#marble smoosh

[so-am-smyme9540]

More MH art!

Y'all seem to be liking this so here's more ig (if you want more serious/high quality art send me an ask and Ill probably do it)

Close ups under the cut

[wannabeelf]

This week's nail art is inspired by Final Fantasy XIV: Endwalker.

So I finally made it nearly to the end of the pre-patch content of the most recent (at time of posting) expansion to Final Fantasy XIV. While what was happening in he story at that point was tense and emotional, the first thing I thought when I set foot in Ultima Thule was, "That sky is so pretty!" quickly followed by, "I want that on my nails."

An attempt was made. I thought a smoosh marble would be good recreating that sort of nebula look. It worked alright, but I didn't have quite the right colors in my collection to truly capture the look of the sky in Ultima Thule. Oh well, it's as close as I can get. Then I put a scattered holo topper to represent all the stars as well as an iridescent topper because some of the shifting clouds of gas look iridescent to me.

It's not exactly how I wanted it to look, but I think it turned out alright.

Polishes used:

OPI Natural nail base coat

 Sally Hansen Chrome Nail Makeup - 12 Black Pearl Chrome (This shit’s over 20 years old. Good luck finding it.)

Holo Taco - Red Licorice

Holo Taco - Magenta Jelly

Holo Taco - Purple Slushie

Holo Taco - Blue Freezie

Holo Taco - Scattered Holo Taco

Holo Taco - Celestial Lights

Holo Taco - Super Glossy Taco

Also used:

cut up pieces of a plastic bag

[solbaby7]

*sidles up to bar*

Uh, can I have a whiskey sour, frozen, with a salt rim please? 🥃

*drops a twenty in the tip jar*

[ “i’m not the jealous type but what’s mine is mine + smut + cassian ]

and a tip too? wow this gonna be a generous pour lemme tell u 😘 *grateful smoosh*

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

It’s routine. An obligation. A means to an end.

It’s not like you actually wanted to be shmoozing up that Summer Court douchebag and yet Cassian can’t quell the uncomfortable itch under his skin at the sight of you smiling up at another male.

Sure, it doesn’t fully reach your eyes; doesn’t force those cute lines to carve their way in your cheeks or show off the pearly white teeth that have sunken their way in Cassian’s shoulder a time too many in a bout of excitement.

This is not the same—that much he knows and yet still he can’t shake off the distaste that lingers on his tongue. Reason refuses to reach that part of him that remembers flesh and blood, the sound of iron clashing against iron and the satisfaction that follows when an enemy took their last breath. “The point of this meeting is to establish peace,” Rhysand casually mentions, sauntering to Cassian’s side so silently it nearly makes him jump. “Those kinds of thoughts don’t exactly start friendships.”

He doesn’t mention Cass’ shoddy mental shields, too distracted by the way you seem to blend seamlessly into Summer Courts surroundings. From the style of your sundress to the iridescent glimmer of heels that resemble the waves in the ocean when the sun hits—gifts from Tarquin that fit entirely too well. “These friendships are becoming too friendly.”

The chime of your laugh cutting through the air has Cassian’s teeth grinding against each other, his arms crossing over his chest in favor of reaching over for the fancy battle axe anchored above the mantel and making good use of it “I don’t disagree,” Rhys grimaces at the male dragging a hand along the curve of your spine in a dangerous display of appreciation. “It’ll all be over soon. An hour tops.”

“Rhysand.”

“An hour tops,” He repeats, palms smoothing over creases in his suit jacket. “I promise.”

But not even Rhys can say no when Tarquin’s second in command all but insists on stealing you away for a quick peek of his personal gardens—bragging about its ocean view at sunset. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up and the genuine glee on the soldiers face in your presence doesn’t go unnoticed. The alliance is so close Rhysand can almost taste it but Cassian’s fingers are flexing in barely contained rage as you’re guided off down a hall separate from the others.

One minute passes and his eyes can't stop flickering towards that hallway. Five minutes go by and his stance is less sturdy, shifting the bulk of his weight from foot to foot like an antsy bull readying their hooves for a fair fight. He lasts ten whole minutes before his restraint snaps, leather boots clunking against marble floors as he all but takes off in a run towards you.

For once in Cassian’s life he gets a fraction of an understanding about how it feels to be a shapeshifter—the unbridled rage altering him from male to beast until he’s foaming at the mouth, claws protruding from blunt nails and all he thirsts for is blood. To spill crimson red and paint the walls in its luster while flaunting you as some pretty prize.

He finds you off scent alone, aureate irises latching onto you like a fish on a hook, reeling in closer and closer until you can feel the warmth of him radiating through his clothes. It’s pure luck that you’re alone, heels hanging limp in one hand as polished toes tease at sand so white it seems to sparkle under the sunlight. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Taking too long,” Cassian ignores that bewildered expression on your face, eyes darting to a set of double doors on the far left. “Had to check, needed to see you were alright for myself.” He’s touching you before you have time to fully process the panic that churns through your gut at the mere thought of Cassian being caught somewhere he didn’t belong.

It becomes all to clear that you’re the only one who cares when strong hands begin their trek around the hills and valleys of your hips. He takes the scenic route, paying a touch too much attention to the round of your ass but you don’t push him away—you wouldn’t dare. “It’s not like he was going to hurt me.”

Lips press kisses into the curve of your neck, teeth grazing along the slope of your shoulder until the flimsy little strap there falls limp along your arm. “Wasn’t worried about him hurting you, peach.” The grip on your rear tightens, spreading cheeks until you can hear the sticky separation of a needy cunt. “Wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting comfortable putting his hands places they don’t belong.”

“Cassian.” You shouldn’t be attracted to the possessive words and yet a shiver runs down your spine; anticipation awakening beneath your skin and suddenly you hope that it takes forever for Tarquins second to find that stupidly ancient tome he’d mentioned earlier. “Are you…jealous?”

“I’m not really the jealous type,” Each one of his actions contradicts that very statement. From the noticeable reddening marks he leaves along your clavicle to the harsh way your dress is wrinkled when hiked over the swell of your ass. A warm mouth crashes with yours, the groping accelerating tenfold once he’s found something sturdy enough to lean you against. “But, what’s mine is mine and it felt like I needed to get that message across.”

It’s all so rushed; movements hurried, heart thrashing against your ribcage while his leathers are unfastened and the ruddy tip of his cock is straining for a warm home to hold its release. Your ears are sharply attuned for noises, hold out for the scuffle of a shoe, the weight of a body against marble floors. Such awareness doesn’t take away from the feverish kisses with Cassian nipping at plush lips, fingers absolutely ruining the elegant curl of your hair as he tugs it back from your shoulders. “We don’t have much time.”

“Do some of my best work under pressure.” You almost find the urge to laugh but it disappears once you feel the blunt head of his prick nestling between your thighs. The sodden gusset of lacy underwear is pushed aside just enough to show off the arousal dribbling from your sex. “Hold on to me.”

The warning does you no good, the very breath knocked from your lungs as he feeds the thick length inside of you. Nails bite into the strong birth of Cassians shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as you’re given a few precious moments get used to the feel of him before the Illyrian takes you as he pleases. “Cass—oh gods!” It’s not your fault, you swear; blaming the force on his thrusts for the moans that spill free.

He doesn’t even bother trying to keep you quiet, encouraging the whiny mewls and choppy groans with skilled fingers twisting along your nipples and pressing tight circles to your clit. “Not the gods peach, just me.” Wall decor tremors behind you as pleasure shoots through your bloodstream, legs curling tighter around Cassian’s waist as you push him in further—allowing him impossibly deeper. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this and I’ll make sure the whole godsdammed world knows it.”

[localcatmutt]

Why must I live inside this large, heavy and fleshy vessel that lumbers slowly on two long legs. It is naked, furless, and oh so cold.

Useless.

I need to be a 10lbs kitty cat, stood on 4 proportionate paws. With the ability to have zoomies in tall, towering grass.

Instead of these blunt, scoop-like nails, I must be equipped with curled claws that can hook onto small little critters I'll later feast upon.

My square herbivorous teeth, should have been pointy carnivorous fangs, built for tearing into flesh. Not for grinding down bitter, bloodless plant matter.

My round, immobile, satellite-like ears should have been sprouted from the top of my head, cone like, able to swivle towards all sounds.

The hideous face that I see, in my dreadful reflection should have been molded with a square elongated snout, unlike the flat, smooshed complexion i was cursed with.

What a tragedy. Imprisoned in this living abomination that i am. If only i could chisel away at the errors as though it were marble or stone. But alas... it is flesh, and guts and bone. Nothing can change it.

//im bored af and poeticly species dysphoric today// wee woo....

[betterfettered]

Hi! So I was reading through some of your older works (which I enjoyed very much btw) and I noticed you mentioned that yandere Lucifer would want to marry reader (albeit against their will) which made me curious, so if it’s ok may I ask if any of the other brothers would want to marry their darling? And if so, what kind of weddings would they have?

Hey Anon! I'm glad you've enjoyed reading. I have a related ask to yours, so I'll smoosh em together and answer both

Could I request the yandere demon brothers dealing with an MC who refuses to have sex with them before marriage? Totally not as an excuse to get out of being intimate

Which ones ignore MC's request and which ones rush to get married ASAP and spend the honeymoon railing them into oblivion?

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere)(noncon)(somno)(violence against reader)(victim blaming)(gaslighting)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[This is fetish content and rape, victim blaming, and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

As you mentioned, Yandere!Lucifer would want to get married, and I think he'd want a proper, traditional ceremony because of his status. You would have lessons starting months before the actual ceremony, making sure that your etiquette and behavior at the wedding is absolutely flawless. They'd probably be with Barbatos, who might be the only non-Lucifer social interaction you get (it depends). You'll be punished by Lucifer if you mess up or act out, unless you manage to befriend Barbatos so he doesn't tattle on you.

If you said you wanted to wait until marriage, Lucifer would accept that. His demeanor would be such that you wouldn't even think he is sexually attracted to you at all. That being said, once you are married good luck ever walking normally again, he's going to have ur ass using crutches. For weeks afterwards you will be (continuously) covered with bruises and hickeys, and cum will always be leaking down the insides of your thighs. Being that Lucifer is a sadist, in many ways this outcome is actually worse than if you hadn't made him wait because he's not going to slow down, stop, or have mercy even when you cry and beg for him to.

