wizard (Divination) 13

Background: Sage

Player name: bleem

Race: half-phoenix

Alignment: Lawful neutral

Experience points: [blank]

Ability scores Str 18 (+4) Dex 15 (+2) Char 16 (+3) Int 20 (+5) Wis 11 (+0) Con 14 (+2)

AC 14

Proficiency bonus: +5

Inspiration: [blank]

Initiative: +2

Hit point total: 72

Hit dice: 13 d6 Speed 80

Saving throws:

Strength: +4

Dex: +2

Con: +2

Int: +10 (proficient)

Wis: +5 (proficient)

Cha: +3

Skills

Acrobatics: +2

Animal Handling: +0

Arcana: +10 (proficient)

Athletics: +4

Deception: +3

History: +10 (proficient)

Insight: +0

Intimidation: +3

Investigation: +10 (proficient)

Medicine: +5 (proficient)

Nature: +5

Perception: +0

Performance: +3

Persuasion: +3

Religion: +5

Sleight of Hand: +2

Stealth: +2

Survival: +0

Passive Wisdom: [blank]

Languages: Common, Phoenix, + two others of your choice from Sage background (I chose Infernal & Elvish)

Personality Traits: amazing

Ideals: [blank]

Bonds: Fig (paramour), Adaine (best friend), Kristen, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug (transitive best friends), Garthy (parental figure/guardian/adopted child of a previous incarnation of herself), Arthur Aguefort ("father")

Flaws: [blank]

Features & Traits:

Flight (see: Half-Phoenix)

Fly speed = 80

Fire Immunity (see: Half-Phoenix)

Ayda is immune to all fire damage

Portent (Div. lvl 2) - roll 2 d20 at the end of each long rest. You can replace any attack roll, saving throw, or ability check made by you or a creature that you can see with one of these rolls (once per turn)

Expert Divination (Div. lvl 6) - When you cast a divination spell of 2nd level or higher using a spell slot, you regain one expended spell slot. The slot you regain must be of a level lower than the spell you cast and can't be higher than 5th level

Third Eye (Div. lvl 10) - choose one of the following benefits, which lasts until you are incapacitated or you take a short or long rest. You can't use this feature again until you finish a short or long rest.

- Darkvision: You gain darkvision out to a range of 60 feet

- Ethereal Sight: You can see into the Ethereal Plane within 60 feet of you.

- Greater Comprehension: You can read any language

See Invisibility: You can see invisible creatures and objects within 10 feet of you that are within line of sight.

Attacks & Spellcasting

[formatted like] Name, ATK Bonus, Damage/Type

Fireball, +10, 8d6 fire (+1d6 per lvl)

Steel Wind Strike, +10, 6d10 force

Tidal Wave, dex save DC 18, 4d8 bludgeoning & prone if fail

Equipment: so many books

image/page 2:

Spellcasting Class: Wizard (Div.) 13

Spellcasting Ability: INT

Spell Save DC: 18

Spell Attack Bonus: +10

Prepared Spells Limit: 18

(spells in italics are speculative, based on the min # of wizard spells she would have at this level. the rest are canon. feel free to add or subtract as desired!)

Cantrips (lvl 0)

Prestidigitation

Message

Mage Hand

Mending

Control Flames

other potential cantrips: Lightning Lure, Dancing lights, Minor Illusion

Spell Level 1

slots total: 4

Find Familiar

Synod

Protection from Evil and Good

Detect Magic

Shield

Ayda's Comprehend Subtext

Comprehend languages

Identify

Illusory script

Snare

Spell Level 2

slots total: 3

Invisibility

Enlarge/Reduce

Misty Step

Hold Person

Spell Level 3

slots total: 3

Sending (pirate)

Counterspell

Dispel Magic

Clairvoyance

Remove Curse

Fireball

Tongues

Tidal Wave

Spell Level 4

slots total: 3

Greater Invisibility

Banishment

Scry

Arcane Eye

Spell Level 5

slots total: 2

Steel Wind Strike (?)

