#it wasn't supposed to be like that. i know
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egophiliac · 8 hours ago
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DOGS
IN
SPACE
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hedgehog-moss · 2 days ago
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I had a friend over this week and even though the weather wasn't ideal, we decided we were going to go for a long walk in the surrounding woods with all three llamas. Since Pampelune is the uncontested chief, you just need to halter her and her herd follows wherever she goes. Sometimes we emerged from the woods into a pasture and Pampérigouste started galloping like mad (followed by her daughter & her abandonment issues), but then Pampy would object with some firm hums and the other two returned, chastened.
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We'd brought a head of cabbage and we gave her a few leaves every time she successfully used her matriarch authority to re-gather our little group around her, even though she'd do it for free, because it's so nice to be able to go on walks with only one haltered llama and watch the younger ones frolic and explore the world as we go. Pampy seemed happy to walk with us at a steadier pace and to trade freedom for cabbage.
We'd initially planned to stay on my side of the torrent, but after meandering downhill for a long time we unexpectedly found an old bridge I didn't know existed, and it looked very inviting, so we crossed. (Ominous chords.) Then we enthusiastically went up hoping we'd see my house from the opposite hill—and we did, here it is :)
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And then we went back into the woods, and got lost. Of course. I really think my friend carries some sort of curse because I don't usually get lost in nature but the last time we went on a great hike we also found ourselves completely disoriented in a featureless snowy plain, trying to glimpse the sun behind clouds and debating whether finding the North would help us in any way.
This time we were quicker to admit we were lost, and I said we could either go uphill, and we'd find the road eventually and the nearest milestone would tell us where we are (or we'd reach a farm on the plateau), or go downhill, and we'd find the stream eventually and cross it and then we'd be in a part of the woods I'd recognise. Probably.
Drawback of going uphill: it's technically the wrong direction, so the way home will be that much longer (and night falls at 5pm)
Drawback of going downhill: we'll have to cross the water at some point. Without a bridge. It would take a miracle to find that bridge again, supposing it was a real bridge and not a fae illusion to lead us astray.
After debating for a bit we decided to go downhill, because we were hopeful that we'd find a shallow spot to cross the stream, and also we feared that at nightfall the llamas might just lie down and decide to spend the night right here, in the woods. It's hard to make a llama get up again once she's decided that enough things happened for today.
The question of whether the llamas would accept to cross a mountain stream with us was left undebated—though we did regret having spent our cabbage too lavishly and too soon.
But we followed a rivulet downhill and Pampe crossed it repeatedly, with merry and graceful mountain goat jumps, which made us feel comforted in our decision.
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Then we got to a point where the water became visible, and very noisy, and Pampelune started to feel suspicious. She made worried hums and walked more reluctantly and (having squandered our cabbage) we had to cajole her into compliance.
I love that my friend captured the moment when I crouched down and started straight-up lying to my llama.
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Poldine was the last one to realise something was afoot, because she is young and trusting.
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Once she did, she also became a bit reluctant (she wanted to go uphill again), and more than once my friend had to open her cloak-like coat in order to look like a bat and persuade Poldine that nothing good was happening in that direction.
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We found a spot where the water was pretty shallow and decided to cross. The air temperature was maybe 1°c and the water felt like it was minus twelve so my friend wasn't exactly happy about the series of decisions that had led us to this point. I pointed out that last time in that snowy plain there was this piercing relentless evil wind howling in our ears and making unsettling voice-like sounds when it blew through holes in fences (to help her relativise) and she was like, when did this day go from singing walking songs and watching Pampe gambol in pastures to "at least this time we aren't being driven mad by ghostly wind."
I told her that things that go wrong become the most vivid and fun memories in the long term and we debated this postulate for a bit and I felt like I had successfully distracted her from our plight, until she put her foot in the water and said she wished she were in the metro in Paris right now. In Châtelet even. I said "but in two days you'll be in the Paris metro wishing you were here trying to cross a cold mountain stream with three appalled llamas!" and she said yes. Still, the situation is dire when a Parisian says she would rather be in Châtelet.
Pampe actually followed us quite quickly! I'm pointing this out because I'm always talking about how contrary Pampérigouste is, but she was so great about crossing the stream, even humming to her daughter as if to encourage her. I suppose she was telling Poldine that when they make their final escape and become wild llamas they'll probably have to cross mountain streams now and then.
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Poldine panicked a bit once everyone was on the other side of the water except her, and although I'd already wrung out my socks I was psychologically preparing myself to cross the ice-cold water again and go get her—but after walking up and down the other bank desperately looking for an invisible bridge, she resentfully crossed.
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Then we went uphill again and eventually found our way to my neighbour's pasture! I immediately recognised the old tree in the middle and I was very happy to see it. My friend was holding Pampy and I had climbed ahead to act as a scout, and I cried out to share my discovery feeling like Vasco de Gama. It was snowing just a tiny bit, and getting darker, and I think everyone (including Pirlouit, languishing alone in his pasture) had started to privately wonder if we were going to spend the night in the woods.
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One interesting activity we did when we went home was testing the various objects that live on or near my fireplace to see which ones are heavy and stable enough to hang very wet socks. We tried the wistful wooden shepherd, the porcelain fox, the music box shaped like a pile of books, the vase, and found that the only reliable spots in my living-room to dry your socks are under Sherlock Holmes and under Marie-Antoinette so we agreed on a fair sock-drying rotation. The living-room smelled of wet wool (or wet llama) all evening, but we had a glass of champagne to celebrate the fact that we weren't currently trying to fight hypothermia by curling up between two llamas in some frosty meadow, and we felt pleased with our adventure, all things considered.
We realised a bit late that we had been in such a hurry to go home and warm up we'd neglected to reward our hiking companions, so we very bravely put on new socks and went out in the night to look for the llamas with our phone lights and distribute some muesli. Pirlouit was included in the distribution because he definitely would have crossed the stream with us had he been invited (and told his hay was on the other side.) Also we got a kiss from Poldine so I think she replayed the day's events in her head and came to the conclusion that her mother was, somehow, as always, to blame for all this.
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d3arapril · 3 days ago
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PUSH 2 START | p.b
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pushin' on my buttons with no hesitation, gas me up give me motivation
pairing: paige bueckers x f!reader word count: 5.4k words of pure filth sorry not sorry warnings/tags: sexual content. VACATION PAIGE!!!, they get drunk and nasty FRRR, dom!paige, oral, fingering, strap usage (yes i finally wrote it), squirting, doggy, spanking, overstim - bro i could literally go on and on, just read it lol. (reminder - don't like it? don't read it)‼️ ᡣ𐭩 this idea quite literally came to me in a dream. this wasn't supposed to be full on smut but obviously i got carried away & ended up writing quite possibly the dirtiest thing i've ever written.... i listened to tyla's album on repeat whilst writing hence the random title. enjoy :D as always feedback & reblogs are appreciated x
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“Think I have heatstroke.”
You roll your eyes from where you’re sat on the balcony, distracted from the half eaten packet of lays sat in your lap. You shift in your seat to crane your neck around to look at Paige through the glass doors, sun beaming down onto your skin.
“We were outside for like, half an hour.”
The Greek sun was no joke. You'd both decided to treat yourselves to a last minute vacation, frantically booking one of the nicest apartments you could both find a week prior to departure. Seven days on a Greek island was your idea of heaven and Paige had willingly agreed, claiming she needed some sun.
However, what she wasn't prepared for was the sun being the hottest thing she'd ever felt in her 23 years of being alive– her words.
The blonde groans from where she’s splayed out on the bed. The crisp, white sheets are a nice contrast against her newly tanned skin, body wrapped in a white fluffy towel.
You stand up from the chair, grimacing at the sting of your legs unsticking from the plastic. The packet of lays gets abandoned on the small table before you and your toes burn against the hot tile as you hop back into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you.
Paige doesn't flinch when she hears you come in, cheek smooshed against the sheets. She hums in the back of her throat when you scratch at her scalp as you pass her, her hair still slightly damp from the shower.
"You gonna make it to dinner, champ?"
A breath of a laugh leaves Paige as she pushes herself up with another groan, towel loosely tucked around her body. You're busy sorting through the selection of dresses you'd packed when you feel her wrap her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
Her head juts towards the white dress hanging up in the closet. "Wear that one."
It's a fairly simple dress- plain white with a racer style neckline and ruffled skirt. You take it off the rail and hold it up in front of you, head tilting as you study it. "Really? It's kind of boring."
"Nah," Paige's hands rub up and down your sides, nose nudging against your cheek. "S'my favourite." She punctuates her sentence with a kiss to your jaw. It's seemingly innocent, but you know the girl well enough by now.
You slip out of her grip, dress in hand, before she can try anything, grabbing a pair of white strappy heels as you go.
"I'm gonna get ready in the bathroom," you're heading towards said room before she can stop you. "Reservation is at 8!"
You're sat on the couch, impatiently tapping a heel against the flooring. You tap against your phone screen to check the time for what felt like the hundredth time– you only had five minutes to get to the restaurant. Somehow, Paige always managed to take so long to get ready. You'd tried to get into the bedroom to see what was taking her so long but the door was locked so you were forced to sit and wait for her like her chauffeur.
You're scrolling through TikTok when you hear the lock click on the door. You huff, grabbing your bag from beside you. Standing up, you run a hand down your dress to flatten out any creases and when you look up Paige is stood in the doorway.
She's got her hair slicked back in her classic bun and she's wearing a white shirt with a simple black crop top underneath. The shorts she's wearing are black, too and she's wearing the Nike's you bought for her. She stands in silence, hands tucked into her pockets as she watches you take her all in.
You slink towards her, heels clicking against the tiles. You're aware you're probably staring at her like she's a piece of meat but you can't find it in you to car when she looks this good, plus it's not like she would complain.
"You're late," you hum, pulling her in by the belt loops. "What took you so long?"
She shrugs, opting to not respond. Instead, her hands reach out to rub down your back. "You look..." She pauses, leaning back. Her eyes start from your heels, trailing up your legs. Her gaze pauses on your chest for a second before meeting your eyes. "Really fucking good."
The pink of her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she takes your hand and holds it above your head. "Twirl for me."
You do as she says, giddily spinning in a circle for her. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip as she watches you, the vanilla from your perfume hitting her like some sort of pheromone. You drive her insane.
"You like?"
"You know I like. We're matching."
Before you can respond, the sudden dread of missing your reservation hits you and you're kicked into gear, eyes widening as you cast a glance at your phone in your hand.
"Fuck, we're late!"
You pull Paige by the wrist as you frantically leave the apartment, locking the door behind you and walking as fast as you could in your heels to the restaurant.
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Alcohol in Europe is different to the alcohol in America– it's somehow much, much stronger.
You'd had an amazing dinner, followed by some amazing cocktails. What was supposed to only be one or two turned into arguably too many and before you knew it you were both stumbling back to the apartment.