Yandere!Mammon, like all Mammons, would want the gaudiest, most tacky ass wedding possible. Everything will be platinum or gold, the cake is covered in platinum and gold leaf, his tux is crusted with diamonds, there are marble statues of him wearing luxury things everywhere. The gift registry would just say "Give us 2 million grimm" and nothing else. Despite the goofiness of his desired theme, he is thrilled about the prospect of being married to you, and would get really carried away by it. He'd hold you while saying once you're married, you'll be his and never leave the house again and wear a huge shawl when you go anywhere so nobody can look at you but him and you won't talk to anyone else because you're focused on your family.

He would promise to wait for marriage for you, and the speed with which he would break that promise would make you wonder if he every really meant it. He is really compelled by the need to mark you as his, and he thinks about it as soon as he's alone with you, so before either of you know it he'll have slipped his hand into your pants. Afterwards he would insist to both you and himself that you wanted it, that you'd been purposefully tempting him. He'll mention that anyone would do what he did, would need to fuck you as soon as they saw your body; that's why you'll need to wear concealing things once you are married to him.

Yandere!Levi would never admit it because weddings are for normies, but he actually would like to get married. Surprisingly, rather than the sort of cringy gamer wedding you're expecting him to want, he would want a traditional wedding like Lucifer. It's always been something totally unattainable in his mind, because he never expected to find someone who loves him. So it would be a dream come true for him to see you in your wedding attire even if you had to be forced into it - someone is really all his, just like everyone else has. That said, don't be surprised if the wedding colors are like, Ruri-chan's palette or his vows have not so subtle TSL references.

When you said you wanted to wait for marriage for sex, Levi wouldn't reply to you, instead just kind of sulk. In the days following you saying that, he would start groping you more, trying to pull off your clothing, putting your hand on his cock when he's hard. He didn't respond to you because he has no intention of waiting and will eventually resort to pinning you down and fucking you in every way he can imagine (that is many ways, reader).

Yandere!Satan doesn't really care for having a wedding. It seems unnecessary and overly involved to him on the face of it, and he doesn't really find the event romantic enough to make it worth while. He sees it as all about the people attending rather than you and him. If you wanted a wedding he would agree and play along, but he'd make it clear that he's doing it for you and not for himself.

He would agree to wait until marriage, but that means when he considers you both to be married, not you. He'll go with you to a courthouse and get the paperwork officially filled out, and once that is done he considers himself to have waited for marriage. If you think the same way, great! If not, he'll laugh at you with his close eyed, cheery smile because he finds what you said so ridiculous that it's a big joke to him. It will just make the things to come more fun in his eyes.

Yandere!Asmo will want the exact same thing as Mammon except if Mammon had good taste. Asmo probably married himself a few hundred years back (though once he realized that you and he were permanently in love he then divorced himself) so he has experience with wedding things and could do all of the planning, asking questions like which flowers you like and which drapes you like. If you refuse to help, he'll assume it's because you're grumpy and punish you with predicament bondage . For example, using rope to tie you to furniture in a way that if you stand on your tiptoes nothing hurts, but if you lower your heels because of the strain on your calves and feet, you pull the slack out of the rope attached to your nipple clamps and they get painfully tugged on.

To be frank there's no way Asmo is waiting for the wedding LOLL he'll make sure to make you moan and cum a lot so that he can point out how silly it was of you to try and resist him.

Yandere!Beel doesn't really want a whole big wedding -- he finds the long ceremony boring and hard to sit through without getting hungry, and the more important thing for him is domestic life with you, like waking up in the same bed as you. If you want a wedding, he will try to talk you out of it; if it's really important, he will agree but be mopey and kind of...out of his element.

Assuming that you're saying you want to wait for marriage when he's coming on to you, he'll just say "Sorry, I can't" and continue having his way with you. If you're announcing it another time, he'll tell you that he doesn't think it's possible for him and maybe cheer you up if you seem upset about it.

Yandere!Belphegor would want a wedding, but not a traditional one. Probably once he trusts you not to run away, he'd want to elope with you to see some beautiful nature, or just try something neither of you have done before. If he doesn't trust you, no wedding at all because there's no way he'll be able to make it through some long ceremony without falling asleep standing up, and he finds the whole thing to be a drag.

In response to you asking to wait for marriage, he'd probably dismissively say something like "Okay fine, sit on my face then. That's not sex." He'll try his luck that way about basically anything, including actually fucking you ("It's not sex if we don't make eye contact," he says, knowing that he will absolutely make intentional eye contact). He'd pretend to leave it up to you, mostly to see what he can get away with, but if you keep resisting he'll probably fuck you while you are sleeping. He likes the idea of you having a dirty dream because of this, and really enjoys watching the sleepiness quickly evaporate out of your expression to be replaced with shock/fear/horror/maybe all three and a fourth thing when you realize what is happening.

Did you like this, anons!!! Think I missed something? Have a follow up question?? I hope either way that you liked it~

Always taking more asks and requests uwu

[bettysupremacy]

The Cheerleader Curse pt. 2

summary When the party gets too much, somehow you end up face to face with a familiar metal head

w/c 1.2k

a/n I only tagged people who specifically asked for pt 2 <3 could be read as a stand-alone! also idk how I feel about this writing of mine

In the end, you had gone to Tina’s party.

The kids plans tangled, they messily read We want Steve to take us.

So currently, sitting firmly on the cold marble island, you watch Carol pour you punch. Warm and stingy, it splashes over the sides messily, drawing a trail of liquid down the cup, onto the counter, where it puddles into a stain.

“You’re making a mess.” You nudge Carol with your foot. She turns, hair wild, cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s a party!” She grins, sloshing the drink towards you. “They’ll have more to clean than some punch.”

Your nose scrunches defiantly at the pungent smell wafting from the red cup. “This is rancid.”

“It’s good!” She coaxes. “Y’just gotta get used to it!”

“Used to what?” Tina pops into the kitchen, wearily frowning at the messy countertops.

“The punch.”

“Oh,” Her eyes roam away from the mess, and back to yours. Giggles start to peel at the sight of your face. “You’ll never get used to that.”

“Thanks,” You frown. “But no thanks.” Your fingers gently slide the full cup away from you.

Carol glares, shiftng Tina into something of a reprimanded little sister. What? She mouths, shrugging and looking away.

Regretfully, she slinks out of the kitchen.

Carols eyes make their way back to you, laughing softly when you push her face away, palm smooshing into the fat of her cheek. “What’s up?”

“Huh?”

“What’s up?” Carol repeats, teasing smile playing. Her eyes scrunch. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

You cringe at her bluntness. “I’m having fun!”

A shriek of a laugh slips from her lips. “You lying bitch!”

“Am not!”

“You’re totally miserable!”

You laugh at her exaggeration. “I’m totally fine!”

She shrugs seemingly fine with your fraudulent answer. Dropping the interrogation, she picks at your jeans in the contentedness of the silence.

“Y/N?” Carol gently frowns, fingers kneading into your knees.

“What?” You look up at her attention.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” You repeat, startled at the bluntness that edges her voice.

“Are you waiting for someone?” She pushes, “You’re shifty.”

“Shifty?”

“You keep looking over there.” She shakes her head in the direction of the front door. “You can’t already be plotting your escape.” She lightens with an easy smile.

You stop, guilty and caught. “I’m just tired.” You heave a sigh, warm minty air hitting Carol. “Can I get some air? Outside? I’ll come back in. Play beer pong with you.”

She smiles, satisfied with your honesty, concerned with the look in your eye. “Yeah, babe,” She breathes. “Don’t go far.”

You nod, smiling at the way she pats your knee before you drop off the counter.

Tommy strides to Carol, arm dropping over her shoulders heavily. The couple watches you head out. “What was that about?”

Carol sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, and shaking her head.

Outside is cool, but humid. The chill seeps into your skin, then warms it with the warm air seeping through the open windows of the house.

You walk further, further than you know Carol would like you going, but not far enough to leave the yard. It’s as quiet as it can be with a party alive 30 feet away. The bass still tingles your toes out here.

You walk to the side of the house, desperate for more of the chill that slowly works into your fingers, but you’re not alone. You back up, conscious of Carols warning, scared of the figure in front of you. Tall and long limbed, it doesn’t face you as you slowly back away, scared to grab its focus.

But you’re foot catches in the tiny rocks, and a rough inhale catches his attention. Ragged and sharp, it startles him over the thrum of music.

The boy flicks ash away from you, then, ultimately drops the cig to the ground, smashing it meanly with his boot.

“You okay?” He can’t decide wether to help or not. You hadn’t much liked him the last time you’d met.

“Yeah,” You choke back, the gravel sticks into your palms that crush down. “M’great.”

He drops down to his knees decidedly, helping you ease the weight of your hands off the pavement. With great heaviness, he takes your hands into his own to inspect. Gravel sticks where blood licks your skin. He hisses through his teeth.

The first good look at his face shows the worst. It’s Eddie.

“That hurts.”

“Yeah,” You frown.

“Should we go in?” He murmurs, thumbing at it curiously. “Find a first aid?”

You look up at him, lips parting softly as you take him in. He’s much more pretty in this lighting. Pretty features softened by the haze of party lights shining in from a window.

His thumb snags as he brushes rubble from your palms, snagging again when you pull back in shock. Sucking through your teeth, the haze of his pretty lips breaks, and the expression on your face reels him back.

“I can clean my own hands and drive my own kids around, you know.”

Vaguely, he registers he’s embarrassed you. “I know.”

“So I don’t need you to be doing that for me.”

His mouth opens to answer, but you don’t let him.

“So next time Dustin needs a ride I’m fully capable of doing it myself.”

Wait.

“Wasn’t that tonight?”

You pause, stumped by his memory. Selective, you think. “Yes,” You allow. “It was, but-“

“So what are you doing here?”

You huff at his interruption. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Sure you do.” He scoffs, standing. His knees ache fully from the crouch.

You scoff back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He starts, brushing his hands against his rough jeans. “I gotta go pick them up since you’re occupied.”

“I said I had it covered.”

“Who’s covering it for you?” His sarcastic tone irks you. “The cab driver? You drop them off with a $20?”

Wow, you think, he’s a dick.

“Steve has it handled, thanks.” You stand, dully aware of the throb in your hands.

“Harrington?” He laughs meanly. It cracks at you. “Oh, yeah, they’re in safe hands.”

Your arms cross coldly. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Whatever,” He snarks, turning towards the backyard. “I have shit to be selling.”

“Whatever,” You snark back. “It’s not like I wanted your help anyways.”