Legend Lore

Spell Level 6

slots total: 1

True Seeing

Spell Level 7

slots total: 1

Plane Shift

Teleport

Spell Level 8 [blank]

other good potential spells: Unseen servant, Thunder wave, Tasha's hideous laughter, Knock, Locate object, Scorching ray, Shatter, Web, Animate objects, Symbol, Bigby's hand, Storm sphere, Control Wind, Mordekainen's Private Sanctum, Conjure Elemental, Dimension Door

Spell Level 9 [blank]

Flood Hell [level & specifics unknown]

image/page 3:

Character name: Ayda Aguefort

Age: 17 (present), over 300 (total)

Height: 6-7 ft

Weight: [blank]

Eyes: fire

Skin: dark brown

Hair: fire

Character Appearance

“A Resplendent, Beautiful Woman”

Digitigrade ankles

bird feet

golden talons

orange runic tattoos

books in bandoliers like guns

undercut: fire

wings: fire

ear cuff (from Fig)

resembles Arthur Aguefort, her father

Character Backstory

perfect :)

Allies & Organizations

Compass Points Library

The Bad Kids

The Gold Gardens (Garthy)

Fig & The Sig Figs

[a screenshot of Ayda's official junior year character art (standing), taken from her wiki page]

Additional features & traits

“a resplendent beautiful woman who from the knees down has large talons, she also has digitigrade ankles, she has those ankles that kind of kick back like a lot of animal feet do. So from the knees on down become these almost like metallic golden talons. She bears a striking resemblance to Arthur Aguefort the moment you look at her”

“She looks kind of harpy-esque until you realize that she does have arms in addition to wings. So she has these incredibly, and as they spread, deep red wings that as they approach the tips of the feathers sort of change into orange, and by the time they get to yellow, flicker in a little edge of flame on the outside of the wings. She's dressed in sort of like white linen pants with a pirate's sash on them. No guns or anything you can see. Sort of vest, a lot of sort of orange runes tattooed on her arms, you see that she has a short shock of red hair, it seems to be not on the sides or back as much, almost like a plume of red fiery hair that comes off the top of her head. And her eyes have pupils in them but are otherwise clearly roiling balls of flame.”

“You see that she does have two scrolls at the side on her bandolier, and similarly to the guy downstairs, but sort of like she has it on those leather harnesses you would have for guns, but it's two small books strapped under each arm.”

Treasure: [blank]

#dimension 20 #d20 #dnd #dnd 5e #ayda aguefort #fhsy #fhjy #charsheet #character sheet #original post #ayda my beloved #fanart???#fanart #art #bleem #cronchy #if you use this for any sort of public internet-based thing please credit me #i intended this mostly for funsies and home campaigns

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thewritergx · 1 month ago

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Nympho Sam Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: Sam, Dean, and y/n go on a witch hunt. Things take a wrong turn when Sam unknowingly becomes cursed.

Warnings: Guns, Knives, Blood, Sex Pollen, Rough Smut (no mercy, squirting, choking), Dom!Sam but still needy.

Word Count: 5K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me

I had been hunting with Sam and Dean for about a year now. I met them on a ghost hunt in Texas, where we both showed up to the same house. I was thankful they showed up when they did, saving me from getting blown in the head by a spirit. After the hunt, we kind of just clicked and they decided to take me in. Sam said something about not “letting you leave to die alone on some stupid hunt”. Dean agreed. Honestly, they needed the touch of a woman in the bunker, lighten up the mood some. Sam and I often did research together, finding new monsters and ways to kill them. While Dean and I mostly drank beers and played first person shooter games. Call of duty was our favorite. I was thankful they gave me a permanent place to stay. For The first time in my life I had my own room and the closest thing to family. Bobby quickly became like an uncle to me, helping anytime I needed him.