The front door is opened and shut again faster than you can blink and you're pressed against it before your brain can catch up with you. Your head spins a little when you tilt it up to give Paige access to your neck, dazed smile spreading across your lips.
"Mmmm," Paige all but moans against your skin, licking a stripe up your neck. "Tastes good."
"Might be the alcohol." the words leave you lazily, slurred. Paige pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over.
"Nah, s'all you."
You pull her in with a hand gripping the back of her neck, lips slotting against hers. It's hot, messy- her tongue slides against yours and you taste the alcohol on her breath. Ordinarily, you'd make a joke about her needing to brush her teeth but you're fully aware you're just as bad so you remain silent, just kiss her deeper and softly moan into her mouth.
When you part from each other you're both panting, string of spit separating the two of you. You lick your lips and it breaks, clinging to your bottom lip. Paige's thumb reaches up to wipe it away, pad of her thumb pressing against you. She just stares at you as she swipes the digit across slowly, smudging the remainder of your lip liner down your chin.
"So fucking fine," she murmurs, eyes trained on your lips. Your tongue darts out to lick at her thumb, smirk forming when she lets out a shaky breath. "You tryna kill me?"
"Maybe." you smirk at her, pushing at her shoulders until she stumbles back. You glide past her and head to the lounge, the blonde hot on your heels.
She catches you by the couch, arms caging you in from behind. You let her, of course. The cat and mouse game is usually fun but when you're this desperate, there are plenty other things you'd rather be doing.
"So many rooms to choose from," Paige whispers against the shell of your ear, "So many places to fuck you in."
Your knees almost give out and you're sure they would've if it wasn't for Paige holding you up, her chest pressed tight to your back.
"Could fuck you here," a flick of her head gestures to the couch.
Her hands find your chest, squeezing at your tits through the fabric of your dress. "Or on the counter, on the balcony."
You're abnormally quiet, nodding at whatever she says. She snickers, hands trailing down further until they reach the hem of your dress. Paige knows that when you're speechless, she's doing something right.
"You want that?"
"Yes."
"Which?"
"All of them."
She spins you around and you have to grab onto her to steady yourself. Her cheeks are all flushed and she's clearly just as drunk as you.
"Gonna let me?"
You feel like you're going to cry from how badly you want it.
You nod eagerly, gripping the fabric of her shirt. You want to rip it off of her, lick all over her tan lines and have your way with her but you let her have this one; you can tell she's in the mood to take control and you'd never be one to deny her of that.
She wrestles herself from your tight grip and flops down on the couch, legs spread and arms wide across the back cushions. You're still stood in your spot, hands now awkwardly by your sides as you wait for her to tell you what to do.
"Take it off."
You lean down to slip off your heels but she stops you with a cough.
"Keep 'em on, I meant your dress."
"But-"
"Off, c'mon."
You stand up straight again, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it up and off your body. It's a bit of a struggle and you stumble around slightly but it eventually slides off of your head. It drops beside you and you're left in a simple matching white set.
Despite the alcohol coursing through your body, you still manage to feel shy under Paige's heavy gaze. She's still sat in the same position, eyes raking over your body.
"C'mere."
You toe towards her with careful steps, nothing but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile and both of your heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. You're standing between her legs, much like you were earlier, and she still doesn't move from her spot, fingers gripping at the cushions of the couch.
Paige’s gaze remains locked on yours, her lips curling into a smirk as she leans back further into the couch, making no move to close the distance between you. Her liquid confidence oozes with the weight of her stare and the longer she waits the more your heartbeat thuds in your ears.
“Closer." she murmurs, her voice low.
You inch forward until your shins hit the leather of the couch. You try to stop your hands from shaking, try to act like this is any other time you've been in this situation but there's something about having the entire space to yourself that makes this feel so different, so intense.
"Do you plan to do this all night, or?" your voice comes out quieter than you'd intended.
She lets out a laugh, arms reaching forward to pull you in by your hips. You fall into her lap, bracing yourself against her shoulders to soften the impact.
"I just like lookin' at you," Paige licks her lips, glossy eyes looking up at you. "So sexy, you know that?" Her left hand smooths up your torso, grips at the fat of your chest and squeezes.
You whimper pathetically at the contact, your hands moving from their spot on her shoulders to her hair. You mess with the hair ties and pull the bun free, fingers brushing through the blonde strands. Paige hisses when your nails scratch against her scalp, hips pushing upwards against your own.
Her right hand slides around your back and she pulls you down until your chests are pressed together. You kiss her, open mouthed and messy as your tongue laps at hers, grinding down against her. The rough metal of her zipper presses against you through the thin material of your underwear and you whimper against her mouth, eyebrows drawing together at the feeling.
Paige's left hand finds home on your ass, squeezing and guiding you to rock against her. You whimper into the kiss as she uses her hold on you to grind you down onto her harder, tongue pushing further into your mouth. You can feel the heat radiating off of her, can smell the scent of the shampoo she used in the shower this afternoon and taste the alcohol on her tongue. You're practically drunk on her let alone the alcohol, and she's definitely drunk on you, too.
You're so caught up in the moment you're not prepared for Paige to flip you around. You let out a small ah! as she does so, head spinning from the sudden movement. Your back is now against the cushions, leather sticking to your sweaty skin. The blonde slips down onto the tiles in front of you, now kneeling between your legs.
"Hold 'em." Paige's hands are at the backs of your knees, pushing them up until they're almost at your chest. The heels of your shoes knock together and it's a reminder that you're actually still wearing them. You do as she says, clammy hands gripped tight over hers. You watch with bated breath as she slips her hands from your grip, thumb coming to press against your clit through your panties. It's a soft touch but it's enough to make you gush again; what was once a thick white material now a glossy, sheer mess.
"Fuck," Paige breathes. She moves her thumb in small, gentle circles around the clothed area. Your head falls back against the cushion of the couch, mouth open in a silent moan. "This all for me?"
"Always," you murmur, licking your lips as you move your heavy head, eyes meeting hers. "It's yours."
"Yeah it is," Paige nods, her voice coming out strained. She moves to slide her hands up the backs of your thighs and hooks both thumbs into your panties, pulling them up and off your legs until they're hanging around your ankle, exposing your pussy. "So good." she purrs, leaning forward to press open mouthed kisses against you. You suck in a breath when her tongue laps up your slit, nails digging into the skin of your thighs.
She moves slowly at first, and for a moment you wonder if it's because of her own drunkenness, but the longer she goes on the more you're reminded of just how good she is at this. You feel like you're going to explode at the slightest touch, every stroke of her tongue against your clit sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.
"Paige," you moan repeatedly, her name coming out like a prayer. She hums against you, hands pressing against the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open for her.
You gasp at the feeling of her warm, wet muscle pushing past your folds to languidly dip against your entrance. "Oh fuck, fuck- babe."
She's sloppy with it, a mixture of your juices and her spit dripping down between your ass and onto the couch. You'll scold her for doing this here tomorrow but right now it's your last concern.
Your toes curl when she shakes her head against you, tongue flicking against your clit. "Gonna make me cum," the words leave you as a sob, mouth hanging open. You feel the wetness between your thighs increase even more when you hear her moan, the vibrations shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "Feels so good."
Paige's fingers dig harder into the skin of your thighs as she continues to lap at you. She pushes her tongue into you again and then moves upwards, pressing sloppy kisses against your swollen clit.
"Yeah, right there, please-" you choke on your own words, the feeling of her nose brushing against your sensitive skin making you jolt. You can't stop the loud cry that leaves you as she sucks your clit back into her mouth, tongue massaging against it.
The room is spinning and your legs start to cramp from how hard your muscles are tensed, nails almost piercing into your skin when the chord in your stomach suddenly snaps. You're practically crying, eyes rolled back in your head when it hits you. Paige helps you ride it out, keeping you pressed to the couch whilst she drinks up your slick. You're trembling, stomach rippling from the intensity.
You expect Paige to pull away, lean up and give you a messy kiss like she normally would but instead she slides two fingers up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness on the tips before she's pushing them into you.
"Wait," you whimper, feet kicking in the air. "Babe, wait, I just- I'm-"
"You're good," she murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as her fingers slowly pump in and out of you. "I got you, just relax."
You mewl, letting her have her way with you. She starts off slow, fingers curling up deep. The sound is obscene, with every flick of her fingers the wet sound fills the air but you feel no shame, if anything it just turns you on more.
Paige definitely feels you flood her fingers because she picks up the pace, thrusting her fingers deeper into you, curling them with each stroke. Your entire body is coated in sweat, droplets beading against your skin. Her other hand moves from its place on your thigh to spread you wider, opening you up to her even more.
It's all too much; the heat, the way you're spread open for her, the pressure building deep in your stomach. She adds a third finger and the stretch makes you sob, legs starting to shake in your grip.
"I can't," the words spill from you, incoherently. "Please, please I can't."
"Shhh," Paige coos, leaning down to kiss the back of your thigh. "You can, gonna make you cum again."
She curls her fingers and the tip of her middle finger brushes against that spot, her palm pressing down against your clit. The feeling is so intense and you can't do anything but whine, thighs shaking around her.
"So good to me," Paige breathes out, heart hammering in her chest. She watches the way your pussy clings to her fingers, the digits now glistening as she pulls them out of you before thrusting back in. "She loves me, hm?"
You nod feebly, tears slipping down your cheeks, head lolling against the cushions of the couch.
Paige is relentless, fucking her fingers into you with such force you can feel the pressure in your ass. Your legs are starting to burn and so are your hips and it feels like a balloon is being blown up in your stomach, pressure becoming harder to ignore with every pump of her fingers.
"M'gonna cum, fuck, Paige-"
You cum for the second time with a broken sob and you hear it before you feel it, the distant sound of a splash against the tiles below you followed by Paige's load groan. It hits you hard, legs quivering as you squirt around her fingers, the wetness coating the floor. She slips her fingers out quick enough for another gush to leave you, trickling down your ass and onto the leather.
She moans, watching it play out in front of her. It's the hottest thing she's ever seen, her fingers now rubbing against your clit in quick motions.
"Again, again."
"Fuck, I can't-"
"Again." she demands but the word leaves her like she's begging, voice a pitch higher.
It's embarrassing how fast the heat builds in your stomach again, and before you can stop it you're squirting all over again, pussy clenching against nothing as you cry out.
Paige leans down, tongue slipping between your folds to drink you up. You're sobbing, trying to get away from her but you can barely move.
"You're okay," Paige mumbles, soothing her hand down your quivering leg. "I got you, s'okay."
A moment passes, Paige's head resting against the back of your thigh as she strokes her soaked hand against the other. You drop your legs ungracefully, stretching your limbs and groaning when your hips and knees crack after being bent for so long.
"That sobered me up." you whisper, heavy eyelids threatening to close. "Did they put viagra in your drink?"
Paige stifles a laugh, her own knees cracking when she stands up. She holds out a hand you to help you up and you take it with a shaky one of your own. You grimace at the feeling of the wet leather sticking to your bare skin, standing up.