You turn on your heel, straight to the front door. The closer you get, the closer you feel the bass thrumming in your skin.

“Fine!” You hear him yell, it’s lost and muddled from the loudness of the party.

“Fine!” You shout back, hoping he heard it over the ruckus that’s sure to file a noise complaint.

Dully, you feel tears bubble up, angry and embarrassed. Maybe you wanted his help. You swipe at your dry cheeks roughly with your knuckles, pushing into the party. It’s amazing you hold it together so long, though by the time you reach the downstairs bathroom, Carol is standing there waiting. Word travels fast and crying girl towards bathroom spreads quicker.

She doesn’t have to ask, pulling you in tightly.

“Stupid boys,” She murmurs, hand in your hair. “Stupid, stupid, boys. Don’t let them get you you.”

You think, startled at her knowing-

“What happened to your hands?”

@astermath @armydrcamers @eggo-segual @strangerstilinski @avitute @munson-enthusiast @agirlsguidetolove

[astradreaming]

Why'd it have to be him?

Pre-Marble Hornets :) Song: Him - James Marriott. Notes: Fem! Reader. Y/N = Your/Name. Y/F/S = Your/Favourite/Show. Word Count: 1,215 A/N: First-ever song fic. ♡ Hope you enjoy it! Have a good day/night lovely's ♡

masterlist

Why'd it have to be him?

I'd say you let me down

But he's been here before

And come back around

The sounds of a tv commercial bounced off the walls of the apartment living room. It wasn't unusual for the three friends to be up so late even if they had classes the next day. Tim, Brian, and Y/n all sat around on the couch, takeout napkins and leftovers on the coffee table in front of them.

Brian had started to tell Y/n an overexaggerated story of his and Tim's class earlier that day, how the substitute teacher was nothing but a grumpy old man who made the class that much slower. During said class, while the grumpy substitute was busy Tim accidentally knocked his coffee cup over, which spilled all over his paperwork. In Tim's defense, the cup was on the edge of the table right next to his own seat, Brian thought it was hilarious. Yet somehow Brian was able to charm both Tim and his own way out of detention and even got out of a long lecture from the man.

Will he take you to the same place?

One more hardback in your bookcase

You've got that look in your eyes

I'm blind

Tim decided he'd heard enough of the story, going out to the balcony for a smoke. Lighting his cigarette, leaning on the balcony railing looking out on the streets below. Deep down he knew it wasn't the story he couldn't stand listening to. It was who was telling the story and the reactions he was getting from her.

He fought with himself. He knew he could never truly hate Brian. He was his first-ever friend. He was the first one who actually believed in him. The only one who made him feel normal. But she was his first-ever crush. First unrequited love. His only other friend.

Tim threw the end of the cigarette down, falling on the pavement below. Pulling the sliding door open and appearing in the living room once more.

Have you ever seen

Ever seen a guy with moves like that?

Makes me wonder how I've been so bad

My head turns when the lights

Go dim

The sight in front of him made his previous argument futile. The commercials ended, and Y/f/s played once again. Y/n focused on the tv drowning in a blanket that was wrapped around both her and Brian. Y/n's back against Brian's chest, his arm around her. Sour-lipped and bitter he stomped into the kitchen grabbing a glass of whatever was closed in the fridge.

"C'mon Tim, you're gonna miss the best part of the show" Brian's voice echoed in Tim's head. Why'd Brian have to be so... Brian. Tim sighed as he came back into the room, sitting on the side of the L-shaped couch. Twisting himself around so he could fake interest in the tv. His head reeled.

Reeling into his thoughts once more he thought of something he learned in class he thought y/n would like. He turned to look over. Y/n was asleep, face smooshed against Brian's collar. Brian was too focused on her sleeping form to notice the range of emotions on his friend's face. Brian softly smiled to himself as he pulled the fallen blanket back over her shoulders. Turning back to the tv the pair of boys sat in silence.

Take my mind for a spin

You don't believe in that shit anyway

How long has it been

Since I came down?

Gave up on New Year's Day

He remembered the party Brian had forced him to go to. Honestly, the only reason he truly went was that he'd overheard you excitingly ranting about it to brian, how you'd wanted them to be there. The New Year's party didn't seem too long ago until he checked his phone... May 11th. Maybe it was a while ago.

It seemed that party was the only chance he had and he fumbled it. Too nervous. Too shy. Too broken.

Walking through the tree-filled woods, Tim and Brian finally found the so-called party. It was more a large gathering of college kids around a bonfire than a party. Then her voice carried through the chaos of all the others, inviting the two over to the spot she'd saved for them.

After a while of being introduced to her friends and her friends friends, they all began talking in their groups around the place. A few kids from another college found a lake a few minutes away from the main spot, taking a couple other kids whose laughter slowly drowned out as they got further away.

Someone had set up a foldable table behind the seats in front of the fire. Brian got up deciding to get a drink for the three of them. His figure wove in out around other kids their age, slowly disappearing from view in the crowd.

Tim had decided that it was now or never. How true that would turn out to be. Her name fell from his lips, sounding just as beautiful as she looks. She turns her full attention on him. She looks over at him, eyes full of sincerity, her smile wide. He fumbles with his words. Cursing at himself, since when did he ever stutter like that? Her smile faltered, face slightly scrunched in worry. He remembers her gentle voice asking if he was alright. He remembers her soft hands grasping his in comfort, his name falling from her lips. He remembers thinking his name had never sounded so sweet.

Conceal that smile on your face

I've only packed a suitcase

Leave the future defined

If you don't mind

He also remembers that the soft moment was cut short. Brian came back with three drinks in his hand. Passing one over to Y/n, his hands became colder her hands left his. Grasping the drink, passing one to him.

Brian sat beside the two, sitting closest to the flames of the bonfire. Y/n looked down at her drink. Head snapping towards Brian, her wide smile back again. Her eyes filled with glee. Tim noticed she was trying to hide how big her smile was. Her cheerful voice questioned Brian about the drink in her hand. Brian had remembered her special cocktail of sodas. Brian had remembered but so had Tim...

Was it when you looked at him?

Was it because he thought he could be

Much more than I've ever been?

Was it because he wasn't me?

Soft snores pulled him back from his memory. Tim turned. Brian's head rested on top of hers. Sound asleep cuddled into each other. Tim often wondered if he wasn't so caught up in his own head, he could of be the one bringing you the weird cocktail drink, he could have been the one holding you close. He could have been the one.

Standing up he reached down for the remote, turning the tv off. He picked up the messy half on the floor blanket, placing it on top of the pair. He flicked the lamp closet to the couch off and opened the sliding door again. Lighting his cigarette, and sitting down on the old wooden chair while he watched the cars pass by.

Why'd it have to be

Why'd it have to be

Why'd it have to be him?

[my-shields-are-down]

Bathtub 🛁

#one word prompt #Chenford one shot

Lucy sighed as she watched the 6 burly workers lift and then struggle to carry out the original claw foot tub from the garage to their truck. They had to use the motorized hoist to get it up onto the flatbed - the bathtub was that heavy.

She was sad - that tub had been what made her fall in love with this house from the start. Sitting next to a massive window overlooking their back garden where flowers and vegetables grew happily, birds and bunnies nipped at her tomatoes, and her kids spent hours weeding as punishment for various wrongs. The window and everything below in the garden remained. However, after a series of… “incidents”… the bathroom had been completely remodeled and the claw foot tub ripped out and banished to the garage with the lawnmower until it could be sent on its merry way.

Lucy had originally been gleeful because the tub was super-sized, meaning both she and Tim could soak in hot oily bubbles together without feeling like sardines smooshed as the lid is sealed shut on their can. She’d had several erotic dreams of them making love in that tub.

To celebrate the unpacking of the last box, she had filled the tub with hot water, jasmine and orchid skin softening oils, jasmine bubbling bath salts and she lit two large jasmine scented candles on the cushion-less tile window seat in the corner of the room - far away from anything flammable.

Her first thought that this bath might not work out as expected, was when she climbed into the tub herself . The drop from the rim to the bottom was quite a bit larger than she anticipated. So when she dropped down to the bottom of the tub, she was fully submerged. She couldn’t lie in the tub with her head resting on the rim and her ass on the bottom. She’d have to use significantly less water in her bath.

Then just as she resurfaced and began deeply breathing in air while wiping the bubbles off her face, Tim came in and started to climb in behind her. Unfortunately, when Lucy came up for air moments ago, she had flung the hot oil infused bath water onto the marble floor. That’s exactly where Tim placed his support leg as he lifted his right leg up and into the bath. The shifting of Tim’s weight on the floor, lowered the friction keeping him in place and his left leg shot off to the side. Tim was leaning forward when he lost his balance and fell into the tub onto Lucy, causing her to go under again. Luckily for Tim, he didn’t go under. But he did grab onto Lucy’s shoulder under water to steady himself as he dragged his long legs into the tub, in essence drowning her until he was more or less in place.

The second he relaxed and let go of Lucy, she shot up and out of the water flailing her arms for something to hold onto and inadvertently punching Tim on the bridge of his nose between his eyes. Five minutes later after Lucy finished coughing and Tim could kind of see out of one eye, the water had cooled sufficiently such that neither wanted to be in the goddamn bathtub any longer and they both warily climbed out, rinsing off in the shower and going to bed. Tim made Lucy take him to the ER around 4 am when both of his eyes had swollen shut and blood was trickling out of his nose onto his pillow. Lucy laughs now because while she had bad hair for a day, Tim had two black eyes, a broken nose and desk duty for two weeks.

From that point on, while they did enjoy baths together or by themselves, they did so with a degree of caution and never with anything smelling remotely like jasmine. But that’s not the reason they were saying “bye bye” to the bathtub.

It’s a hilarious story Lucy tells often with a lot of side-eye from Tim. But….

Tim and Lucy soon realize that if Lucy couldn’t safely bathe in the tub, then their future kids and pets could also be in various forms of danger, that meant the tub had to go.

A lower, wider- let’s fit the whole family or 5 large dogs in there -teak Japanese soaking tub now sat along the wall where the tile window seat once was in their new Zen bathroom with stacked slate walls, bamboo + teak (with ambient heat ) flooring, and built in brass happy fat Buddha and dragon water spouts which made the kids laugh. Lucy had designed and loved the new bathroom, but was secretly bummed the claw tub had to leave.