After a few hours of driving, we made it to a quiet town outside Charleston. Over the past few weeks there have been a number of strange deaths. A man choking on tens of razor blades, supposedly in candy. A woman drowned while bobbing for apples. It was clear a case was here. Sam and I had hit the books hard, studying a few different monsters that fit the case profile. When we got to the town, a short interview with the man’s wife resulted in many answers. While Sam and I spoke with the widow, Dean without any struggles, was able to find a hex bag behind the fridge and air vent. Clearly, we were dealing with a brave witch. One with a good amount of power. After a few hours of different interviews and flash in our fake FBI badges, Sam was able to locate a house where we presumed the witch dwelled. The perfect hiding place for her curses and magic. It was a lone house in the middle of a field, abandoned for years.

I sat in the back of the Impala as Dean drove behind the house, concealing the car behind a row of thick oak trees. The yard was overgrown, tall dead grass covered the back steps of the house. A fog had rolled in and the wind was blowing like a tornado. The steps to the house were made of cracked cement, gravel-covered and brittle. Inside, the walls were painted a cool brown, but many patches of the paint had piled away, revealing the bare walls underneath. The color, once lively, had turned to a dust dull shell of itself. Huge windows revealed the moonlight. Their wooden panes were broken. Glass was completely missing out of a few while others looked like rocks had been thrown into them, allowing the wind to hiss through.

The air was thick and musty, dust seen flying with the naked eye. As we stepped, the floorboards creaked, a hiss echoing throughout the house's empty frame. Broken glass and trash littered the floor. We walked through the living room, Sam close behind me with his gun drawn. Symbols of red, maybe blood, were painted along the entrances of door frames. Some I recognized to keep out demons and angels. Dean made his way through a short dark hallway, lit only by the flashlight he carried.

“Guys, over here”, Dean called out. Toward the end of the hallway was a locked door, which stood out from the lack of dust on the handle bars.

“Someone has definitely been in here”, Sam whispered. Amongst the rest of the house, the door looked brand new. Dean swiftly kicked the door open, revealing a steep set of stairs descending to the ground. Sam went first, his tall frame obstructing my view below. I went next while Dean traveled close behind. The wooden steps creaked with every movement we made, reverberating all around us. I gripped the handrail, feeling the old rotted wood slightly crack under my grip. We finally reached the bottom of the steps, revealing a big dark room with cluttered boxes and left behind furniture. I searched for a light switch. It was freezing, and I could barely see the walls throughout the darkness. The ceilings were short, Sam almost having to bend over in an attempt to not hit his head.

“Alright, watch your step”, Sam whispered. Dean and I nodded our heads, trying to step through the piles of old boxes.

After searching the walls and ceiling, I found a string hanging in the center of the room. I pulled it and a dimly lit light shined. It wasn't bright but it was enough to add light to the space. With more light, we were about to see a corner of the room previously hidden. This corner was different from the rest of the space, less dust and no clutter. Sam approached the corner, finding a broken-down table filled with various items for a spell. It was dark oak, covered with a thick black cloth. It seemed to be a makeshift space for spells and curses, animal bones dangling from the filling above. In the center of the table a bronze bowl sat. A single human heart inside. Blood riddled the table, red drops aligning the bowl. A slightly opened box set next to the bow, filled with stones and various herps. It looked like a mixture of dried roses, egg shells, and a thick white paste I couldn't recognize. There were numerous candles, the wax was still dripping down. Whatever was here was still close by.

“What the hell?” Sam sounded perplexed, trying to figure out what spell the ingredients might be for. He knew he had seen this before but couldn't recall its purpose. Dean and I stood behind him, observing the scene. Each of us gripped our guns, witch killing bullets inside.

As we stood with our backs turned to the rest of the space, the light began to flicker and candles laid out on the table lit themselves. The air grew even colder and a loud scream like cry was let out. The three of us turned around quickly. Shadows advanced across the room as a woman dressed in a long worn-out cloak appeared. Her hair was long and matted. Silently, she brought up her hand, revealing long black nails and unleashing a force that knocked Sam over, onto the table. Sam let out a painful grunt as he crashed into the table. The bowl of blood and the heart spilled over him, and he quickly threw it off him. He laid for a second, turning his back and wincing. Sam let out a gag as he tried to wipe the blood away, remnants stuck to his shirt and hands.