"You ruined the couch."
"Says the one who squirted like a fucking firehose." Paige's hand comes up to push the hair from her face, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. "S'not my fault I do that to you."
You groan, pushing at her shoulder. "Shut up."
Paige laughs and drops her hands to your hips, walking you backwards towards the bedroom. You stumble a little, bambi-like legs struggling in your heels.
"Get on the bed."
You're pushed backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly when you hit the sheets. Your chest is heaving, heart still thumping wildly in your chest. Paige is climbing over you, caging you in with her arms and legs. Her lips ghost the shell of your ear,
"Still gotta fuck you in here."
She ducks down and connects your lips, teeth knocking against yours as she does so. Her hips grind down against yours and your hands snake under the fabric of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. Paige pulls back to shrug it off of her and throw it blindly behind her, reaching back to pull her crop top off in one fluid movement. She's braless, tan lines from her bikini top prominent against her now tanned skin. The sight alone makes you moan.
You both shimmy up the bed, lips still connected, and when the back of your head hits the pillow Paige's lips are on your neck. You sigh, hand smoothing down her back. Her skin is damp and so is yours, the smell of sex filling the air.
"Please, babe," you whimper, fingers pulling at the waistband of her shorts. Paige hums, sitting up to push them down her legs and kick them off.
"Hmm," she murmurs, fingers sliding over your cheek, thumb resting against your bottom lip. You part your lips, tongue swiping out to lick the pad of her thumb. "You gonna do something for me?"
"Anything."
Wordlessly, Paige pulls off her boxers with practiced ease and begins crawling over you. Her hand rests against the headboard as she steadies herself, the other reaching down to cup her pussy. You lick your lips, eyes flickering between hers and her cunt.
"Please," the word is soft, leaving you breathlessly. "I wanna taste you, please."
"Yeah?" she tilts her head, the pad of her index finger sliding up and down her slit. You watch her gather her wetness and then bring it up to her clit, circling the bud. "Wanna make me cum?"
"Please, please." you grip at her thighs, nails digging into her skin. Paige moans at the feeling, her own hand now moving faster against herself. "Wanna make you feel good."
Paige's hand leaves her pussy and she hovers above you, holding onto the headboard. You lift your head and stick your tongue out, eager for her to sit on you. You whine when she hovers her pussy just above your mouth, tongue swiping out to lick against her folds.
"Fuck, yeah," Paige moans, head dropping forward. Her left hand grips the headboard whilst her right holds onto her pussy, spreading herself open for you. "Yeah, good girl."
The praise goes straight to your core and you moan, tongue darting out again. She's finally sat on your face and your head falls back against the pillow, licking at her cunt like a woman starved.
She starts grinding against your tongue, the slick sounds filling the air. You're making a mess of yourself, saliva dribbling down your chin as you lap at her, tongue dipping inside her.
"S'good," Paige pants, grip against the headboard tightening. "Yeah, like that-oh fuck."
Your tongue flicks against her clit, your thighs squeezing together as a you feel your pussy gush just from making her feel good. She's so warm and wet and tastes so good and you can't get enough, tongue lapping at her clit in quick, harsh motions.
"Keep- fuck- keep doing that," her head drops forward and her hips cant, her movements becoming sloppy as she chases her high. "Right there, yes-"
Her legs start shaking, the muscles quivering under your touch and her hand reaches down, smoothing against your hair. Her hips move erratically, chasing her orgasm.
"Oh fuck, m'gonna cum." she pants, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her breasts. "Keep- yeah, yeah-"
Paige cries out with a broken moan, her orgasm washing over her. She's shaking all over, groaning as you keep lapping at her clit. You drink her up, moaning against her pussy.
"Please," she begs, her voice high pitched. "Fuck, I can't."
She's cut off by her own sob, eyes rolling back in her head. The room is filled with her moans, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the obscene sounds coming from where your mouth is.
Paige is squirming on top of you, the sensation of overstimulation sending waves of pleasure through her body. Two can play at that game, you think.
"So good to me," Paige manages to choke out between moans, teeth gritted. "My fucking girl, s'so good."
You're drunk off of her, her words of encouragement only spurring you on. You roll your tongue against her clit, nails pressing down harder into her skin. Paige fights against your grip, hips lifting up as she pants heavily, forehead pressed against the wall.
She shakily moves her hips backwards and away from your mouth, now sitting across your hips. You're breathing just as heavily, the room spinning around you. Your chest is heaving and your eyes are half lidded as you stare up at her, lips red and puffy.
"You're so hot," you mumble, eyes drifting across her chest. The words leaving you before you can even process them.
Paige snickers, running a hand through her hair. "I know."
"So fucking annoying."
"You love it."
And well, she's not wrong. You reach up, cupping her tits and giving them a firm squeeze. Her hands reach up to cover yours, leaning into your grip.
"You want it?"
It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and figure out what she's referring to but when she gestures down to her crotch with a nod of her head, the cogs turn into place.
Paige spots the excitement in your eyes because she sniggers, tongue kissing her teeth. "'Course you do."
She clambers off of you, slight wobble in her legs as she does so. The moonlight dances through the room and you can see the sweat beading against her back, muscles rippling when she digs through her suitcase.
When she turns back she's got the harness briefs dangling from her fingers, skin coloured dildo fisted in the other hand. She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes back at her, urging her to get on with it.
She stands at the end of the bed, slipping the boxers over her feet and up her legs. She fits the dildo into place, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in concentration when she fumbles slightly.
You watch her with bated breath, squeezing at your covered tits mindlessly.
"Keep that on," Paige mumbles, nodding towards your bra. She crawls onto the bed, stopping at your feet. "Turn over for me."
You flip over with a groan, using what little strength you had left to keep your chest flat to the mattress, ass high in the air. Just how you know she liked it.
She affirms your thoughts with a soft moan at the sight of you, moving further up the bed. You feel the plastic brush up against you and it makes your thighs twitch, ass jutting up higher for her touch.
Her hands smooth against your ass, squeezing at the fat of it when you back up against her again. "Someone's impatient."
"C'mon." you urge, shaking your ass just enough to get her to fold. It works, of course, because she moans again- deeper this time. She grips the base of the dildo and slides it between your folds, blunt head nudging your clit. You're still soaking wet, the plastic glistening before she's even put it in you.
"Damn," the word leaves Paige automatically, pupils blown out as she admires your mess. "Ask me nicely and I'll put it in."
You groan against the sheets, fits gripping the cotton tightly. "Please, Paigey."
The nickname gets you a harsh slap to the ass, the impact stinging your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth but the smirk grows across your lips despite it all.
"Fuck me Paigey, please."
"Shut the fuck up."
She slides in with one smooth motion, intrusion bringing your brows up to your hairline. It stings slightly but the familiar is welcomed, comforting almost.
"Gonna fuck you now," Paige's hands smooth down your back, coming to rest at the base of your spine. "Gonna make you fucking cry."
You strain your neck against the bed to get a peek at her and you're not sure you've ever seen her this wound up before- her eyes are wide, a red flush travelling across her chest and up to her cheeks. She's fucked.
Her hips draw back and then slam back into you, the sound of skin on skin deafening you. She's unforgiving, nails digging into your skin as she uses your hips as leverage to fuck into you. She's grunting with each thrust, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.
"Yeah, yeah-" you whine, eyes screwed shut as the blonde ruins you. You can just about hear how wet you are over the sound of her skin smacking against yours, the recognisable squelch of your pussy getting louder when she grants you with another slap to the ass. "You fuck me so go-ood."
"Yeah?" Paige breathes out, slapping your ass again. Her hand tingles from the force but she ignores it, slapping your other ass cheek with the same hand. "Whose pussy is this? Hm?"
You can barely respond, body jostling against the sheets.
"Is it mine, baby?"
You nod against the sheets, helpless.
Another slap.
"Tell me."
"It's yours!" you cry out, fingers practically ripping holes into the sheets. "Yoursyoursyours-"
"Fuck yeah it is."
She pistons in and out of you at an ungodly speed and it makes you dizzy- so dizzy you don't even feel your orgasm approaching until you're on the edge, threatening to tip over.
"Cumming!" is all you can let out, the word caught in your chest as your spine curls inwards, heels kicking up against your girlfriend. It hits you like a truck, legs spasming and arms stretching out against the sheets as you cream against Paige. You see spots in your vision, eyes crossing as the pleasure consumes you. You feel everything, and then all of a sudden- nothing.
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"You good princess?"
You crack an eye open to see Paige laying beside you, propped up on an elbow. She's gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, hair now pulled up into a messy bun atop of her head.
"Did I die?"
She snickers, leaning across to press a kiss to your forehead. "I killed that pussy, maybe."
You release the sheets that's still gripped in your hand to shove the blonde back but she just sticks her tongue out at you, reaching behind her for a glass of water left on the bedside drawer.
"Drink some, you need it."
She holds it to your mouth and you chug it down, dry throat welcoming the fluid. "I seriously passed out?"
"Eh," Paige shrugs, rubbing down your back. "You were conscious, just about."
"Wow," you roll onto your front, ache between your thighs making itself evident. "You did a number on me."
"Same again tomorrow?"
Your palm smooshes against her face, pushing her away with a laugh.
"Your turn tomorrow, Bueckers."
840 notes · View notes
vampiresbloodx · 2 days ago
Text
Arcane imagine.
Arcane characters react when you take a hit for them.
Characters included: Mel medarda, Caitlyn, vi, jinx, sevika.
Trigger warnings: fluff, angst, reader getting hurt, injuries, yearning, implied smut, gross m*n, harassment
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Mel medarda;
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It was a seemingly normal night for you both, you had decided to take Mel out for dinner, nothing too luxurious (in her own words) but you wanted nothing but the best for your Mel, she appreciated that, god, she never looked more beautiful when she's standing in the moonlight in her red dress she especially wore for you and only you
The night was going just as planned, it was perfect, there was much laughter and smiles that hurt both of your cheeks, as you held hands and walked together, occasionally sitting down and kissing one another, when of course, a drunk man happened to be near by, and he didn't like what he saw, the famous Mel medarda kissing someone that wasn't a man
He ended up becoming furious, stumbling over as he started shouting nonsense, Mel wasn't having it, she used her authority voice that turns stern to control the situation, she does this when she's nervous, and you can tell when she grips onto your hand tighter
When you see the man raising his hand in her direction, you immediately shield her and take the hit, your cheek stings as you even taste blood, that was Mel's last straw when she saw him hit her lover, you've never seen her this angry, it was a sight to see her cussing out the man and ruining him to pieces, he ended up walking off, leaving you alone as you felt a little ashamed, but you were happy that you had stopped him from hitting Mel, no one hits her
"why'd you do that?" Mel had asked, bending down on her knees as she takes your face in her hands, checking to make sure you're okay. "Why did you do that?" She keeps on asking, her eyes wide with fury and worry.