Lucy feels two sticky hands on her bare calves and looks down to see her little boy Patrick - or Kai- as they were starting to call him - tapping on her legs and softly singing, “mama mama mama.” Lucy smiles as she makes eye contact with Tim’s eyes in a 3-year old mini boy-version of herself wearing red Hawaiian board shorts, little boy vans and a black t-shirt that says, “Mama loves me” in big red letters. Kai was his usual, bright, sunny, friendly, happy-go-lucky-self.

Once the flatbed truck had left and the workers waved goodbye to Lucy and Kai, she picked up the lad and smothered him in kisses as they went back inside so she could prepare for the christening of the new tub that night.

+++++++

Woke up in the middle of a night to simplify it. Still not 100% happy with it. Might change it again in the morning.

[flintox]

She sighed. Barely 20 minutes into her shift and she was already bored out of her mind. Janice's sneakers squeaked against the marble floor as she walked across the offices, heading to her station to start another fun filled day as a bank clerk. The otter sipped her lattè, feeling the slight tinge of pain from the still too warm liquid as it crossed her lips.

The cup was placed on her desk to cool as she pulled out her chair and sat down, ready to start prepping for another 7 hours of work before finally heading home. She pulled herself towards the desk only to hear an odd squeak from under her desk.

Janice was quite used to the odd squeak, wether it was from her sneaker shoes, an odd but comfortable part of her otherwise very professional office wear, sliding across the hard stone floor, or her cheap desk chair making its unoiled joints heard. But this squeak had been different, not rubber on stone or plastic on steel. This had been a terrified squeak.

Without a thought, the otter pushed herself back to examine the source of the noise.

It took her a moment to parse what exactly she was looking at. At a glance it could have been mistaken as a group of roaches, but as she stared their shape became more familiar. Three figures, with two arms, two legs, heads with two eyes staring right back at her. Three minuscule figures, two on the left of her right sneaker, one to the left of it sitting on the ground having just barely managed to dodge her sneaker, roughly an inch in height, clad in dark clothing, staring up at her. "Uh-"

Immediately the three scrambled away from her. Instincts kicked in and Janice did the first thing that came to mind and quickly reached for the tiny people. Though they had a few seconds headstart in her confusion, the difference in size made it so the otter could easily snatch them up one by one.

Janice held her clenched fist to her face, examining the three closer. They were three males, a bull, rat and eagle, struggling against her fingers pathetically, squeaking something too high pitched for her to hear. They were clad in dark clothing, looking almost like burglars. She blinked, not believing her eyes for a moment.

"What do you got there?"

She jumped in her seat. Janice looked to her side to see one her desk neighbor, a bookish ferret named Brett, staring intently at her hand. "UH-"

"Woah!" The ferret exclaimed. "Are those tiny bank robbers?" Brett leaned in closer, drawing more squeaks from the fist held tinies. "No way-no way! I've heard about these guys!"

"You h-have?" Janice stammered.

The ferret nodded. "Well, not these guys specifically. But I've been hearing about gangs using size tech to sneak in and out of banks with small valuables to be resized when theyre back out."

She still couldn't believe what she was seeing. "S-so these guys are thieves?" Janice asked. "We should call the cops!"

"Hold on-" Brett said. "They haven't stolen anything yet. The cops might just charge them with trespassing and let them go."

She narrowed her eyes at the downsized burglars. "S-so what should we do with them? Let them go?"

"Or just smoosh them." The ferret suggested.

Janice froze. Frantic squeaks erupted from the tiny intruders who began to push against her fingers with more fervor. She couldn't just crush them, could she?"

"Or-" Brett said with a smirk. "You could keep them."

"Keep them?" She repeated. "What for?"

The ferret smirked wider. "All sorts of things. Fun things. Like having them serve as your personal pedicure team?"

She glared at the ferret. "This isn't some weird kink, is it?"

"It's totally some weird kink." Brett grinned. "Come on, it's way more fun when you get into it."

She could feel the thieves squirm more in her grip. "I-isnt that kind of immoral?"

"I mean- so is robbing a bank." The ferret shrugged. "Hey, could I have one of them?"

"What?" She balked. "What for?"

Brett didn't answer, he just grinned wider.

Her face went red. Janice looked over to the little criminals, they were staring at her almost pleadingly. She couldn't just let them go, could she? "S-sure. Which one do you want?"

"The bull! I like them masculine." Brett quickly reached over to her hand and plucked the bull out, the tiny crook screamed and flailed between the ferrets fingers.

"Wh-" The otter asked as she watched her coworker move the tiny towards his belt. Using a thumb, Brett held open his waistband and quickly plunged the minuscule bull inside. "What are you doing?!"

"Don't judge me." The ferret mused. "I don't want him to get crushed in my pockets...that and it makes me feel huge." He said, adjusting himself in his seat.

Her face was beet red. She could hardly find the words. Janice slowly looked over to the two remaining shrunken bandits in her hand, both had resumed struggling against her fingers.

In a very sudden and quick movement, she moved her hand to her chest and pulled upon her blouse, shoving the two into her bra and closing it up again before anyone had a chance to see feeling the tiny bodies squirm against her breasts as she fumbled the buttons back into position.

"That's the spirit." Brett sighed as he turned his chair towards the from of his cubicle.

Janice only nodded, resisting the urge to bury her face out of embarrassment.

"So." The ferret said softly. "What are you gonna do with then when you get home?"

"I-i don't know." She croaked, feeling the two slide further down as they tried to fight their way out.

"... do you want suggestions?"

She swallowed. "...s-sure."

[shallowstories]

Help me come unglued

From January 2023; Very self-indulgent Dean/Cas New Years' fic; reposted because it's not SO long. I wrote this when I was down hard with COVID. I couldn't sleep at all.

///

Dean feels somethin' prickly. It's that creepy itch you get when you just know a yucky spider's skittering over your skin. It’s weird enough that he slaps an open palm to the back of his neck, just in case.

Dean can hear Sam hollering like an animal just outside the door, so he must be nearly done now. (Dean thanks the stars that security was on the chopping block for this section of downtown. Yeesh.)

"All clear!"

Boom. Hasta la vista, Sapphire Chalice of Charlotte.

And hello...Cas?

It’s not really a kiss so much as it the unexpected feeling of being completely smothered by Cas’s lips. He forgets to be shocked or embarrassed.

It’s so clumsy and sudden that Dean's instinct is to be charmed by it. He feels the frown and pinch of his brow give way to a funny little smile, and he's inching his fingers forward to tap at Cas’s shoulder like:

Ease off. I’m fine.

We’re fine.

But Cas’s eyes are too wide, like he’s terrified, and it's like an alarm bell clanging in Dean's mind.

They hadn’t been in real danger here, had they? It was just some crusty old museum artifact and the barest wisp of a ghost. And Sam's already killed the thing.

Dean tries to lean back to talk to him, but Cas shoves forward against him, texture of his lips scraping harder against his own. It's rough. Dean moans, low and confused, and color blooms across his nose.

Crap.

He hadn't meant it to sound like that, and oh, it kind of hurts.

Cas, he tries to say. Cut it out. That hurts.

Dean huffs air out through his nose.

Damn. This ain't even sexy.

Impossibly, it gets even less sexy the moment Sam comes lumbering through the open door.

And that’s about when Dean realizes this ain’t some bleeding-heart expression of battle-heated relief on Cas's part. In fact, Cas plants both of his hands firmly on Dean’s shoulders and gives a hard little shove.

The force is effective enough to send Dean stumbling. But where Dean goes, Cas goes, like he's being pulled by an invisible magnet. All it does it send them crashing into a table mid-liplock.

Dean bangs his hip hard enough to bruise, and there's a clatter as a stack of book goes thudding to the floor. There's a little ashtray full of marbles and they go skittering, too.

Now's about the time Dean would usually have something cheeky to say. Something-something losing your marbles.

“Oh. Oh! Whoa.” Sam goes pinker than a lobster, puts his ginormous paws in front of his face, and spins around to put his back to them. “Fuck. S-sorry! I didn't know you--”

Cas bristles and tries to talk against Dean’s lips.

Dean thinks he’s trying to say, nurse and maybe...dumpling?

Sam uncovers his eyes, winces at the sight in front of him, and looks at the floor. “D-did you say curse? The artifact did something?”

Oh.

That makes more sense.

Cas tries a different tactic to separate them this time. Rather than pushing at Dean, he wraps his arms around his middle and lifts him slightly. It has the added effect of smooshing their lips a little harder against each other at first.

But then Cas is bracing against him, like he’s trying to physically wrench them apart. He starts pulling Dean away and pushing his own body back.

Horrifyingly, Dean feels Sam’s arms wind underneath his armpits and give an additional tug from behind.

Dammit.

But all the extra effort to unstick him from Cas seems to painfully suck their lips together even harder, like their spit is made of glue, and the force is rapidly hardening it to cement.

Dean fails to suppress a groan of pain, and Cas’s eyes fly open in panic. Cas shoves Sam back and pulls Dean forward. Sam starts chanting, "Okay. Okay, uh, I was just trying to help."

One of Cas's hands rises to prod gracefully at their joined lips. It feels apologetic, somehow, and Dean tries to relax. Slowly, the hardened rasp of their lips softens again, like putty in a microwave.

They’re not even really kissing so much as they are chastely pressed together, but it's still pretty embarrassing.

Sam mumbles to himself, “That hurt, right?"

Dean tries to nod, but the movement is restrained by the immovability of Cas's head.

“Crap. Crap!” Sam disappears out the door and returns a few seconds later with a box and a pile of ashes. “It’s gotta have something to do with me toasting this thing. Don’t worry, guys! I’ll figure this out.”

///

A short while later, Dean and Cas are piled into the backseat of the impala, shifted awkwardly towards the passenger side. They’d started out in the middle of the bench, but that hadn’t lasted long, because Sam kept accidentally glancing up to the rear view and gawking at them.

Asshole.

Now, they’re both sitting rigidly straight, with their bodies angled slightly away from one another. Their faces are still awkwardly pressed together at the lips.

Cas has tilted his face to the side so Dean can breath better via his nose, and of course, Cas himself is making a point not to breathe at all.

He seems to be listening intently to the conversation Sam and Rowena are having.

Dean scoffs to himself.

Never has there been a liplock so unsexy, so completely diplomatic.

Yet, Dean can’t seem to focus.

Whenever he opens his eyes, Cas is there, eyes bright blue and completely filling his field of vision. He almost can't see anything else. Not unless he cranes his eyes so far to the corners that his head starts to vibrate with migraine.