The witch began to chant something in Latin. A few words I made out were “desiderium, opus, flamma”. Her voice rang out and Dean began to get impatient. Dean shot several rounds, but she’s able to deflect them. She threw the gun from Dean’s hand, sending it flying across the room and landing hard on the floor. With her magic, she lifted Dean and I into the air, choking us as our feet left the ground. Sam was quick to stand, shooting back at her as he pulled himself off the table. It was a good distraction as a couple of bullets flew past her. She vanished, dropping Dean and I onto the floor. I sat, gripping at my neck as I tired to catch my breath fucking witches. She appeared again, grabbing Sam in a chokehold as she gripped tightly across his back. Dean quickly reached behind him, pulling out another good from the holster attached to his belt. The witch was smart, not giving Dean a good angle to shoot her that wouldn't hurt Sam too. In my pocket I pulled out a small hex bag Bobby packed for us. Back to the basics I guess. I searched the room for a bowl, eyeing the one Sam threw off him a couple feet away. With the witch focused on Sam and Dean, I was able to run and grab it, blood sticky on the outside. The witch began whispering in Sam's ear. He trashed, trying to get her off him. He was able to knock her loose a bit. Dean took his chance to run at her, using the butt of his gun and slamming it against her head. She let out a groan and knocked Dean to the floor. I pulled out a match from my shirt pocket, striking it quickly as I threw the hex back into the bowl. I threw the match into the mixture and chanted the incantation Bobby taught us, “Furor divine virtute in infernum eam detrude” and threw the ingredients on to her. A thick cloud of black smoke engulfed her and blood began to pour from her eyes and mouth. She screamed and flames came from the ground, leaving ash as she quickly vanished to nothing.

“Glad I practiced that,” I laughed. Sam grabbed Dean off the ground. Dean patted dust and a few spider webs off his pants.

“Dude, you reek”. Dean laughed as he looked Sam up and down, blood covering his shirt, hands, and a bit of his neck.

“Take me home.” Same frowned, unbuttoning his flannel shirt and throwing it on the ground.

I took a few pictures of the ingredients used on the table and the heart Sam threw by a mess of boxes and old junk. “For our research,” I explained as the boys asked what I was up to. “Never seen that before,” I mumbled mostly to myself.

The boys and I made our way out of the darkness of the house, a creepy vibing causing me goosebumps. When we got back to the Impala, Sam quickly unbuttoned his flannel, throwing it in the truck of the Impala. He dug through our duffle bag of supplies, pulling out multiple bottles of water. He poured them onto his chest, trying to wash away as much blood as possible Without any access to soap or a shower. I tried not to stare but it was honestly a great sight to see.

“Sammy, come on. Ain't staying out here all day”. Dean called as he got into the driver seat, Baby purring out as he turned the key.

Sam let out a disgusted moan and climbed into the back seat.

“No one is hurt, right?” I questioned, looking back at Sam and over at Dean. I sat in the shotgun seat, inspecting my body for any cuts.

“I'm good, just stinky” Sam huffed out.

“Stinky is an understatement”, Dean shot out. Luckily our hotel wasn’t too far away. Only about 25 minutes out.

Dean turned up the radio, blasting Metalica.

“What the hell was that witch saying anyway?” Sam asked. “I didn't recognize those sets of ingredients at all.”

Dean drove with one hand, tapping the steering wheel to the music. “Whatever it is, she's dead now. I say good riddance bitch” he smirked.

Sam nodded his head, his eyes suddenly heavy. After a few minutes, he was slumped over in the back seat heavily breathing and lightly snoring.

I shot an eyebrow at Dean “he’s tired,” I laughed.

We drove for a few more minutes, finally arriving back at the cheap motel we all shared a room in. I was exhausted. I swear Dean almost passed out on the road a few times himself. Although our fight wasn't much, the day as a whole was long and drowned out. I Knew I wouldn't get much rest tonight, my adrenaline too high to let my body relax. Sam was still knocked out, his body heavy and worn.