"Because I love you" was all you said.
She smiled, laughed, you laughed with her, she had tears in her eyes, though you wouldn't bring it up, you wiped some away with your thumb, as she kissed you hard
Caitlyn;
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Caitlyn was out doing her duty when you were supposed to be at home, relaxing, waiting for her return, things have been getting rough fast, much to her liking as she had to deal with it all
She knew there was no going back once she went down this road, it had to be done, you had tried convincing her to stop and think, you know her grief has been eating at her, you've felt it, you know what it's like yourself
She tries to hide it, but you can see it
You try to be there for her in any way you can, whatever she needs, you'll give
While she was out one night, alone, you know she's capable of taking care of herself, you don't doubt that at all, the one time she didn't have her gun with her is when shit happens, you don't like guns, she knows this, so she tries not to carry them around you, unless absolute necessary
Then out of no where, she's attacked.
And she stumbles, for the first time in so long, she's nervous, scared, thinking about you
They came out of no where, taking her off guard as they had their masks on, it was dark out, she couldn't see much
Then you appear all of a sudden, like a knight in shining armor, she watches you in awe before she realizes what you are doing with the way you jumped at them, with fury on your face as you raised your fist, ready to protect her, she shouted your name, you looked, and you got hit
Caitlyn lost it
They were all done by the time you opened your eyes again, embarrassed, you couldn't look at Caitlyn in the eyes but she had picked you up in her arms, carrying you home, she was silent, thinking you were still out, you admired her, reaching out to caress her cheek, she smiled, looking down at you as that tells you enough
Vi;
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You hadn't seen vi all day, you knew she'd come home eventually, you two had plans, a date she promised, but something didn't feel right
Vi doesn't fuck around when she makes a promise to meet with you, you know that, she knows that, others might not, but you do
When she doesn't answer your calls and texts, you get worried, eventually you went out of your apartment to go and track her down, you know a few places she'd always be at
When you find her in a tight situation, in a dark alleyway, just a few blocks away from home, as it looks like she was on the way back to you, you felt frustrated as you watched three big, tall guys who clearly had a bit to drink pick on her
Vi had fought the worst of the worst, you know that, but you weren't having it
She didn't let you join in on fighting, scared for you, she worries sick, that she might lose you, but she doubts you enough, you know it wasn't doubt though, she just cared
She cared so much
It was a surprise when she saw you running at full speed at one of the guys and taking a huge hit when he got a hand of you, shoving you off, vi was pissed
Anger was all she felt as she kicked all of their asses
She was muttering while checking in on you, she patched you up and took care of you, making sure you were okay, in her eyes, she couldn't help but admit that it was hot, and that made her fall in love harder with you
Jinx;
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Jinx had always been the one to fight for herself
She wasn't used to others stepping in, unless it was for work
Like if silco had ordered them too go with her, that wouldn't make a difference
Jinx was always going to be doing everything herself, that was until you came into her life, when everything went shit when silco died, you were her light
And Isha
You two meant more to her than she could ever imagine
She began to look forward to tomorrow
The one time you, Isha, jinx all decided to go out for an adventure, she wanted to impress you with her new projects that she was working on, you always listened to her ramble and she liked it, not many people did aside from sevika, Isha and you
Though sevika just tolerated it
Everything was going perfect, when a group of idiots came out and she didn't even have all of her fancy weapons on her, the one time she doesn't, because she just wanted to have fun with her favorite people, she was actually enjoying herself, which why she got so angry when they attacked
She knows she's got plenty of enemies, that's nothing new, but what she doesn't like is when any of them go for Isha or you, you two shouldn't be involved in this, even though you and her are together together, you were more vulnerable now
She was amazed by you
What she didn't expect was to watch you stand in front of her and take a huge hit to the face just when she was handling the guys her way, that caught her off balance
She raged at them
Once she was done with them, she took your hands as she was filled with worry, her anxiety buzzing, her thoughts too loud, thinking the worst, Isha helped you stand up, she also looked concerned, wondering what had happened, why you got hurt
Jinx didn't waste anytime pressing a kiss to your lips as she took you home with Isha alongside her
Sevika;
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Sevika just wanted to take you out on a nice date, as best as she could offer, she knows you'd appreciate it regardless, but she wanted to give you everything she could
You had made everything better for her the moment you stepped into her life, she wanted to do you good
The date was going perfectly, just the way she had planned, it wasn't often sevika was pleased with herself, but tonight you looked good enough to eat
Just when everything was going fine, someone had to ruin it
Someone who was upset with her
Sevika knew she made a name for herself, people knew her, they weren't always the nicest
Usually just wanted to try and fight her, to see if they'd beat her, they never do, it ends up written on all their faces
But of course, her first date with you got interrupted, and Sevika wasn't having it when this guy was trying so hard to get with you, she hated how uncomfortable you looked, he didn't even recognize her there the entire time as she stared him down with a cold glare, she made her presence known
He looked flabbergasted at the sight of sevika having a date with someone like you, you two were different, sure, she didn't care what others think, especially if they targeted you
You said you were used to it, guys coming up and flirting with you, making gross comments, she wasn't having it, she didn't care how used to it you were
"are you done here?" Sevika asked, taking a bite of a cherry as you watched, admiring her, she smirked at you.
The guy huffs, unimpressed, "the fuck are you doing here, bitch?" He slurred, leaning closer.
The moment you heard him call her a bitch, you immediately stood up, as the both of them got heated, fast, you know sevika doesn't back down from a fight for anyone, especially a sloppy moyherfucker like him who runs his stupid mouth
You spotted him getting closer and raiding his hand at her, no, you weren't going to have tonight end up blood spilt, as hot as that'd be, you wanted your date to be perfect
Just before he could even punch your Sevika, you were able to get in between them fast, his hand hitting hard on your check as you fell against her front
She stared at you with wide eyes, and raged at the guy
She knew you didn't want her fighting anyone on your date, but that set her off
The pain stung as you knew it was gonna bruise, fuck, but you wanted to make sure it wasn't always her getting the first hit
He ended up on the floor, passed out fast
Sevika had you in her arms, kissing you rough, you tasted blood, it was everything, she never looked more beautiful as she stared at you with so much love
"I'm gonna treat you so good, baby."
Tonight was far from over
583 notes · View notes
a1ecmcdowell · 2 days ago
Text
dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.
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or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.
cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.
word count : 2.9k
notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3
req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them
★ ˚⋆
dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.
very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.
the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.
sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.
but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.
and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?
so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.
you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.
but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.
and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.
dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.
but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.
you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.
dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.
"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.
dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"
you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.
"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."
christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.
"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."
another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—
"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.
dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.
dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.
"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"
the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.
he drove past it.
dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?
"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.
your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"
"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...
he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?
"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.
he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—
you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.
"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).
dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.
"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.
you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.
"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."
the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.
he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."
pause.
"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."
hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.
"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."
dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.
you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.
god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.
you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.
once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.
you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."
and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.
"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."
the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.
dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"
you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.
slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "
you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.
"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.
"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."
his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.
he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"
"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."
dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."
it was dead empty, four miles back.
"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."
"dean—"
he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.
his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."
dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.
he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.
"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.
you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."
"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.
"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"
dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.
"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."
he was so damn screwed.
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tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite
379 notes · View notes
barcaatthemoon · 3 days ago
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mascot || leah williamson x reader ||
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you and leah have a talk about expanding your family after your nephew is leah's mascot.
"There's a canon on my shirt," Max, your nephew, proudly announced to the car. You felt bad about leaving Leah on her own for the morning before a game, but Max was supposed to be her mascot for the game today, and you wanted to personally deliver the boy. Your family would be down later, but you got to keep him to yourself for the morning and afternoon leading up to the game.
"It's the Arsenal canon. Pretty cool, right?" you asked him. Max nodded enthusiastically. You smiled as you turned your attention back towards traffic. It was a dreadfully long drive from your brother's place to London, but this was worth it. Besides, after the game, Max would get to spend some quality time at your parents' place for a bit.
You generally had busy days for most of Max's visits, compliments of your girlfriend. Leah loved having the boy over, and usually had a bunch of little things planned for the three of you to do together. Today, it'd be a chill day of brunch before you went to the game. Max was careful in keeping his Williamson jersey clean, which you thought was quite the feat for the boy.
"Is that my favorite bench buddy?" Alessia asked as she saw you in the parking lot. Max's face lit up as he saw the blonde. He was fond of all of the Lioness players. Since he had lived in England his entire life, he thought of himself as a proper little Englishman. You and your brother were absolutely besides yourselves trying to correct that, but it was a losing battle.
"Where's Leah at?" Max was hugging Alessia, but his focus was on your girlfriend. Alessia laughed, promising to bring Max to Leah once they were inside. You left took Max back so that Alessia could get dressed, unsurprised when Leah and Kim came out to see Max.
Leah went straight to you, giving you a big kiss while Kim had Max distracted. She handed him a little Scottish flag, something you knew that would end up as a decoration on your brother's desk. Max didn't care for Scottish stuff, but that wouldn't stop any of you from trying with him.
"Do you like my canon Leah?" Max asked. Leah nodded as she picked him up. You stepped back to let her have a moment with Max.
"Williamson, huh. I'm surprised that you didn't put your last name on there," Kim said. You shrugged at the comment, currently out from Arsenal for a bad injury. You knew that your whole career was at stake, but you had been trying not to think about it too much. You didn't want to freak yourself out too badly about things.
"Don't tell her, I want her to notice on her own. Also, Max insisted, claimed that he had enough of my stuff. I swear he loves Leah more than me," you huffed. It wasn't true annoyance, in fact, you were glad that Max loved Leah so much.
You wanted a family with her, but you didn't know if she wanted that too. Leah had been nervous at first around Max, claiming that she wasn't great with kids. You knew that was far from the truth now. She had a better maternal instinct than you did, and you had dreamed of being a mother since you were a baby yourself. A large part of your family had always been very traditional, so for a long time, you thought it was your only option. You were older and knew better now, and it was seeing how the world changed made you feel good about bringing a new life into it.
"Alright little man, we've got places to be," you told Max. He gave Kim and Leah big kisses goodbye, and made them promise to give Alessia and Beth some too. Max happily followed you over to where the other kids and their parents were waiting. He was a social butterfly, so he managed to make friends with several of the children around him.
He was lost in his own little world until Leah and the other players came. Immediately, he flocked to your girlfriend. Leah held his hand in hers, and you knew she wouldn't let go for anything. You stood back a bit, and snapped a picture of them talking to each other as both teams began to line up. You wouldn't post it, but you'd keep it for yourself and Leah to look back on later.
"Oi, Max is gonna stay on the bench, okay?" Leah shouted. You gave her a thumbs up. You found your spot in the friends and family section right by the bench just in case Max needed something. You filmed Leah walking Max out, and just how obvious it was that she cared for him. Those videos did go to your story, but it didn't seem odd for you to post Leah in the lineup. Everybody knew about your relationship, and a few dedicated fans even knew about her little adventures with Max whenever you managed to get him for an off weekend.