Dean tries not to think. If he does, he starts cataloging sensation. The texture of skin. The pores of Cas's cheeks from this close.

An indefinite amount of time goes by, during which Sam’s prattling to Rowena dies off.

Not a moment too soon, he chipperly announces that they’re ten minutes from the bunker. Then, he cranks up NPR like that will somehow ease this humiliating tension. It's a story about some politics or other.

And Dean is getting a damn crick in his neck.

The next story is the science section, and it cheerfully blasts, "Scientists Say Japanese Monkeys Are Having 'Sexual Interactions' With Deer!" Sam makes an inhuman sound as he rushes to squirrel the dial to literally anything else. He lands on Poker Face by Lady Gaga, and he cranks it up loud.

Dean feels Cas laugh against his lips, and he catches his eyes to find mirth there.

Yeah. Dean gets it. It's pretty funny that Sam's academic radio channel had embarrassed him worse than any sexy ballad could. He snorts and Cas gives him a look.

At least the shared joke has broken the tension.

Craning his neck like this has been awful. Easing up a little, Dean makes a disgruntled mmm noise against Cas’s lips and is momentarily stunned by the accidental vibrations that buzz through his (their?) skin because of it.

Cas’s mouth shapes the word Dean, which comes out “Dnn?”

Dean can feel the vertical ridges in his bottom lip.

He tries to shape “neck hurts” back.

Cas must understand some of it, because he turns more towards Dean now. He brings his hand up and cups it around the side of his face, completely supporting under the hinge of Dean’s jaw.

It’s weirdly comfortable.

The support feels a little like a cervical support collar. Cas’s index finger is pressing directly into one carotid and his thumb presses up into Dean’s other side. If it weren't Cas, it's the kind of pinch that would raise Dean's hackles, a grip positioned perfectly to crush his windpipe.

Instead, Dean sighs against him, letting his head sag forward and mouthing a “thanks” that smears their lips together so softly and pleasantly that Dean feels twin pulses throb in his neck.

He might be imagining things, but the pressure dents in stronger, like Cas is doing it on purpose. There's a little throb in the pad of Cas's thumb, like Cas’s pulse is hammering, too.

///

“Careful, careful,” Sam says as Dean and Cas stutter-step over the bunker threshold with less grace than two elementary-school kids in a three-legged race.

“Dean, I said watch your step!”

Dean rams his hip into the game table, rattling the chess pieces. He wouldn't have jolted if Sam wasn't so freakin' annoying with his whole understanding, cautious act. It's not like they're gonna tumble over the rails.

Maybe.

Dean feels Cas huff against his lips for the umpteenth time, and he doesn’t have to look to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“Wr’ tryn,” Cas mumbles haughtily, like Sam’s getting on his nerves as much as he’s getting on Dean’s.

“Whoa!” Dean hears Jack say from the Crow’s Nest below. “Sam, what's going on? That looks dangerous!”

Great, now Jack’s here for the show.

And actually, getting down the bunker stairs probably is going to kill them.

So much for dying with dignity.

“This isn’t going to work,” Sam says, hot with anxiety and blame. “Can’t you two work together? We’ve just got to get you to the infirmary and then we can figure out how to…unglue you.”

Sam has the gall to sound embarrassed about this, which, Hello? Dean’s the one macking face with Cas here. 

Dean opens his eyes and tries to shoot him his stinkiest glare, but trying to turn away from Cas just makes him feel cross-eyed and like his lips are gonna rip right the Hell off. He settles for bringing his arms up on either side of Cas and shooting Sam the bird with both fingers.

“Cut that out, Dean,” Sam sniffs. “I’m trying to help you.”

Dean’s next stumble tugs hard at his and Cas’s mouths again, and it friggin’ hurts. Again.

It’s like trying to rip a stuck tongue from a frozen telephone pole or something, a la A Christmas Story. Dean feels Cas huff again, and then, Dean is lifted off the ground in a dizzying move that makes Sam squawk.

“Ohh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cas! Cas? Cas, wait!”

Then with a CLANKCLANKCLANK, Cas is stomping down the stairs like a madman, Dean up in his arms and squirming like he’s some kind of exuberant toddler. Dean doesn’t really think Cas is going to drop him or anything (his arms and core feel like friggin' steel), but Dean makes loud, anxious Frankenstein noises as they go anyways, selling the theatrics of terror.

When they get to the bottom of the stairs, Cas doesn’t put him down right away, and Dean breathes erratically in and out through his nose, arms winding around Cas. You know, for stability. He tugs at Cas's coat, saying, “Cssss!” like an accusation.

Before Dean can process anything else, something hard and textured comes into contact with his mouth, prodding curiously. Their mouths mush harder together, like the intrusion is triggering the spell to stick harder.

“Hey, Jack, d-don’t do that,” Dean hears Sam call, rushing down the stairs. “It might get stuck.”

“Rowena wasn’t kidding. Their mouths really are very stuck,” Jack breathes from somewhere near Dean’s left ear, and Dean growls in warning.

This ain’t some freak sideshow.

And is that a friggin’ popsicle stick?

“Jack,” Sam sighs, sounding embarrassed. “Don’t stick your popsicle ugh–-that’s gross.”

So, it is a fucking popsicle stick.

It’s got adolescent spit on it and everything.

If he keeps prodding, it’s gonna give Dean a splinter. Like, a lip splinter. Dean’s snatches it away and snaps it in half. Then, he shoots Jack the bird, too.

For good measure.

///

Dean doesn’t complain much when Sam scoots two chairs together near the infirmary cots. (They’re both too tall for the cot to be comfortable to lie down on, and sitting sideways on one of the beds would just be...awkward.)

At least this way, Dean can lean over a chair arm and and prop up on his elbow. As he gets situated, he tries not to twitch his lips against Cas’s much stiller, calmer ones.

It would be a lot easier to pull Cas to sit on top of him.

Or to hop into his lap.

(He can obviously take the weight. That's why.)

“So,” Sam says, dragging over one of the folding table and plopping the remains of the chalice in the center of it. Dean hears the thud of books being added to the workspace.

“This is all we got, then. Until Rowena gets here, I mean.”

He hears Jack pull out a chair and take a seat next to Sam.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jack asks quietly, like he’s totally unphased by this turn of events. “Maybe we could tie ropes around them and slowly pull them apart?"

Dean gets the horrible mental image of a medieval torture rack, slowly ratcheting up tension until he and Cas pull apart, lips ripping completely off and leaving gory bits of each other’s sensitive skin behind.

“Or we could tie them to two cars and drive in opposite directions,” Jack says excitedly, like this is in fact the best idea ever and not a setup for a horror movie.

“If they could be pulled apart, Cas could’ve managed that already,” Sam sighs, hair sifting like he's running his hands through it.

“Oh.”

Jack sounds disappointed.

Kid's watching too many horror movies these days.

“There’s not much on The Sapphire Chalice of Charlotte, either. The curse was supposed to disperse after I burned it. And, well. The excessive rivalry surrounding the middle school basketball playoff completely lifted, so it partially worked.”

“Excessive rivalry?”

“Oh. The case. So, here's the story: a bunch of deranged parents were sabotaging each others’ kids' sports teams,” Sam explains. “We ganked the witch, but this thing was still in play."

"So, you tracked it down just to be safe," Jack says, sounding proud.

"Yeah, but after we torched this thing, Dean and Cas got, uh, stuck. But at least the parents went back to normal...I called the sheriff on the way home.”

“Oh,” Jack murmurs thoughtfully. “All that over a basketball playoff? Didn’t know witches cared about that kinda stuff.”

"You'd be surprised," Sam sighs. “So, I’m thinking. Maybe this is like some kind of accidental rebound spell that got, uh, jumbled. I wish Rowena would just get here already.”

“They won’t start fighting, too, will they? Like the–like the sabotaging parents?”

Jack’s innocent question sends a thrill of terror down Dean’s spine.

Sam sounds disturbed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admits quietly. “I mean, their lips are stuck. That doesn’t seem, uh, unfriendly?”

“Well, not yet,” Jack says ominously. “But what if they start biting each other?”

Dean snorts.

Here it comes.

“Like zombies!”

There it is.

He and Cas lock eyes and roll them upwards in tandem. Dean feels Cas puff air against his lips in frustration.

“Jack, focus,” Sam sighs, sounding two-hundred percent done. “All we know so far is that it hurts them to be apart. Right?”

The last bit is directed at Dean.

“You can sign a little bit, can’t you Dean?” Sam says defensively. “At least yes and no.”

Oh. Right. With a pang, Dean thinks of Eileen Leahy. Dean gives an experimental tug, trying to turn his head away and to the left, and he promptly winces. Ouch.

He signs, “Yes!”

“Oh, okay, so Cas, it doesn’t hurt you?”

Dean feels Cas jostle a little bit as his hands brush close to Dean’s chest. Even in separate chairs, they're still so close. Dean strains his eyes, trying to see as Cas signs something to Sam.

Sam sighs in relief. “Just Dean then. Okay, okay. Well, that’s good.”

Dean opens his eyes and looks cross-eyed at Cas. Well. At least it’s only hurting one of them.

Cas looks guilty and apologetic.

Don't worry about it, Cas.

Dean gets a little nervous.

He licks his lips.

And well, it makes him lip Cas's lips, too, and that just makes him more nervous.

“Can you breathe okay, Dean?” Jack cuts in loudly, leaning forward and inspecting, like this is a very important question.

Dean makes a ‘so-so’ motion with his hand.

“Maybe you could trying breathing and talking into each other’s mouths. Like the mermaids in Peter Pan?"

Sam clears his throat. “Jack, would you go make us some coffee?”

Jack frowns. “Why? They won’t be able to drink it. And Rowena likes tea. You told me that last time.”

“I could really use some coffee,” Sam begs hoarsely, and Dean snorts again.

Somehow, Sam’s flustered discomfort almost makes this worth it.

“If you could make Rowena tea, too, that’d be great, Jack.”

Jack shoots Sam a disappointed look.

“You said no ideas were bad ideas,” he says morosely, pouting as he trudges in the direction of the kitchen. “But you’re not acting very open to my ideas.” He shuts the infirmary door behind him a little harder than necessary, and Sam looks completely out of his element.

Dean’s mouth vibrates.

It’s Cas who’d started laughing this time.

///

Nothing compares to Rowena’s high-pitched, manic impression of a hyena-chimpanzee hybrid. She doesn’t stop screeching for a solid two minutes.