“Sammy, Sammy…” I lightly pushed against him, shaking his body awake.

Sam opened his eyes, blinking a few times. He rubbed his eyes with his palm, adjusting to the lights of the Impala shining above.

“We’re here already? Guess I feel asleep”. He mumbled. His voice was always so thick when he woke up. I tried to ignore it and focused on grabbing our stuff out of the car.

Dean parked the car just outside the room. Could never sleep too far from his precious Baby. Sam dragged his body out of the impala. He was a sweaty mess, dragging his finger through his long brown hair. He stumbled as he got out of the car, missing his first step.

“Wow, you okay?” I asked as I grabbed him by the shoulders.

Dean shrugged his shoulders walking closely behind us.

“I just feel really really hot. I’m nauseous as hell.” Sam took another step forward. I could feel his body shaking. His breathing was unsteady and fast.

“Maybe you got car sick, let's get inside and I'll see what we have”. I held my grip tight on Sam, scared he was going to fall over.

I supported as much of Sam’s weight as I could as I walked him up the few steps to the door, his big hand gripping tight around my waist.

“Dude, what happened to you?” Dean asked, opening the door and throwing our bags down on the floor.

“I don't know, I'm just so hot. Like my skin is crawling on fire. I need a fan” Sam's face was balled up uncomfortably. He kicked his shoes off, throwing them in the corner of the room. I led him to one of the beds, trying to set his heavy body down as softly as possible.

“Here, just sit. I'm gonna get you something. Try to relax”. I hurried to the kitchen area grabbing some aspirin I sat on the counter earlier and a cold water bottle out of the fridge.

Sam groaned as he laid face down in the fetal position, waiting for me to get with the medicine.

“Here take this,” I leaned down, gently placing the pills in his hands and undoing the cap of the water bottle.

“God, Sam. Your forehead is hot as hell. You need a shower,” I smiled slightly but I tried my best to take the situation seriously. It was clear he was in a lot of pain.

“Okay, okay. I'm gonna go.” Sam dragged his big frame up painfully, his hands close to his lower stomach. “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbled as he rushed to the bathroom.

“What the hell is going on with him?” I asked Dean, who had already made his way to the fridge pulling out a beer and a cold pizza.

“I don't know. I mean he was fine before left that house…” Dean thought for a moment. “The witch. I saw her whispering something to him. You don't think, maybe it's still affecting him?” He had a bit of concern in his face now.

As we spoke, I heard Sam’s groans coming from the bathroom and water starting from the shower.

“Let me see those pictures you took,” Dean rushed over. He grabbed my phone, scrolling through the pictures.

“I don't recognize this at all. Seems like a pretty unique spell.” I whispered in an attempt to keep Sam from hearing.

I listened closely as Sam continued letting out painful groans and heavy breathing from the bathroom.

“Call Bobby, I'm gonna check on him.” I stood, knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y-yeah, c-come in.” Sam crocked.

I walked in slowly, steam filling the small bathroom. “Sammy, I thought you were hot. Probably want cold water” I stated confused.

“God, my skin is itching. I need like, I don't know. I need…pressure”, Sam blurted out quickly.

“Pressure?” I asked confused.

“Yeah. I-I don't know. Something is seriously wrong with me. Feel like I'm gonna burst into flames but the hot water is helping.” Sam stood in the shower, his arms out, pressed against the wall to balance him. He tilted his head down, the water bouncing off his long hair and onto his body. As he looked down, he noticed another problem. He was hard. Like harder than he’d ever been his whole life. His dick was bright red and the sound of my voice ringing out across the room made it jump with every word I spoke.

“Y/n, I-I need you to uh, need to to get out,” Sam’s voice was like a whimper. Pain and need thick from his throat.

“Oh, okay. Just call my name if you need anything.” I tried to sound pleasant even though he just kicked me out when I was trying to help.