"We probably could have taken him for tonight," Leah said as she watched your parents drive off with Max. She had held onto him all throughout the post-game celebrations. Leah even managed to talk your parents into going out for dinner just so that she could stay close to your nephew.
"Leah, I'd hate to burst your bubble, but we're second to my parents. That boy loves his Nanny and Papa," you told her. Leah knew that it was true. He may have asked to sit with Leah, but he had been talking your parents' ears off all night. Still, you hadn't missed the way that both Max and Leah seemed to lean into each other for comfort.
"Do you ever think that we'd make good parents?" Leah asked you. She leaned her head against your shoulder, eyes fixed on the night sky ahead of you. You could hear the apprehension in her voice, like she was afraid that you'd reject the ide of becoming a mother with Leah. Since the two of you had gotten serious about each other and your relationship, there wasn't a single person in the world that you could think to have a child with other than her.
"I don't know about myself, but you'll be a great mother. Nobody will do everything right, but I think that you'd probably come the closest," you told her. Leah lifted her head up and turned you around to face her. "I think that you could do good enough for the both of us."
"You sound fucking mental to me right now. Seriously, you're the most loving and caring woman that I know. If it's about Max, he just thinks that I'm cool. I can't even take care of myself without you, but you'd be fine without me," Leah said. She sounded so sure that you had to believe her, even if it was just a little bit. "I'd have a baby with you right now if I could."
"Well, I will be out for quite a while. There's still another whole surgery that I need and the physical therapy for it. What if we waited until the last surgery and then started trying?" you asked. Leah seemed a bit surprised, but you could tell that it wasn't a bad thing. "There's no rush to even think about it. I just thought that maybe it was something to throw out there."
"Yes," Leah answered quickly. Now, it was your turn for the shock to settle in. "I want to have a child with you, and this seems like the way to go. We don't have to tell anybody until it takes, and I mean, it's kind of perfect anyway. And if you decide that you don't want to go back at the end of your injury, you won't have to scramble around trying to find your place. I'll even step back from some things to really help out because I don't want you to feel alone for a second."
"Leah, this is a big step. Promise me that you won't get cold feet." You didn't mean to sound to scared, but Leah comforted you anyway.
"Never, I'd be an idiot to even consider it. You don't even know how lucky I feel to wake up next to you everyday. And the idea of having you and a baby? Babe, I'm over the moon already. Now, let's get home so that we can start on the process," Leah said as she grabbed your hand.
"I'm not sure that's gonna work," you laughed as Leah pulled you along.
"Simulation, it's very important!" Leah exclaimed. You continued laughing as she just scooped you into her arms and sprinted to get you into the car.
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bluebeads-art · 2 days ago
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2024 November 21st
INTO THE LAKE WITH YOU, MUD CHILD
My part of a retroactive art trade with @anxiousapplepie ! "Retroactive" because I was already drawing this before we agreed to make it part of a trade, heheh.
I read this post about their Role!Swap AU, and, like, multiverse shenanigans? Check. Characters goofing off and having fun? Check. Several opportunities for slapstick humor? Check. Conclusion: I really wanted to draw it. Physical comedy is my specialty. :p
This thing is kinda all over the place composition wise (looking at you, relative sizes of speech bubbles) because there is Too Much going on in these panels and I Did Not plan ahead of time, lmao. This was supposed to be doodlier than it ended up being, so as a growing pain it's a funny jumble of consistency. One of these days I'll be able to doodle without getting carried away. 😂
More rambling and close-ups under the cut
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This interaction in particular is what nudged me over the edge to draw this whole thing. I don't know what Fighter Mirabelle's malfunction is when it comes to the Siffrins, but it lets me make Sif the butt of a joke again, so yeehaw! His hat being catapulted out of frame made me laugh when I was thinking of what to do with the composition-complicating hat in question.
Also my personal take is Siffrin is 100% having the time of their life here. Making new(?) friends? Being involved in a fun group activity? Well worth inhaling some puddle water and having to go jump in The Lake to wash the mud off later.
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Bonnie being so furious they changed art styles wasn't in my original plan, but I'm so glad I thought of it on a whim because it made me laugh Every Time I looked at their face. 😂
Time taken on this whole thing was 42 hours and 50 minutes. AND. I KNOW THAT SOUNDS BAD. IF YOU KNOW I'M TRYING TO SPEED UP MY ART PROCESS. But this project gets a special pass. This was the farthest out of my art comfort zone I've been in a while! 13 (mostly) full-body characters at various complicated angles, 2 backgrounds, learning to use CSP's perspective rulers, effects I'm not used to like water splashes, etc etc. I made progress on speeding up sketching & line art as well! Some of the lines you see are just extremely cleaned up sketch. I was able to let myself fudge things more too. For example, Mira's dress is a very "dude just trust me" simplification because I don't know how the clothes folds would work at that angle. ^^;;
So while there's still a handful of things I'm not happy with, it's worth it for the learning experience and perfectionism-busting progress! Also for the sake of drawing silliness, of course.
Oh, lastly; the KO sprite is the one from in-game, so it was made by insertdisc5 and not me.
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galaxitix · 18 hours ago
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Ehhh... I'm wasn't even sure what to write...(⁠─⁠.⁠─⁠|⁠|⁠)
I accidentally set my friend up with a guy without realizing till I become the third wheel on a recent outing. (I don't mind being a third wheel but I'm more shocked that they were dating, nothing official yet. she nicknamed him shoe stepper, name self-explanatory. annoyed her by stepping on her shoes and pretending nothing happened in a joking way). My friend thought I set them up on purpose, calling me a secret shipper, I didn't confirm or deny that statement, cause it was funny to me, didn't even knew they were dating till that moment. Fyi, he knew I was coming along and had no problem, so no i didn't crash their date(even though I thought it was just a regular outing between friends). Happy for her all the same, kinda wish love was that easy for me, it's only been 3 months since we started school T-T.
Once had a guy get mad at me for 'leading him on' despite making myself clear from the start that I wasn't going to get start dating a guy who happened to walk up to me randomly one day, but I wouldn't mind being friends to get to know each other (I didn't knew the guy and he was like 5 or so years older than me who just graduated highschool at the time). I also re-stated this over text that I only wanted to be friends. Couple weeks of texting then he randomly asked how I 'felt' about him. Long story short, I 'friendzoned' him then he got all mad at me for being fake and 'like other girls', leaning him on and I reminded him that I told him before I only wanted to be friends from the start, send him proof of my text that specifically stated that. He ghosted me after that text and I couldn't care less, blocked him then and there. He was just playing nice guy to eat in my pants anyways. How I know? 1. this guy's first question to me was if I still have my 'V card' (should have blocked him then but curiosity killed the cat I suppose. ) 2. His status that he post said a lot about him, it's disgusted me but I wasn't really surprised 😑 (I'm a girl that hardly checked people's status on Whatsapp, hence why it took me longer to see his true nature)
Oh and I have freckles on the back of my hands, inherited from my father.
(realize I just ended up rambling but oh well ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)
Tags...hmm @donnietheterrapin @littlemissartemisia @bubblegum-flavored-timemachine and anyone else who want to do a lore drop
it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore
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seeliemansi · 1 day ago
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You Made Him Worried (Mr. Crawling x Reader)
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Synopsis: The last thing you want is to make him worried
a/n: Wrote this while high on antihistamine, will probably rewrite after I got better *hic*
Part of this universe
------------
Mr. Crawling despises it when you get hurt. He tends to be extra clingy, extra needy, and very shaky when it happens.
You have to be careful as you dance around the topic of you getting hurt because he is not playing with your safety.
That's why when you slipped, and the cause was just you being careless as you decided that running towards your apartment to go home is a good decision during a sudden rain, it hit you so bad, you didn't even have time to say ouch out loud. Enough with protecting yourself from getting wet. You were more worried that he will panic and will start a power surge that can cause an electricity loss in your apartment building. You need the heater and can't sleep with how cold it is tonight.
Your white dress is wet and ruined. Your hair is a mess. You are bruised and in pain. And you walk upstairs with a limp. A good way to end the day you supposed.
You remind yourself to be cool. Not to make Mr. Crawling worried. You just want it to not be awkward when you meet him back home, waiting for you at his usual spot.
At least that's the plan.
The moment you stepped inside, all smiles, acting silly, downplaying what happened, you tried your best. You really do.
But when you opened your eyes, and looked at him.
His smile was turned into a frown. And with a shaky voice he asked.
“You, what happened?”
“You. Blood? Wound?”
“Hurt? Hurt?” He continued asking as he grabbed your arm. A wince came out of your mouth not from his hold, but from a cut you never saw due to the dimly lit streets and the mud that clung on your skin.
“No! Mr. Crawling, I am okay. See, not hurt and painful at all.” You grabbed his hand and wrapped it around yours, trying to divert his attention. You bite the inside of your cheeks, pretending that your whole body is not sore from the fall.
“Let's go, Mr. Crawling. I need to change or I will get a cold.” You insisted as you stepped inside and tried to chuckle, trying to dissipate the tension that is slowly building up in the air. When suddenly, he stopped, pulled his hands out of your hold, slowly stood up, and towered over you.
“No!” He screamed, voice deeper than usual. He walked closer, an inch away from you. His breathing is heavy. His hair seems to have a brain of its own as it stood, like Medusa’s snakes. The electricity flickers as he moves.
You gulped, planning to take a step back but you’ve been cornered by a wall. You can only helplessly look up at him. Watching the dark look clouding over his face.
—-----
“You done?” He asked, too chirpy to your liking.
“I will be done soon. Can you let go of my hand for a moment?” You draw circles on his hand that was holding yours as you bathe in the tub. The curtains were drawn, to give you a little privacy. A little uncomfortable but if you fully close it, he will surely sit in the tub and watch you bath instead.
This is the only compromise he agreed to so he will stop standing up and darkening your hallway.
Although you know he wasn't capable of hurting you, you got so scared when he suddenly stood up and towered over you. All you can think about is to make a compromise that he will like, or at least to lessen his worry. It breaks your heart to see him worried.
“Yes. Yes. Towel?” He offered. But when you tried to grab it from his hold, he pulled it so you would let it go.
“No! Me help you.” He insisted.
“But I can do it by myself.” You countered.
“I said no. I will help you.” A shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly was able to form a whole sentence in your language.
“Alright.” You sighed and stepped out of the tub. He is standing up, hands holding the towel wide open. He is grinning and looking thrilled. Who would have blamed him? It is the first time you two are inside the bathroom together. “Come! Come!” He giggles as he wraps it around you.
The way he switches from terrifying to sweet is always a surprise to you. He can be the sweetest but when push comes to shove, the most frightening ghost you have ever seen.
“Here, kiss. Kiss. Kiss.” He spoke as he raised your arm and kissed all the visible cuts and bruises you have on your skin.