Dean can feel Cas’s mouth firm up against him, and he can actually feel the stressful press of Cas’s teeth against his lower lip. 

Stop that, Dean thinks, shoving his lower lip forward in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

“Oh, Samuel, you didn’t prepare me for this,” she hiccups, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, the poor wee dears.”

Sam stiffens. “Will they be okay?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. They just got caught in the reverse curse rebound. It’ll probably be gone in a matter of days.”

Sam does a double-take. “D-Days?”

“Well, I can’t be sure about these things, Samuel. Could be days, could be hours. Could ebb away slowly, keeping them close in orbit, but not lip-locked. All I can tell you is that it’s not affecting their vital faculties at all or holding any kind of volatile sway over their minds.”

Dean hums at her angrily.

“You said the parents were violently bashing each other in the face. The dispellment, in close proximity, had the reversal effect, so instead of fighting, well, you get a wee exploding of the opposite enchantment. Kiss and Make up. Mwah! They just happened to be standing close together, no? Or were you two little birds bantering?"

Dean frowns.

They had been arguing about the latest episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta. Could that have been enough to attract the spell remnants?

Cas sighs against him, having come to the same conclusion. He signs something to Sam.

“Rowena, can you estimate how long?” Sam translates. “And is there anything that can lessen its effect? The spell hurts Dean.”

Dean hears her rifle through pages and clear her throat.

“Well, the counter for this one is in the form of a riddle, but it’s badly preserved in my book. The original chalice was hunted as a means to entice countries and warring tribes into full-on war. Reversed, well. I can’t quite make it out, but translated, it’s something very simple and unhelpful, like ‘Stop fighting.’ There's no real details on undoing it.”

Sam leans over her.

“That’s all I can make out, too,” he sighs.

Cas signs something, and Sam says sure before garbling out some Latin mixed with gobbly gook and Cas huffs like it’s a disappointment.

“I told you it wasn’t much, Cas,” Sam snaps bitchily.

Dean pats Cas on the shoulder like, At least we’re not in danger. We just gotta wait this out.

Dean hears Rowena pat Sam lightly on the cheek.

“You can call me if anything changes, but I assure you they will be fine. It’s no fault of yours, Samuel. Don't worry your little tush. If anything changes, I'll rush right back.”

"You don't wanna stick around?"

"Mmm, I'd love to stay and witness this blackmail of epic proportions. Alas, I've a prior engagement.

///

After Rowena departs, Jack skitters in with tea and coffee. “I don't think she likes me much,” he whispers, dumping out the tea in the sink and handing over a fresh mug of coffee to Sam. “She said no to the tea and looked at me like. Like…”

“We just gotta give her space,” Sam breaks in. “You can’t force Rowena. She's complicated.”

“Complicated,” Jack echoes quietly, like he he's already traced that to Lucifer. “Okay.” He shakes himself out of it and turns back to Dean and Cas. “But why couldn’t she heal them? You said Rowena was powerful.”

“Apparently, the spell will fade on its own,” Sam explains tiredly, stretching, popping his back, and then taking a sip of his coffee. “And I trust her, Jack. I really do. This is all we can do tonight. I'm beat.”

“I can help Dean and Cas get to bed,” Jack rushes excitedly, proud he’s come up with something useful to do.

Dean hears Sam snicker at that. “Actually, yeah. You make sure they get to bed, Jack. I’ll check in later.”

Great.

Dean hears Sam shuffle away, and then Jack’s slim hands fumble to grab onto their arms. “How about Cas walks backwards, and I can lead you to Dean’s room to make sure you don’t trip over anything?”

He says it like it’s brilliant, and even Cas sighs in exhaustion. He signs, “yes,” and starts helping Dean up, careful to rise in tandem from their chairs and not put stress on their connected lips.

“Okay,” Jack breathes, once they’re up and balanced. “You can count on me.”

He pauses.

“Hey, what if I count our steps out loud as we walk? That’ll help, right?”

As it turns out, it doesn’t help much at all, and hearing, One-Two, One-Two, One-Two has Dean ready to jump into Cas’s arms and insist he carry him the rest of the way...or else kill all three of them.

Dean makes a horrified, annoyed noise, but Cas actually nips at him for it. Then he gropes forward to get Jack’s attention.

The counting stops.

Ouch, Dean thinks distantly. 

He bit me.

He thinks about Jack's zombies! comment and shivers.

///

The rest of the ambling, awkward shuffle to Room 11 is filled with more of Jack’s prattling: the episodes of The Walking Dead he’d watched that morning, the week-old bologna he’d accidentally eaten for lunch, and how he still thinks they could pry them apart if they put their minds to it.

Dean shudders against Cas’s lips, recalling Jack’s idea for hooking them to two moving vehicles.

Once they make it into Dean’s room, Jack follows them in, and Dean just wishes to god that the kid would go away and quit trying to help. It was humiliating enough with Sam around. Dean just wants to suffer alone in peace for five damn minutes.

Well, alone with Cas. 

Cas doesn’t count in this situation.

Obviously.

But then, Jack starts getting real cute in his efforts, and even Dean doesn’t have the heart to kick him out. First, Jack wrestles off Dean’s jackets till he’s down to just his tee shirt. He drapes the dead guy robe over Dean's shoulders and gives him an hearty little shoulder pat.

Then, he ruins it again with an awkward cough and, “You should take your pants and shoes off, too, Dean. You never sleep in your shoes.”

It’s almost funny.

Dean always used to sleep in his shoes, and here this kid clocks that as abnormal.

Here, in the midst of multiple Apocalypses and alternate universes, they’ve developed something of a routine.

So, Dean gives him a weak little thumbs up and scrambles to toe off his boots, which proves wobbly and nearly impossible to balance till Jack jumps down to loosen them.

“Thanks, Jack,” Dean tries to say, Jack’s innocent cheerfulness temporarily distracting him from the curse. The attempt goes about as well as you’d expect, mouth smushing against Cas without mercy and garbling the words.

But at least the contact is much softer this time.

Dean opens his eyes to peer at Cas and against all that blue, Dean nearly loses his balance stepping out of his damn shoes.

Blind to his predicament, Jack chirps, “You’re welcome,” without missing a beat.

Cas allows Jack to take his overcoat next, and then Jack coaxes Cas to step out of his black dress shoes.

Dean wisely keeps his jeans up.

“Well,” Jack says, satisfied with their progress, “Like Sam said, the Latin says as long as you don’t fight it, you’ll be fine. So, I should probably stay and watch over you, to make sure you don’t fight.”

Cas’s eyes widen comically, and Dean can’t help it. He groans. Cas’s eyes stay wide as he signs something to Jack.

Dean's surprised Jack even knows sign language, but the kid picked up his first language in utero, so maybe it makes sense.

“Well, that’s how I read it anyway, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jack huffs. “I’m sure Sam and Rowena are better at broken Latin than I am.”

Cas signs again.

“Cas, are you sure? Even if Dean goes to sleep, I could keep you company. I thought we could watch Cars 2 or something. If you want, I could even try pulling you apart every couple of hours.”

Dean feels Cas smile.

Their lips are so smacked together that it pulls Dean’s lips into a smile, too. Dean gets a little distracted by the feel of it.

Cas must sign something to Jack one more time, because Dean hears the kid deflate.

“Okay,” Dean hears Jack sigh dejectedly. “Good night then.”

Dean is relieved to see him go, but a disturbingly squishy part of him wants to tell Jack to cook up some popcorn and put on Cars 2 anyway, no matter how annoying or disruptive he’d be.

After Jack gently shuts the door, they listen to his sad, scuffing footsteps grow quieter and quieter.

Finally, Cas heaves a relieved sigh and waves a hand. The lock clicks.

///

Something about the click of the lock feels embarrassing. The sound is too loud as it ricochets off the walls, cliché and mocking.

Dean closes his eyes against the feeling. It wants to drown him, and he needs to crack a joke--preferably something clever, vaguely mean, and at Cas’s expense.

Instead, he just vibrates nervously, a wobbly chuckle parting his lips. He only barely restrains himself from lapsing into his favored nervous lip-licking.

So they just stand, dead silent, in the center of the room.

When Dean opens his eyes, the lamplight is low and unsettling. It wraps what few planes of Cas’s face Dean might be able to see in shadow. Dean swallows and concentrates on the feel of his mouth, holding out for any twitch that might betray Cas's mind.

But Cas’s mouth is just a hard, unforgiving line.

“Css?” he shapes, and it feels like brushing his lips against a smooth, cool stone.

Cas doesn't respond, and that gets the nerves firing helplessly again. At the lack of response, Dean presses his mouth forward, just the barest hint of pressure--a question in the push.

If he could just get a better look at Cas's face, he could read him.

Instinctually, stupidly, Dean tries to lean back to get a look at him. As if it's sentient, the curse yanks his head so painfully that it rips a pained moan from recesses of his throat.

Cas snaps out of his reverie and surges forward, hands coming from out of nowhere to cradle Dean’s face.

“Oh, Dean. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The words are soft and mushed up and missing syllables, but somehow, he's perfectly understandable.

With a start, Dean realizes that they can shape words pretty well when they don’t worry about the unnecessary lip contact.

It’s also pretty obvious why that would have been embarrassing to try in front of other people.

Hell, just Cas doing the coupla sentences against him feels.

It feels like.

Dean breathes forcibly out through his nose.

“S'fine,” he murmurs back.

He probably shouldn’t talk more than necessary. Talking has him wanting to reach out and press their chests together, and not just to lessen the burden on his straining neck.

Not to mention, Cas is still cradling his face, palms slowly boiling him alive and flaying his cheeks. Dean licks his lips, and that nervous gesture proves particularly self-defeating this time. It's like a second-degree burn where it touches.

Cas licks his own lips, too.

“Dean, Dean, I have an idea.”

Dean hums, nothing to say back, but liking the feel of the sounds mutually buzzing through their lips.

“For how to unstick us,” Cas murmurs, pressing the words into him like a languid caress. “Jack’s Latin translation was essentially: stop fighting.”

Dean is vaguely aware how this motion between them could be classed, but he follows it, leans into it, and lets it scald his face. He pinches his brows together, then, parsing Cas’s words.

“What, huh? But,” he whispers, not as good as Cas is at getting his lips to shape things. “We’re not fightin.”

Definitely not fighting.

Whatever this is...

...it’s not that.

Cas’s thumbs press into his cheeks.