When I walked out the bathroom, Dean was pacing back and forth. “Okay, well. Hold on, y/n is here now.” Dean put the phone on speaker, Bobby’s voice ringing out.

“Okay, y/n tell me everything you remember.” Bobby spoke.

“Well, there was a human heart, a lot of blood. Some herbs that looked like different flowers. Red roses maybe. There were like fifteen candles. I think they were pink. And she whispered something to Sam. Before that she spoke a few words. I think desiderium, opus, and flamma. That was all I could make out. Honestly, not sure what any of them mean.” I tried to recall as much as the events as I possibly could.

The door to the bathroom gently opened a crack. “Y/n, could you uh, hand me some clothes?” Sam mumbled. He stood in the doorway, water dripping down his tanned skin.

I quickly dugg in his bag, pulling out a pair of black boxers and a loose t-shirt. I handed it to him as he poked his hand out slightly through the door. “Here you go.” I smiled. My fingers brushed against slightly and Sam let out a whining sound. Not really like he was in pain, more like he needed something.

I walked back to the phone, listening for more information from Bobby. “I mean, the roses made me think it’s gotta be a love spell. But the heart? That would be so, etching for intense power. I’m gonna do some research, call you back as soon as I find something.” I heard books opening as Bobby hung up the phone.

Sam walked out of the bathroom, his hair shaggy and wet. He looked like a mess.

“Sammy, you good?” Dean asked, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I feel a bit better.” He lied, laying back down on the bed.

“Listen, I'm going to find a gas station that's still open. Get you some tea or some shit.” Dean spoke fast. “Call me if anything changes. Won't be gone long.”

Sam nodded his head, too strung out to answer.

I sat on the edge of the bed offering Sam a smile. He forced one out in return but I could tell it wasn't genuine.

“Can you turn on the Tv, need a distraction?” Sam’s head was tilted back, leaning against a pillow and the bed frame. He closed his eyes tight, and pulled the covers over him.

“Of course,” I replied, grabbing the remote and flipping to the first free channel. A documentary about space played, “Seems relaxing,” I stated.

Sam nodded, not really paying any attention to what played. “I'll be right back okay, just stay here.” I walked to the bathroom grabbing my back. I changed quickly into a big shirt, a graphic T with a photo of Star Wars, ditching my sweater and bra on the bathroom floor. I pulled my jeans off and underwear off, replacing it with a pair of black Nike shorts. I was so ready to be out of those sweaty clothes.

Sam stayed still, counting down the seconds I was gone. Every step I took away from him caused a shoot pain to ring out through his body. He was craving me, his dick still has hard ever, even after trying to jerk off in the shower. He brought his hand down to his member, snaking it under his shorts and pumping up and down a bit. It provided a bit of relief but he needed more. Needed you gripping onto him.

When I walked back into the room, Sam was in the same position. His face was a bit more constricted than before. He looked at me, his eyes half opened. “That's my shirt,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, it was the first thing I grabbed when we left the bunker.” I smiled, climbing back in the bed next to him. “Need anything?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, I think. I um…not sure how to say this but I think I need you” Sam looked into my eyes, pleading.

“Well, I'm right here. Just tell me what you need me to do.” I sat up more, meeting his eyes.

“No. I mean like. God…My head was killing me but the closer you get, the better i’m feeling. It’s like my body is aching for you.” Sam’s face was serious but gentle.

“I don't understand what you mean“. My cheeks turned a bright red.

From across the room, my phone rang out, a high-pitched melody playing. I jumped up, grabbing it from the bar. “It’s Bobby”.

“Y/n? Think I found something…Something weird. Real weird. Bobby's voice rang out as I put him on speaker.

“Well, spit it out, Bobby. What are you waiting for?” I asked impatiently.

“Okay, okay. I think Sam is under a nympho spell.”

“Nympho spell? What the hell is that?”

“Well from what I'm reading, it's a sex spell. Kind of like what a siren uses. Lowers men into a witch's trap so they are more easily seduced.”