You can't help but giggle from the gesture, feeling your heart swell with happiness. You may be sore but you're glad that you took him home.
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moonstruckme · 1 day ago
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MAE I'm sorry, I thought of another (no pressure at all of course). maybe hot cocoa - send a character + a prompt with Spencer Reid and reunion? Maybe Spencer wasn't supposed to be home in time for the holidays and surprises his love??? AH so cute ok sorry I'll retreat back into my cave now thanks love you byeeee
Never ever be sorry lovely!! Thanks for your request <3
Spencer Reid x fem!reader ��� 465 words
You set your keys on the counter when you come in, your cheeks tingling pleasantly from the change of the cold wind to your warm home. You’re carrying a small bag of presents which you set down next to your keys before taking off your shoes. It takes you a few seconds to realize something isn’t the way you left it a few hours ago. 
The Christmas tree is lit, its warm glow emanating from the living room and casting hazy shadows on the walls. 
You don’t proceed with as much caution as a woman who’s expected to be alone in her home likely should. You know Spencer and most anyone from his team would crow at you for leaving your mace with your keys by the door; but really, what creature of malintent plugs in the Christmas tree? You find Spencer sleeping on the couch, shoes nowhere to be seen but still in his work clothes. 
The smile that takes you is ginormous. He looks especially lovely. The gentle glow of the lights makes the curves of his face look soft and sweet, cherubic almost, but you’d be just as happy to see him if he were rough and grimy and frowning in his sleep. 
“Spence,” you murmur, crouching beside him. You touch his shoulder gently. “Spencer.” 
His eyes move under his eyelids before they open, settling blearily on you. “Hi.” His voice is rough but tilts up with pleasure. He blinks his way into the world. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off.” 
“Don’t be sorry,” you say, beaming. “What’re you doing here? What about the case?” 
“We, uh…” Spencer sits up, rubbing his face. “We solved it. They haven’t caught the guy yet, but I’m never as helpful with that part as Morgan or JJ anyway. I wanted to be with you.” 
Your cheeks are starting to hurt. You hug him fiercely. It’s awkward and half sideways, but full of more love than you can express. Spencer seems to get it. 
“I know how much Christmas means to you,” he says, folding an arm around your back. “I didn’t want to miss it.” 
Whatever he says, you know how much finishing out a case means to him, too. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got here,” you offer. “I’d have come home.” 
“That’s okay, I didn’t want you to cut your celebration short.” Spencer’s pinkie sweeps in slow arcs between your shoulder blades. “We’re together now, right?” 
You let him go to take his face in your hands, thumb denting softly into his cheek to make sure he’s really there. “Yeah,” you say, kissing him. “Thanks for coming home, Spence.” 
“Thanks for having me,” he says, a bit awkwardly. His smile when you laugh is the brightest thing in the room. 
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keferon · 9 hours ago
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Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups
Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D
Previous part
Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.
After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.
His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.
And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"
His first thought is
"Thank God! Someone's normal!"
Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.
But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?
The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.
So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.
The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..
The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?
He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.
(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)
He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?
"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"
Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.
Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?
The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?
Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.
"Charades it is then."
____________________
An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.
"So uh. Motion."
The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.
Honestly, he's a good artist!
The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says
" Motion."
Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.
"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.
That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.
Mech moves his finger to the submarine.
"Motion-Water."
Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.
The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart
"Motion. Sky."
And then gives Jazz the stylus?
Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.
"Motion" and "sky," right?
Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.
Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.
Mech snorts.
Jazz kicks him in the leg.
The airplane begs for a merciful death.
Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.
There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.
There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.
There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.
Positive speed - fast.
Positive size - large.
Positive direction - forward.
Positive time - future.
There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.
Mouth-positive - to speak
Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.
Huh.
And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.
Let's see....
Mouth - positive, effort - negative.
"Easy to speak."
The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.
"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."
Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.
Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.
He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.
Jazz leans over the chart.
All right, well, let's see.
“Name. You. Question?”
The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart
"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."
Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?
Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"
"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..
“word-knowledge-negative.”
He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.
Prowl nods
“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”
Jazz chuckles
“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”
“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”
Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)
“You're a musician?"
Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.
Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.
Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself
“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”
He pats himself lightly on the chest.
"..is me. Jazz."
Prowl straightens up slightly
“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”
Jazz nods cheerfully
“Yes yes!”
“Jaaz?”
“No no. Jazz.”
“Ah. Jazz?”
“That's right.”
Prowl draws a portal on the screen.
“You teleported here. What happened?”
Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience
“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”
He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.
Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.
“Quintessons.”
He pokes at the monster
“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”
How many?
Jazz scratches the back of his head
“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”
To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.
Prowl looks alarmed.
And unconvinced.
“How did you survive?”
Jazz laughs pretentiously
“Ask them how they survived.”
Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.
He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??
Jazz leans over the chart again
“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”
Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response
Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.
'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”
Jazz instantly perks up.
“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”
Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.
He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.
One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.
He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.
Nothing.
He sighs.
“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”
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dogsplayingpoker · 2 days ago
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Ok weird it wasn't letting me reblog this properly. Anways hiiiii
I did read it (over a year ago when i reblogged this) and that isn't what I said, or my criticism of his point and, overall, the neo-liberal ancient-contemporary comparative perspective that Devereaux is routinely writing these articles in. It would be silly to be fully Pro-Rome, sure, but I'm not really accusing him of that persay. I do still think his general perspective is a silly and factually inaccurate one and disagree with it, so I therefor disagree with the arguments he makes starting from this perspective. In particular, I think that no matter how much he claims to actively be against it, Devereaux and the many historians that follow his same playbook end up: 1. romanticizing (I previously said "admiring," which may have been where we got mixed up) Rome by claiming it was a ghastly horrific slave state (true) while also being unable to help from looking to "the good parts" with a kind of breathless nostalgia, and here, overtly for guidance. This is of course a pretty common issue for classicists, unfortunately, including professors of mine that I've generally really respected. Usually the "good parts" = freedom of religion in occupied territories, civil rights afforded to slaves (+the way that pre-Race slavery functioned differently in general), and exactly what Devereaux says in the title of the article, i.e. their "Notion of authority" being likened, often, to a gentle but firm father figure who knows whats best for his children. It is absolutely hilarious to me how often historians, even ones that claim to have left-wing values, can believe in the noble pater familias rule of the romans with a smile and a tear in their eye. Does anyone else here remember 'the white man's burden'? Did anyone see that weird tucker carlson speech where he talks about daddy coming to spank the disobedient little girl that (assumably?) was supposed to be the Biden government? Anyways. Writers try to isolate only that there was religious self determination (in occupied territories of an expansionist empire), that they Ruled the horrible violent imperial war machine Fairly, and then don't even hide the fumble when they get to the slavery part, proudly saying YEAH, they were ENSLAVED, sure, and that's BAD, BUT........ This all ties into issue two, or the underlying issue:
2. Devereaux is a liberal American historian that is either unable to appreciate the full context of the country he lives in OR is actively obfuscating it AND/OR accepts it and thinks its just peachy outside of a few stubborn issues like police brutality and the like which he thinks can be handled in a vacuum by throwing enough good old fashioned liberal values at them. He fails to view issues from a systemic lens and therefor thinks anything he doesn't like is a weird flaw coming from some outside source. In that article (and I can't find this specific article again on Foreign Policy to pull examples from, I'm sorry) he was trying to 'learn from rome' for the sake of America. Even if he's saying Rome was a heavily flawed society, he is saying our empire can still learn a good thing from their empire. I disagree with that. I disagree with the empires staying empires in the first place, or that empires are things worth saving, or that they're even possible to save. My argument is also that we should actually definitely not look to Ancient Rome for advice on law enforcement, or indeed any of our policies point blank period. I personally think this kind of Rome-USA compare and contrast exercise is always fnny because the writer also never seems to reckon with how much we already, fundamentally, ARE Rome-- in all the worst ways, and in the ways he's claiming we can 'learn' from them. We already have. We've been romanticizing and following in their footsteps very intentionally the whole time, just as others were inspired to follow in ours in a horrific timeline of gore and human atrocities. Devereaux, per his website, is really into classical liberalism, liberal democracies, private property, free-market capitalism, and John Locke. (https://acoup.blog/2024/07/05/collections-the-philosophy-of-liberty-on-liberalism/). We simply have really different perspectives on politics that also inform how we view and would choose to write about things as historians.
I think this quote from that blog post on liberalism is especially funny in context: "And of course Cicero himself never fully absorbs the implications of his philosophy: a wealthy Roman slave-holder, it never occurs to Cicero that perhaps he daily violates the natural law by keeping people in bondage." Devereaux himself never fully absorbs the implications of his philosophy: a white well-to-do professor in an elite seat within American Academia, it never occurs to Devereaux that perhaps he daily violates the individual freedoms of liberalism by rationalizing and hiding away the dark parts of a fundamentally unjust empire relying on the slave labor of prisoners, the indentured servitude of sweatshop workers worldwide, the slaughter and subjugation of millions of in the global south and the underclasses within the empire itself, and the theft and hoarding of the world's resources. But okay. Cicero bad, John Locke good. Got it. My argument would of course be that they are both bad, both equally ignoring the reality of the society they lived in and their places within it. Devereaux is starting his argument from an already catastrophically flawed point of view that forces him to look past things like 'context' whenever it becomes inconvenient. He has to say in the post multiple times that like yeah, sure, Locke's view of who counted as a "person" worthy of having things like "rights" was, um...narrower than ours today, but he was still correct because I like him (and it's totally different from how other people cited, like Cicero, were incorrect hypocrites). Ignore the slavery and colonialism, same old same old, it is still correct and not at all laughable to claim that the United States was a nation formed on a defining principle of inalienable freedoms for every single person. He mentions that those things were obviously bad but doesn't see them as truly conflicting, more as growing pains. He even says the founding father's misogyny and racism (towards the enslaved specifically: indigenous people, and therefore the ACTUAL founding principles of the US colonial empire, go completely unmentioned) "[...] represented betrayals of the principles that otherwise document: the crime was common, the hypocrisy was special." American exceptionalism who? Obviously if he was saying we should instate a more 1:1 ancient roman government that would also be ridiculous. But my point is that he's asking the wrong questions about the society we have and what's wrong with it in the first place. He is often wrong about Rome and near-universally wrong about America.
Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.
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nebulousmoon3990 · 2 days ago
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GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)
II𓂃› POISON
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Warning: Negligence (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, swearing, sensitive topics,bad things, spelling mistakes (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry), Fem reader!, use of (M/n) for his mother's name, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!
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Two weeks.It had been two weeks since you disappeared, two weeks in which Bruce did and still does everything he can to find you (as the millionaire Bruce Wayne or as Batman), two weeks in which he and possibly no one in the mansion slept properly, two weeks in which guilt gnawed at him in the worst possible way. But even so, Bruce is ashamed to say that in these two weeks he has only been going to his room now.