“No,” he agrees. “We’re not.”

And then, the motion changes, and it’s not just mouthing words anymore. It’s Cas working their mouths together with new purpose.

Dean becomes hyperaware of everything, from the chapped press of Cas’s fingerpads scraping over his pores to the shff of Cas’s sock feet as he slides closer. Dean scrambles to get his hands around Cas’s waist, and one of his fingers crowds helplessly through one of Cas's belt loops.

Like he’s been electrocuted, Dean valiantly surges, standing up taller and working desperately to take control of a dangerously careening situation. He groans low in his throat and prods at the seam of Cas’s mouth with his tongue.

Cas lets him in.

Then, Dean hangs on for dear life.

One of Cas’s hands curls around the nape of his neck, and Dean makes some kind of strangled sigh, gushing air into Cas’s mouth and shuddering again when their teeth clack together.

Cas's other hand moves over the top of Dean's head, bossily pressing his forehead, then thumbing down his cheek to move him to a better angle. That hand smooths down his face further now, finding pressure points in hollow spaces that make Dean's mouth fall open wider.

There's a gentle suckling on Dean's tongue, and he "Mmmmmgh!"

When one of Cas’s hands skims down to Dean’s quivering ribs, Dean's whole body gives a little jolt, and they come unglued.

Dean’s mouth gapes frantically, sucking in room air for the first time in hours. He feels like a fish flung out of its fish tank, gasping for water to make its gills work. His eyes snap to Cas in shock.

“C-caas,” he gasps, realizing what’s happened, “we came apart.”

Cas looks at him guardedly, not even breathing hard. They're still holding onto each other.

“Oh. It worked.”

Dean tries to get his (rather embarassing) panting under control. They’d been kissing.

Like, not just pressing together.

Kissing kissing.

Right. The curse. Strategy. Control.

Of course. That's so like Cas.

“Wh-what did you do?” he huffs, swiping at his lips with the back of his knuckles.

They’re tender, bruised, and even a little bloody in the aftermath of the curse.

Cas stiffens, then gently pulls himself away, like he’s wary of triggering a fresh bout of pain. When it doesn’t seem to, he uncurls his right hand from where he’d been hugging Dean’s ribs.

“The clue for the 'kiss and makeup’ curse is to stop fighting. But the way Jack read it, it sounded like we needed to stop fighting…it.”

Dean cottons on.

Oh.

“So, we had to embrace making out to beat it, huh?”

Cas solemnly nods.

“Figures. And the kid thought he had bad ideas.”

The fingers on Cas's left hand, still gripping his neck, tap a pattering beat on the nape of his neck.

Dean's still got a grip on Cas's belt, so he rubs his thumb, almost spasm-like, on the leather he finds there.

Dean tries to lighten the mood.

“So, izzat it? Superglue all gone?”

Cas hums and concentrates on the ceiling.

“I believe so. Yes.”

“So we can let go now? It won't hurt?"

Cas’s hand abruptly withdraws from around his neck, and he takes a step back.

Dean wishes he’d kept his big mouth shut.

He lets his own hand slide slowly away from Cas’s hip, relinquishing the belt loop.

Turns out, it’s kind of hard to start a conversation after a liplocking curse and heavy makeout sesh with your bestie.

“So uh, that was kinda rough, wasn’t it?”

Cas looks up in confusion, and Dean ducks his head slyly, motioning to his abused lips. Like clockwork, Cas steps back in, fussing in that Cas way that Dean secretly enjoys.

Cas hovers a finger over his lips and an easy thrum of grace soothes his broken blood vessels and chipped skin.

Dean chuckles, too soft.

“Think the curse did most o’ that. Don’t think that was all from you.”

Cas looks abashed now, and he glares at a spot over Dean’s shoulder, totally clamming up.

“Oh, come on. What’s that face about?”

Cas’s mouth tightens even more. Dean remembers how it felt to move against it, just to try and soften it.

“I should be able to break such a curse,” he explains, scowling. All that hate aimed inward in a way Dean totally gets.

The subject of Cas’s powers is one Dean can’t navigate too well. Telling Cas, “No, actually, you’re really strong,” almost never works.

“You did break it, though,” and Dean lets himself smile an easygoing smile. “Sometimes brains and brawn is the best combo to be, you know?”

Cas steps away again, and Dean gets a thrill of terror that he's said the wrong thing again.

“Come on, Cas. Talk to me. Ever heard of taking a damn compliment?”

Cas sighs and gives a helpless shrug. His sideways smile is a little sheepish, a little wry.

“Lately, I feel like neither of those things. Smart. Strong.”

It’s a quiet admission.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that vulnerability, and apparently he’s a coward, so he loudly guffaws and says, “Idiot. A little bruising to my lips, and you’re down in the dumps. I’m fine.”

Dean’s not trying to be coy or cutesy, but he gets right up in Cas’s face as he says it. Cas’s eyes still remain downcast, so Dean tries again.

“Besides, this is probably the one place you don’t have to be either of those things.”

There he is. 

Cas’s eyes shift up, a little warmer now. In Cas-terms, it’s as good as a smile.

“Room 11 is the place to be a pathetic loser dumbass. In fact, it’s required on entry.”

Dean is rewarded with a real Cas-smile now.

“I suppose that makes sense. This is the original home of Winchester movie night.”

Dean’s got no idea why he’s swaying so close, arms hovering like he wants to grab hold. This is the part where Cas should awkwardly shrug on his overcoat and make a swift getaway.

“Hey,” Dean says suddenly, cooking up some barb about how Cas should like Dean’s dumbass movies because Cas is in fact a Bonafide dumbass for being friends with him, but what comes out is, “wanna watch Cars 2?”

Cas groans and rolls his eyes, and suddenly it’s easy territory again. “I dislike Cars 2.”

Dean pinches at his elbow teasingly, “But it’s Jack’s favorite movie.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to text him and invite him here?”

“No!” Dean says too quickly, and Cas actually looks surprised by his outburst. “I. I mean.” He swallows. “What if the curse comes back? Rowena said we might need to, like, orbit. Right?”

“Dean. I’ve checked. When we broke the curse, the thready magic that was wound around your body evaporated. You’re safe.”

You're safe.

“But,” and here Dean’s cheeks heat up. “What if it did, though?”

Cas sighs. "I'll stay."

I'll stay.

"But, Dean. Pick something different than Cars 2."

They queue up Vanderpump Rules.

Dean sneaks glances at his lips all night.

[misterjauthor]

HIS PROXY WIFE

"HEY, monkey." I smiled, standing outside the open front door.

A loud squeal came out of my twin sister. Her body vibrated as she grinned from ear to ear.

I stepped through the doorway and we wrapped our arms around each other. Her high-pitched sound on my right ear made me recoil but I didn't let go.

We separated but she held my hands. "I miss you so much, monkey." 

"Me, too. I'm so happy to see you. It's been a long time."

"I know. Three years," the grin never left her face.

I raised our arms wide. "Let me have a good look at you. What's changed?"

Maria let go of my hands and took a step back. Her dress swayed. She held her big belly while pouting like a supermodel. 

I crossed my arms on my chest and my index finger tapped my lips. I pretended to scrutinize her body. "Monkey, I know I'm not a doctor. But I think you should have that looked at. It wasn't there before." I pointed at her bulging midsection.

She slapped my shoulder. "I'm seven months pregnant, you idiot."

"Oh, so that's what it's called." 

We both exploded in laughter.

I held her chin and looked at her face. It felt like I was looking at a mirror and seeing a female version of myself looking back.

She looked back at me with a big smile.

I touched her black pixie-cut hair with my fingers. "I love your hair. You look absolutely gorgeous." I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Aww. Thank you." She reached for my man bun.  "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Are you kidding me? I woke up like this." I waved my hands over my body.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer." She laughed. "Come in. Leave your suitcases near the stairs for now and get in the kitchen. I have a cold glass of lemonade waiting for you."

I rolled in two large suitcases and left it in the foyer. On the way to the kitchen, I took note of what changed after the renovation.

They installed double doors on one side of the living room wall. Outside of it, what used to be a yard was now a swimming pool.

I passed by a wall mounted with different picture frames. Most of the pictures were of my sister and a giant hunk of Irish muscle named Brian.

"Miguel, what's taking so long?"

I left the gallery viewing for later and entered the kitchen.

The sound of ice clinking on glass greeted me as she slid the lemonade towards me.

I downed half of the tall glass before setting it on the marble island. "Where's your husband? Did he lose track of time admiring himself in the mirror again?" 

She guffawed. "That happened once. You're not gonna let that one go, are you?"

"Nope," I grinned. "So, where is he?" 

She glanced at the clock on the wall. It showed four pm. "He'll be back soon. He went to buy ingredients I need for the adobo I'll cook for dinner later."

I rubbed my palms together. "Yum, my favorite."

Maria smiled, "I know. I haven't cooked it for you in ages."

Then the back door opened.

"Speak of the devil," she said.

"Hey, man. Long time no see." Brian's baritone boomed as he set the groceries on the counter. The tight sleeveless shirt showed off his bulging arms. His entire left arm was covered with tribal tattoos.

I went around the island and extended my right hand. "Hey, Brian. Nice to see you again." 

He grabbed my hand with his giant one and pulled me into a hug. "None of that shake hands bullshit. We're family. We hug."

My face and entire body smooshed into his tree trunk of a torso as he wrapped himself around me. I felt the big bulge in his jeans pressing into me.

"I missed you, man."

My response got muffled by his body, "I missed you, too."

Good thing he let go of me just in time before he felt my semi hard-on.

Maria reached into one of the grocery bags and brought out what Brian bought. "He's even happier to see you than I did," she laughed.

We stood there with Brian's arm still around my shoulder as I breathed in his manly musk. "Anyway, I'm beat. Would it be okay if I take a short nap? Just show me the dark corner of the basement you prepared for me and I'll let you two do your thing."

My sister looked over her shoulder. "Hey, I'm not going to let my brother sleep in the basement." 

"Well, technically, it's a den," my brother-in-law objected. 

"Whatever. I'm not letting you sleep there. You're staying in the guest room. Hon, could you show him where it is? I can take care of these."

"Sure." Brian leaned in and kissed my sister. His full red beard didn't get in the way of their lips.

I escaped under his arms and went back to finish off my glass of lemonade.

"Where are your stuff?" He stood right next to me. His 6'4" dwarfed my 5'10".