“What? So it's like viagra in a spell? How do we fix it?” I looked over at Sam, his face hit and flushed.

“Well, the lore says men who fought off the spell but die from an intense fever. So as nicely as I can say this, Sam needs a piece of ass.” Bobby sounded a bit grossed out by that.

“Okay, but the witch is dead? What am I supposed to do, stand on a corner and wait for a lady to offer herself right up?”

“No, no. The spell is focused on one person. You just need to figure out who that is.”

I thought for a moment, taking in Bobby’s words. “That makes sense…Bobby, I gotta go.” I hung up the phone quickly, meeting Sam’s eyes from across the room. He brought a pillow up to his hips, gripping it tight.

I grabbed the phone again and called Dean.

“Hey, is he good?” Dean spoke.

“Talked to Bobby and um. Well, he basically told me Sam has a sex curse that can only be cured if we…ya know…do it.”

Dean was quiet for a moment before he started laughing. “So y'all gotta, what, just fuck?” He blurted out.

“Listen, just don't come back to the room. I'll see if this works. And Dean?…I never want to speak about this night ever again.” I whispered.

“Alright alright, just be careful. Don't do anything you don't want to. I'll get the room next door.”

I hung up, placing the phone back on the counter and walking over to Sam. I swallowed deeply. It's not like I haven't thought about it before, just thought it would happen differently, I guess.

“Sammy, I think you’re right. Think you might actually really need…me.” I approached him slowly, kind of afraid of what my words might do to him. Sam was gripping the sheets under him, biting his lip so hard I think he might have drawn blood.

“I think you're under a spell, sammy. One I can help with, if you’ll let me.” I stood at the foot of the bed waiting for his answer. God, okay. Please, Please. Just need to make this go away. Please.” He sounded almost drunk, slurring and groaning at each plea. I can't lie, it was making me go crazy too.

“Okay, I will. I promise this will work”. I hoped it would anyway.

I swallowed and made myself more confident. I can do this. I will do this. Besides, I couldn't just let him sit here and die like this. I climbed up the bed, sprawling myself on top of Sam. My hips lined up with his. I immediately noticed Sam became relaxed, the grip on the sheets loosen and his eyes finally open.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Sam spoke, his voice calm now. His hand immediately reached for my waist, pushing me down on top of him. “I don’t know if I can stop if you let me start. I swear I never felt a need like this before.” Sam's eyes pleaded with me.

“It’s okay… I just want to make you better. Just do whatever you need. I’ll be fine.” I met Sam’s eyes, smiling a bit. I was nervous and I knew he was right. He wouldn't be able to hold back at all.

Sam looked me in the eyes before quickly slamming me down on the mattress, hovering over me. “I’m so sorry y/n but this is gonna hurt.” Sam spoke before pinning my arms above my head and crashing his lips against mine.

He let out a groan at the kiss, bucking his hips into me for any sort of friction he could manage. He tasted like mint and smelled like fresh pine. I tried to keep up with the kiss as he sucked my bottom lip, dancing his tongue around mine.

I roughly ended the kissing, ripping my shirt shorts off and throwing them across the room. The air sent a cold chill through me. Sam placed a string of kisses down my neck, sucking hard leaving a trail of dark purple bruises after every touch. A part of me loved that they would stay for days.

Sam quickly pulled his own short off, his cock free. I watched as he grabbed his thick member, pumping it roughly. He had the biggest dick ive ever seen in person. Probably around eight inches and at least an one and a half inches thick. God, would that even fit? I guess it made sense, seeing as how the rest of his body was so big.

Sam brought my legs up, putting him around his shoulder and lined his cock up with my entrance. I brace myself as he slammed into me without any warm up. No mercy.

He dragged himself through me, slamming into my cervix so hard I would feel it for days. “Fuck sammy, feel you in my stomach.” I screamed.

“Be a good girl for me, give me that tight pussy.” Sam growled loudly, ripping through me with so much force I was already coming. A thick clear liquid leaked out of me, onto the base of Sam’s cock.