Could you blame him? Bruce didn't want to go to his room because that would be a way of saying that you died. He refuses to think that way, you are alive, he is sure of it, and he will find you.
However, Bruce's thesis was shattered by his anxiety.
That's why he goes to your room for the first time.
Bruce remembers going there only once, you must have been seven years old, what saddens him the most is that he only went there because there was a problem with the ceiling and that's why you had to change rooms. Your room was on the second floor, a little further away from the others, possibly the room closest to yours was Tim's.
Alfred had to show him where his room was, which made Bruce feel even worse. He didn't know where his own room was! Was he so negligent to that point?
Your room was at the end of the hallway, the only thing that identified it was a guitar sticker on the door, it was faded and dented, possibly having been there for years, wood splinters were visible on the door and the metals on it were very rusty.
Grabbing the doorknob, Bruce hesitated to open it, the logical part of his brain warning that you might feel uncomfortable with him invading your room like that, but his desire spoke louder, gathering courage Bruce opened the door slowly and faced the environment. He was greeted with a sweet smell that reminded him of artificial strawberries, coming from the entire room and Bruce thought that maybe this was the smell you had passed many times.
The first thing he noticed was the appearance of your room, it was smaller than most of the rooms in the mansion. Your bed was next to the window, giving you a view of the mansion's garden, next to the small bed was a nearly empty study table, on it papers and colored pencils were in the corner organized so as not to have a mess, a small swivel chair was there, there were tears and poorly washed stains, but it seemed like you used it a lot. Above the table on the wall were posters of bands and other things, but what caught Bruce's attention was not that, no, it wasn't.
There were trophies, certificates and awards on top of his shelves.
There were so many, so many, that Bruce thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but it soon proved to be true when he approached the said shelves. There were trophies for gymnastics, literature, computing, swimming, there were awards for drawing, music, and even jiu-jitsu.
Each one was accompanied by a photo of you, photos that were supposed to be taken with your family but most of them were with your instructors, it was possible to see that with each photo that there was your face changed from false joy to not even bothering to smile.
The sight of you in the photos made Bruce's heart break, the worst one of all was one that looked like you were from gymnastics, but in this one you were really exhausted. Sweat was all over your forehead, making your hair stick to it, your eyes were a little red and there was a bruise on your arm, you tried to smile but it was noticeable that the smile was fake and to top it off, to break Bruce's heart? You were holding back tears, tears shining in the corners of your eyes so intensely, but you held it tight, so as not to cry in front of the camera.
Bruce felt horrible, really awful in fact.
He carefully picked up the photo and sat down on the chair, watching you. You must have been eight or nine years old? He didn't know, but you looked so young, so helpless, but you already looked so... broken. As if you knew the weight of the world, the weight that life brought.
He straightened up in the chair and looked at the room again, seeing the back of his room where the wardrobe was. Bruce noticed that next to the large piece of furniture there was a box, almost as worn as the sticker on the door, he got up from the chair leaving the photo on the table next to him, walking over to the box and picking it up with ease. Preferring to sit on the bed instead of the chair he opened the cardboard box to find a computer and a pen drive.
Bruce, so immersed in his thoughts, barely noticed that while he was turning on the old device, someone else was entering the room.
“Bruce?” The aforementioned looked up to see Dick. Looking at his son, he realized how worn out Dick was, whether it was the deep bags under his eyes or the messy hair from so much grabbing and pulling. “What are you doing here?”
“I…” came to see my daughter’s room? Came to try to feel less guilty? Came to try to comfort myself in my pain of not having protected my own daughter? Bruce didn’t know what to answer, fortunately, Dick understood this and decided to see for himself. Carefully, Grayson entered the room and observed with interest, his gaze stopping at the same shelves of trophies that Bruce was interested in, the small smile on Grayson’s face disappeared when he discovered the real reason for the trophies being there.
“W-wait, is that from gymnastics?” Dick looked closer, seeing on the table the same photo Bruce had taken, his anxious eyes roaming the entire shelf, observing his every victory in detail. “Is that all of…(name)?”
“Yeah, and all of hers, all the effort we never saw.” Bruce turned his focus back to the computer, the anguish in his words reminding him of his mistake, while Dick sank in guilt as Bruce himself decided to look at the computer’s contents.
It looked like it hadn't been used for a while, there was dust on the computer and the screen was broken, putting the pen drive in the device a folder appeared on the screen, Bruce clicked and the loading screen appeared on the screen, while it was loading Bruce felt his oldest son sitting next to him, watching the computer next to him and as soon as the loading was finished the two men came across photos.
Very, very old photos of you.
Photos of you as a baby at various points in your childhood outside the mansion, there was a photo of you walking while smiling at the camera, a photo of you sleeping on the couch drooling all over it, a photo of you drinking while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, and many others.
Bruce heard Dick sigh when he saw you, he had to hold himself back from melting right there, you looked so cute with your chubby cheeks and bright eyes. He wished he could be there at that moment, seeing you so cute, taking care of you, being the father he never was.
But time has passed, you've grown up and are gone now.
Bruce shook off his thoughts when he saw a different photo, in it you had the corners of your mouth covered in what he assumed was chocolate, your hands were covered in the same candy, but what caught Bruce's attention wasn't that, but the woman behind you holding you while laughing at your lameness.
your mother
(M/n) (Last name)
He remembers the woman, kind and caring, a writer from outside Gotham, and although it is strange that she preferred Gotham to live in (with so many other cities more protected than it is), she reached her peak of fame, which made them meet. Just one night with her, nothing more, an affair that didn't go ahead and in which he thought he would forget about her, only for a year later she sends him a letter, talking about you, his daughter.
She didn't ask for anything, not even alimony for herself, she just asked him not to interfere in her daughter's life, although Bruce found the request strange he accepted, being too busy with work to care, he didn't give it due importance at the time.
That was until (M/n) died, her sudden death made him bring you to his house, he fought for custody of you with your aunt, but since he was the one best able to raise you, your custody was given to him.
That was many years ago, he doesn't remember you bringing this computer.
Oh.
Do you keep the computer to remember your mother?
The articles were old, wouldn't it be better to transfer the photos to your cell phone? Or didn't you want to? Maybe you would prefer to keep the computer to remember your memories.
Dick shifted beside him, looking again at the immense trophies on his shelf. “We had her here, and we just ignored her.”
“Dick—”
“We had a diamond in the rough, shining brightly for us, and we just ignored it, and now that she’s gone…” Bruce said nothing, there was nothing to say.
Dick was right.
They had lost a precious stone.
And there was no way to get her back.
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Three months.
Nothing about you, no clues, no trails, nothing made it even more difficult because the bus you were on was burned, even if it was left there were no fingerprints, DNA or anything else that would lead them to you.
Dick had to go back to Blüdhaven, continuing his own investigation there. Bruce, knowing that he couldn't do it alone (not this time), put his pride aside and warned the members of the league about your disappearance.
Clark, in an effort to find you, published an article in the Daily Planet about your disappearance, but not even that helped in his search.
The members of the League were alert in each of their cities, looking for clues about you, but nothing came to them, not the organization that kidnapped you or your possible whereabouts.
It was as if you had disappeared from the earth.
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Six months.
The police were getting sloppy, probably already giving up on the case. Bruce was still investigating, but how was he going to get deeper into the case if the clues that led to you had disappeared into the wind like dust on the ground?
All he had were your desperate calls for help, your messages, but they led nowhere, your device destroyed without its location.
The family had become more depressed, as if something was missing for everyone present, the immense loneliness in the mansion showing who was missing.
You.
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One year.
The case was closed, with nothing to investigate, the Gotham police had more problems to deal with than a missing and possibly dead teenager.
There was… nothing. 
Nothing to say, nothing to do, nothing to look for.You were gone.
A long time ago.
What they didn't know was that you weren't gone, but you were there.
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“Alright, alright, I think we’re done for today, right?”
The iron-tasting liquid once again rose up in her bile, making the blood in her throat gush out of her mouth, choking her.
The room they were in, previously white, was now stained crimson, clinging deep into the walls as it reflected the light from the lamp.
In the corner of the room stood you, chained up like a beast (which technically wasn’t a lie now). You lay still as the toxic green liquid entered your veins, the acidity still biting your skin.
Doctor Magnus was the one in front of you, the man with long black hair and golden eyes was watching you dangerously, the loving attitude that many could see as a father educating his son was nothing more than a facade of sadistic malice from the man.
He disgusted you.
They all did.
All of them, all of them, all of them, ALL OF THEM-
Magnus watched as the syringe that connected the tube in your neck finished injecting the toxin into your veins, with the process finished, Magnus approached you and pulled it from your neck.
With the brutality with which he pulled the syringe, you hissed in pain, your abnormally large fangs showing themselves to the doctor, the protective instinct emerging in your brain. Despite the offense, Magnus just smiled at you.
Stepping away from you, he lowered your restraints making you feel a little comfortable. With his fingerprint, the doctor opened the automatic door, before leaving he stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.
“Get plenty of rest (Name)…” the man’s smirk widened, the evil coursing through him making her stomach churn with fear.
"Tomorrow your experiments will intensify.”
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Okay, I'm a little disappointed (I was hoping to write one more, but I couldn't add anything without it affecting the next chapter), well I'll make up for it in the next chapter.
Here's the tag list \(•◡•)/:
@daiyanomochi - @amber-content - @wizzerreblogs - @foggyv-oid - @kore-of-the-underworld - @theunknowntravel3r - @space1crow - @shortnsweetsposts - @popursocks - @sugasweettea - @salfishers - @itachisank - @jsprien213 - @infirebaby - @yhin-gg -@h-ib
@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93
sorry for any mistakes.
Bye
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a1ecmcdowell · 3 days ago
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all the times mechanic!dean was humbled by bimbo!reader - 18+
★ ˚⋆
dean was convinced, a lot of the time, that not a single coherent thought existed in the white noise of your brain, just accepting that you were one of those girls with a pretty face to her legacy. it wasn't a bad thing. he'd never admit it, but seeing your face light up when he explained something to you was one of his favorite looks on you - the glimmering wide eyes, the o-shaped part of your glossy lips as the pieces clicked into place.
other times, he was floored by the capacity of that pretty little head and the information it held. completely floored. you never said anything with malice either, or chastised him for not thinking in the same way that you did. just stated the things like fact, typing away on your pretty pink iphone with your pretty pink manicured nails, not even looking up to see that you'd taken his breath away.
there were a lot more of these instances than he cared to admit. he was a proud, prideful kind of guy, often convinced that it was his way or the highway.
until you came around.
he'd started a list on his phone, of some of those times, cementing them into a vault of your history. maybe he'd show it to you on your wedding or something cheesy like that, that he knew you would love. or maybe he'd keep it to himself, as to not humble himself further.
when you'd called a car's failing engine a "tummy ache", and that was how he figured out that the cause was the owner putting in the wrong gas.
the first time you talked him into trying on your panties, and he'd tried to deny it heavily, and you'd said, "it's just clothes." and it was so simple but he'd never thought of it like that. like holy shit, yeah, it's just clothes.
when you'd tried to hook up with him at his work, in the backseat of his car no less, and dean desperately tried to keep some semblance of professionalism at his job, and you were like "who's gonna see? no one comes here." and he proceeded to fuck you into the leather with, you guessed it; not a single customer to see the fogged windows and the rattling frame.
you got him to start saying things are cunty and that's not even the humbling part. the fact that he could not fucking stop himself from calling everything cunty when you were around was.
when you'd called the stars "little suns" and now every time he looks at the night sky, he can't help but think if you're looking at the little suns too.
he'd been staying late trying to finish a car and you'd gotten upset and told him "who's gonna need their car this late?" and yeah. who the hell was? he made it home in five minutes and made up for his time away.
he told you that one day he'd take you to meet his family and you called them the witch burners with the straightest face he'd ever seen. yeah. they did do that sometimes. but don't say that to their face.
sometimes his old habits would kick in and he'd start doing everything for you, like he did growing up with sammy, and you remind him every time that you were his baby but not his baby.
he joked that you were baby vers. 2, and you'd said, "you can't call everything you park yourself in baby." he started calling you princess immediately after.
he'd grabbed your hair once when you were bent over during sex and you whirled around so fast he honestly thought you were going to kill him. like there was more fear in his eyes then than there was in some of the hunts he did before he retired.
when you insisted in front of his coworkers that, no, you did not want to drive your car if he was there to tote you around already. like, fuck him, honestly, for not assuming you would want to be chauffeured. he was still living that shit down.
"no, dean, i'm not blowing you right now, this is a chanel lip gloss." right. because he was supposed to know what that meant. "i am not wiping chanel off with a paper towel, dean." tell chanel to get off her fucking high horse, thanks!
he tried to be romantic once and put his hand on your thigh while driving and you glanced down with a pout and said, "your filthy oil hands :(" with that exact sad face. he didn't know how else to convey the utter devastation in his typed list without the fucking emoticon. you'd have thought he ran over your baby or something.
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notes, guys ... i fear they are rent free rn. something ab grumpy/sunshine in any form is going to do it for me every time.
tags ( if some of these dont work im gonna run up and down the street butt naked on god ) @titsout4nicholas @deans-yn @dipperscavern @devoursweetly @jasvtsc @panickedbitch @t3l3vangelism @jensenacklesfan69 @manicjk @mkendlic @hischrrypie @deanswidow @figthoughts
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biteyoubiteme · 1 day ago
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don't you want me?
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soobin x fem!reader
synopsis: don't you want your boyfriend?
warnings: 🔞!!! this is just smut no plot lol, some nipple play, soobin calls reader bunny, no protection, creampie, fingering, prob forgot some sorry
wc: 0.9k
an: thank you so much saturn for requesting! I hope you like this one sorry it’s short ;-; <3333
[m.list] [1kevent m.list]
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had only been a day since the last time you had seen him, snuggled up in his bed after he had tired himself out with using you. It wasn't uncommon for him to go round after round, at least not with you. No partner had ever made him feel this needy, always hard even after one go. His whiny pleas to keep going mixed with his scrunched brow always worked to get you to agree. He was always so good at begging. 
You had planned a study date, your bag weighing down your shoulder as you knocked on his door. Sometimes you even got some studying done, only it was usually when you were in public and not plagued by the thought of his bedroom only being a foot away. Because you were also to blame for always getting him started, purposefully wearing things he couldn't keep his eyes off of, and brushing his thigh every other time you had the chance to. 
Now was no different, although it wasn't intentional, you really did think you would get some kind of studying done.Dressed down in your pajamas, oversized shirt covering your shorts enough to give soobin the illusion that you had none on in the first place. He pulls your bag from you, having enough control to place it down on the coffee table before tugging you down with him onto the couch. 
“You didn't even say hi!” you're giggling, his kisses peppering down your neck, hips pushing you into the sofa, hands pushing up your shirt. 
“Hi, hello, I'm sorry, I just missed you,” he's not even trying to hide the fact he's already hard, that he's been hard just thinking about you coming over. 
“We both have exams tomorrow,” you try to remind him, fingers brushing through his hair as his lips are finding half-faded marks he's sucked onto your skin only the day before. “We should really study,” 
“Don't you want me?” he asks, nose bumping your ear, hand sliding down the outside of your thigh. “because all I could think about was the way you felt under me,” he hooks his hand under your knee pulling your leg enough so that he can sink his hips closer to yours. “how am I supposed to pay attention to anything other than you?” 
All you can respond with is a moan when he presses his bulge against you, dragging his hips to put pressure right on your clothed clit. “please bunny, please,” 
You didn't need much begging to get stripped, even less begging when you finally felt him slip into you. His whining gasps fanning over your skin, one hand keeps him up and the other squeezes your breast, thumb running over your peaked nipple. “Look at your perfect tits, all for me,” 
He's trying to hold back, to draw out the pleasure as long as he can but it's impossible when buried in you. Warm walls sucking him in, begging for him to just pound into you, push you into the sofa, and just take over without any thoughts on his mind. He wants to, just thinking about it makes him whimper, “Tell me you missed me, didn't you miss me?” 
“Yes-” you gasp, arms wrapped around his neck, the heels of your feet digging into his ass pushing him closer to you. “I missed you so much,” 
“I missed your perfect pussy, bunny, always so ready and wet for me,” all of his rambling broken up by throaty moans, “I can't stop thinking about you, filling you up,” 
His rhythmic thrusts press so deep inside you, leaving you speechless with every drag. But he's not paying attention to getting you off just yet, his body disconnecting from his mind as he beats his hips against yours. He feels his orgasm building and knows any second he will cum. Enough to make it so easy to keep going, stuffing it all right back in, just thinking about it has him whimpering in your ear. 
“Are you going to cum for me?” you ask, his body falling closer to you, always wanting to be pressed as close as he can get when he cums.
He’s nodding into your neck, breathy whines mixing with his answer. “Yes, oh god- please,” every sloppy thrust followed by his little ah-ah’s. “You feel so good, I’m-” he feels his balls draw up, his hips stuttering to a stop as he lets out streams of cum into your waiting cunt, cock pulsing as he moans into your neck. It isn't until he pulls out and catches his breath that he realizes that you didn't finish, too caught up in chasing his own high. 
“I'm so sorry bunny, let me take care of you as good as you take care of me,” 
He gave you no time to realize the switch, his long fingers shoving into your sensitive entrance, pushing back in all his cum as he pumps in time with his previous thrusts. He uses his other hand to fiercely rub at your clit. The stimulation makes your back arch, hands scratching at the fabric of the couch. “Look at my pretty bunny,” he coos, the squelching sounds from all your slick mixing with your moans. “Are you going to cum for me?” he asks, using your own words on you. 
“Yes- yes-” It's almost too much for you, his fingers not stopping even as you cum. You're a mess of stammering words and faltering breaths, trying to find yourself as your knees try to close in around him. 
Just watching you fall apart is enough to get him semi-hard again, ready for another round. He slathers his wet fingers over your entrance, keeping as much wetness as possible from sliding out. “Just one more please-” 
“Soobin our exams-” 
“Please, I'll be quick, don't you want me?” 
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sage-nebula · 2 days ago
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I've been suicidal many times in my life, and while I could talk about those experiences, given what this post is about, I'd rather talk about something else.
My boss at my previous job was not just my boss. He was my friend, my mentor. I'd met him as a student employee; I still remember the day I went in for my interview, and I asked to speak with "Mr [name]," and the other student employee who answered the door made a face and said, "Hey, Mr [Name], this girl is here to see you" when he let me in because my boss never wanted us to be so formal with him. We were on a first-name basis with him, always. I was nineteen, and super nervous interviewing for my first job that wasn't retail or food service, but he cracked jokes and made me feel welcome. He treated all of us like that.
He was just a really good man. He always stood up for us, every time the university tried to do something that would make our lives harder or less safe. I made a Facebook status once about how I was harassed by a gas station employee near the university, and he commented telling me he'd bring his bat if I needed it. When one of the supervisors ended up overstepping boundaries in a big way with us student employees, he worked overtime to make sure that we would all be safe. When I got promoted to a supervisor position after graduation, and took it upon myself to oversea the yearly Secret Santa tradition for the students (meaning I didn't participate because otherwise I would know who my Secret Santa was), he decided he wasn't letting me go without a present and got me one anyway, despite my insistence that it wasn't necessary.
Unfortunately, he had his own demons to fight. He was going through difficult stuff in his personal life. He told me a lot about it; I was a confidant for him, and at one point he told me I was the only person he could speak to about any of it. More unfortunately still, as much as I wanted to be there for him, I was also struggling to keep my own mental health on track. It was around this time that I was looking into starting antidepressants / anti-anxiety medication for the first time because of how much I was struggling, and I was really focused on getting all of that sorted so that I could stop being tempted by the trains I heard pass by my home every night. Because of this, I didn't check in on him regularly. And so, when his boss called me one morning before my shift was supposed to start and told me that he had taken his own life, I was consumed by more than just shock and grief; I was crushed by guilt.
You see, I blamed myself. Largely because he had told me I was the only one who could confide in, I couldn't help but think that if I had checked in on him more regularly, if I had been there, this wouldn't have happened. I could have prevented it. I could have saved him. He wouldn't have taken his own life, and it wouldn't have been one of his young daughters who found him like that. Not only had I lost a friend of nine years, but I felt like I failed him.
I know now that isn't the case. There were many factors involved, not the least of which being it turns out I wasn't the only one he confided in after all. But it took me a long time to reach that point—a long time until I could honestly say that I didn't feel like it was my fault.
In the midst of depression and suicidal ideation, it can be incredibly hard to see the importance that you have in other people's lives—the place that you have there, that no one else can fill. I know this intimately, because it is something that I struggle with regularly. But even if you can't see it, you have to hold in the forefront of your mind that the importance is there. The impact will be felt. Not only do people care about you, but those closest to you will hold the weight of responsibility for your life on their shoulders for a long time. If nothing else, you don't want that for the people you care about, do you? You don't want to do that to them, do you?
You are not the only one harmed by your suicide. In fact, you're the one who will feel the impact the least. Death doesn't hurt the deceased; it only wounds the living. That's why we have funerals: it's for the sake of those left behind. But no amount of funerals or celebrations of life can assuage the pain left by a suicide. It doesn't help. Notes don't either.
If you're in a place where you're ideating, reconsider. Reach out to someone close to you. Tell them where you are, mentally, and have them come be with you. Believe me when I say that they would much rather sit awake with you all night, than wake up the next morning to a message that you're gone.
Give us the chance to be there for you. It's all we ask.
periodic reminder that your death by your own hand will wreak more havoc on the lives of those you know than you are ever capable of imagining and if you need a sign not to kill yourself this is it. people care more than you know & i am one of them
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