Sam showed no signs of stopping, no care that I was already a creaming mess under him. He kept his pace fast and rough. “Fucking clench that pussy around me. Such a good little girl.” Sam growled.

He brought a hand to my neck, gripping it tight. It was the perfect pressure at first, but he gripped down tighter, making all the air escape me. I tried to get him to stop but my words only came out as interrupted whines. He gripped harder, causing my yes to fall a bit. The room spun and I began seeing black. I swear I actually passed out before Sam finally let go, pumping into me harder and harder.

“Sammy, please. It's too big, too much.” I did my best to get him to slow down.

“No, it’s not. Be a good girl and take it.” He replied back.

I felt myself go over the edge again, digging my nails hard into his back. I knew my nails would leave marks. Sam showed no signs of pain, in fact I think he liked it.

“Tried to warn you, baby. Told you it would hurt.” Sammy mumbled, “Open your mouth little girl.”

I followed his instructions, a bit scared what he would do if I didn't. Sam leaned down, holding my cheeks and spitting roughly in my mouth. It was hot and thick as I swallowed, causing me to gag a bit.

“Such a good girl. I love you, you know that?” Sam finally slowed his pace for a moment, meeting his eyes with mine. “Fucking love you so much, swear I always have.” He pressed his lips onto mine again. This kiss was different, slow and gentle.

“Oh fuck, Sammy. I’m gonna cum again. Please. I can’t. I can't” My words were like cries as the head board slammed against the wall of the hotel.

“Mmh, I know you can baby. Know you have more in you. Don’t give up on me now.” He mocked me, using a bit of a whining voice.

His cock was driving me crazy. I could hardly keep my legs on his shoulders anymore.

Another orgasm ripped through me. I started feeling like I was going to pee, a sensation I never felt heavy in the back of my pussy. “Sammy, Plea-”.

Sam cut me off as he quickly pulled his couch out, sending mu juices out like a water hose. “Fuck baby, got you fucking squirting for me already.” Sam bragged.

I screamed his name, my back arching off the bed as he slammed back into me over and over. Tears filled my eyes as I begged him to cum, wet streaks falling down my face. He whipped them away with his thumb and brought it to my lips. I parted them slightly and began sucking. “That’s it baby. Just relax, let daddy do his job.” Same whispered deep in my ear. The name echoed through my thoughts. Didn’t expect him to like that.

“Fuck, daddy. Please. I can't cum anymore. Daddy, please cum. Please cum inside me.” my arms fell by my side, no strength to keep them up anymore.

“Fuck y/n so nasty for me. Want me to fucking cum? Breed this tight little pussy, huh?” He was condensing, slapping his balls against the base of my pussy like a maniac.

“Please, Daddy. Just want you to cum.” I moaned weakly.

Sam growled as he sped up his pace, moaning my name over and over again. I felt a warm liquid shoot into me as he began slowing down, dropping his body weight on top of me.

I moaned and cried as I felt him go soft inside me, only pulling out when rolled over.

Sam turned to me, placing soft kisses onto my lips and dragging me onto him in a hug.

“Y/N, you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you? What do you need?’ Sam rambled as I shook on top of him, a mess of juices.

“Let me clean you up.” Sam stood walking to the bathroom and running warm water under a rag. He softly spread my legs a bit, whipping up and sign of him. I moaned, closing my legs to try and stop the sensation and pressure on my clit.

Oh Fuck, I, bruised you. I’m so sorry y/n. Let me see.” Sam spoke as he moved my hair away from my neck, a string of hickey and bruised from his finger bright red.

��I-I’m okay. Just need you here with me” I moaned.

Sam gently sat back on the bed, caressing my back and letting out quiet “Shh’s”.

“I did mean it. When I said I loved you,” Sam quietly spoke, placing soft kisses on my shoulder.

“I know. Love ya too, Sammy”.

#smut #sam winchester #sam x reader #sam x y/n #supernatural #sam smut #spn #spnfandom

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