I'm no stranger to the gym. But my lean-muscled body had nothing on Brian's bulk. I looked up at him. "In the foyer, near the stairs."

"Let's go." He walked out of the kitchen. The tight jeans clung to his ass and thighs like it's form-fitted for him.

I looked away from his rear end before my sister saw and followed him back to the foyer. "Later, monkey." 

"Later," her voice faded.

We reached my suitcases and he immediately picked both up. It looked like it weight nothing.

"It's okay, man. I can do it myself. Just tell me where the guest room is." I tried to grab the handle of one suitcase. 

Brian didn't let me. "You're a guest in this house. Just follow me." He started up the stairs. "The guest room's this way." 

I watched the perfectly formed ass as we ascend the stairs. It took every ounce of my willpower to keep myself from reaching out and fondling it.

We reached a long hallway at the top of the stairs and then stopped at the first door on the right.

"What time did you get here?" He put one of the suitcases down before opening the door.

I took the suitcase from the floor and went in. "About fifteen minutes ago."

He followed and set the suitcase next to the bed, where I put the one I brought in. 

"So, the bathroom's next door. The rooms at the end are our bedroom and the nursery. If you need anything, just let me know."

I nodded and extended my hand. "Thanks, man."

"What did I say about family?" He pulled me into a hug again. After he released me, he left and closed the door.

I dropped like a log on the mattress. Then I laid on my back and reached for the hard-on my brother-in-law caused. I lifted my head and said to it, "This is gonna be hard for both of us."

AFTER an hour's nap, I woke up, took a shower, and went down to look for my sister. "Monkey?"

"In here," she yelled from the kitchen, drowning out the sound of chopping.

I hurried to the kitchen and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Had a good nap?"

"It was alright. Although, I will feel more rested after I get the full eight hours. Anything I can do to help?"

"How about you cook the rice?" She stopped chopping and looked at me. "You still know how to cook rice, right?"

"What kind of Filipino do you think I am?"

She chuckled and went back to chopping.

I took the pot from the small rice cooker and put a few scoops of rice in the container. "By the way, I really appreciate you letting me stay here. I promise it's just temporary until I find an apartment."

"Of course." She went to the stove and fired it up. "You're always welcome here."

"If only the software company didn't insist I start immediately, then I wouldn't have moved here without an apartment first," I explained as I washed the rice in the sink.

"There's no rush. You being here is a good thing for me, too. I get to spend more time with my monkey after not seeing him for a long time."

"Aww. So sweet." I kissed her cheek when I passed her on the way back to the rice cooker.

The aroma of sauteed garlic and onions filled the kitchen. "And I'm happy we're finally living in the same city."

I turned the rice cooker on. "Rice is cooking. What else do you need me to do?"

"No, I'm good. I'll just put this chicken in and let it cook while we catch up." She pointed at the fridge. "Beers in there. Help yourself."

I got myself a bottle and sat on the wooden stool next to the marble island. A soft hiss escaped when I twisted the cap and then took a swig. "Do you know anyone who knows a good apartment I can rent? To be honest, I was not able to do research before moving here."

"I would have to ask Brian if he has contacts in his construction business who can help." She put a small bowl of peanuts between us and sat across from me.

"It would really help me a lot." I picked up a few nuts and popped them in my mouth.

"So, are you seeing someone?" her eyebrows wiggled.

I choked on one of the peanuts and had a drink to wash it down.

"Oh, crap. Are you alright?" she reached over the island and squeezed my arm. Look of concern all over her face.

I coughed as I set the bottle down and regained composure. "I'm good," my voice strained from the peanut going down the wrong pipe.

"Are you sure?"

My head nodded and took another swig of beer.

"Hold that thought. I need to check on the chicken adobo." She got up and went to the stove. 

Her question caught me off guard, that's all. But it's not like I didn't expect the question to come up. She would eventually ask about my love life.

As much as I didn't want to hide anything from my twin sister, I had to. I've been walking this earth for thirty years and I still didn't want people I love to know the gay side of me.

While I thought of an answer to satisfy my sister enough to let it go, my brother walked into the kitchen. 

Brian was wearing nothing except skimpy navy blue boxers, his V-cut abs showing. It didn't hide his bulge at all. He might as well walk around naked.

"Hon, put some clothes on. We have a guest," she scolded while stirring the pot.

He took a beer from the fridge and twisted the cap. "Miguel doesn't mind." My brother-in-law gave me a wink and knocked the bottle back.

"Yeah, I don't mind." My head turned away but I still saw him in my peripheral vision. Fuck. Brian had no idea the effect he had on me. As soon as I saw the wink, the blood rushed to my dick. I shifted on my seat and hoped it didn't show in my black sweat shorts. 

Every inch of his body showed masculinity. The big, hard muscles. The hairs on his chest. The beard. Even the tattoo sleeve on his left arm. It all screamed 'Man'.

Brian set his beer down on the island close to me and went to Maria. "How much longer, hon?"

"Not much." She used a spoon to scoop up some of the sauce. "Here, taste this."

My view of him was on his side, so I clearly saw the bulge of the monster hiding in his boxers. I gripped my bottle and took a swig. My eye never left his front.

"Tastes awesome." He looked my way.

I dropped my head quickly and hoped he didn't see which part of him I was looking at.

"Taste this, man." Brian took the spoon from my sister and scooped more of the sauce. He walked towards me and extended the hand with the spoon. The other hand cupped underneath to catch possible drippings.

I tried to take the spoon from him.

"No, just open your mouth. Careful, it's hot."

I looked at him while I blew on the spoon. Then I tasted it. "It's delicious, monkey. Just like the way you used to make it."

Brian took the spoon and dropped it in the sink. "I didn't like adobo when I first dated your sister. But now, I can't get enough of it."

"She makes the best adobo ever," I added

"Aww, my two boys," her face beamed as she went back to her seat. "So, where were we?"

My brother-in-law followed her and stood on one side of the island between Maria and myself. His bulge almost touched the edge. He got a few peanuts and popped it in his mouth. "What were you two talking about?" he said while chewing.

"I asked him if he's seeing someone."

I crafted a story off the top of my mind. "I was, but we broke up before I moved here. She wanted to do the long-distance thing. But I don't think that arrangement would have worked."

"So, you're single," she had a big grin. "That's perfect. I can set you up with one of my friends."

"I've been here barely a day and you already plan to set me up." I wiggled my hands. "No monkey. No setups."

"Why not? All the more reason to go out and meet people." She reached and touched my forearm.

"I don't have time to date right now. The move here is overwhelming enough." I brought the bottle to my lips and finished it off.

Brian went to the fridge and got another beer. He opened it and handed it to me.

"Thanks." I grabbed it and took a sip.

"You could at least go on a couple of dates," my sister insisted.

"Hon," my brother-in-law said as he stood behind me. He grabbed my traps and massaged them. "My buddy here doesn't need his sister's help finding dates. He's hot and won't have problems finding one.

I was not able to respond because I felt Brian's soft dick press into my back. Combined with his strong hands on me, heat rose up and I started sweating. My only way of making everything look normal was to take my beer and drink a big gulp.

My sister gasped, but smiled, "I married a traitor. Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

He chuckled and squeezed. "We bros stick together. Miguel here knows I got his back."

In more ways than one, I thought to myself. I hoped my face didn't turn red. "He's right. I can find dates myself, monkey."

"Come on. For me?" she flashed me her puppy dog eyes.

When we were kids, she always used her eyes to get what she wanted. And I was always a sucker for it. My resolve crumbled. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"I'll only date the ones Brian thinks are okay. I'm sure he already met who you'll be setting me up with. I'm more comfortable with that." I ate a few nuts and washed it down.

Brian sat on the stool next to me. His hairy legs touched mine and stayed there. "See hon. I told you. Bros," he pointed back and forth between me and himself.

I rested my elbows on the island to try and hide my crotch. Oh, God. Please don't let him see my hard-on.

"Deal. You into redheads, right?" she asked. 

Hairy redheads built like a tank.

"Ooh. I know someone. I promise. You won't regret this." She got up and turned the stove off.

"Believe me. I already am." I downed the rest of my beer.

I ATE too much of my sister's adobo. As I lay in bed, I felt like slipping into a food-induced coma. But before it happened, I needed to prepare for bed.

The email notification chirped on my phone.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and got out of bed. Took the towel I used earlier and draped it over one shoulder as I left for the bathroom.

As I finished sending a reply to the email, I looked up and the bathroom door was halfway open. Inside was my brother-in-law with his huge dick out of his boxers.

Earlier, I already knew his was big as it pressed into my back. But seeing it out of its cloth prison left me in awe.

I stopped and hurried to get my back against the wall before he sees me.

Everything was silent. Except for the trickle of water hitting the toilet. 

My heart pumped faster as I held my breath. Desperate not to make any sound and let him know I was outside. I slowly peeked at the gap and watched as my brother-in-law peed.

His eyes were closed and his head leaned back while holding his fat dick steady.

I had half a mind to barge in, drop to my knees, and swallow the damn thing whole. Forget about him being my twin sister's husband, who is straight.

Then without warning, Brian turned his head towards the door.

I snapped back against the wall without making any sound. The beat of my heart pounded against my chest and sweat dripped from my forehead. With my eyes closed, I prayed he didn't see me.

The trickle of water didn't stop.

Good. 

All this time, my hard-on never subsided. I brought my hand to the tent in my shorts, gripped it, and squeezed. A silent moan escaped me. Without taking my hand off, I peeked again.

As I stroked myself, my email notification sounded.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I turned around and was about to bolt back to the guest room. But I froze in place when I heard his voice.

"Miguel? Is that you, man?" The sound of the faucet started.

To be continued...

---

The complete story is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

I truly appreciate the support. It inspires me to continue writing.

If you enjoy my stories, please let me know. Or at least Reblog it.

Mister J

[paulinaspassions]

Pink nail art for the Breast Cancer Awareness Month http://paulinaspassions.com/heroine-nyc-heroine-duo/

[wannabeelf]

This week’s nail art falls.

Just some leaves stamped over a smoosh marble.

Polishes used:

OPI Natural nail base coat

essie - my happy bass

essie - feelin’ just lime

essie - bed rock & roll

essie - making harmony

Holo Taco - Super Glossy Taco

Also used:

Pueen  Theme Park Collection - Secret Garden 01

[blondiesnails]

[billydor-nails]

I was supposed to work on March’s Wrasslin’ mani since I genuinely forgot about it on the first saturday of the month, but I became sick on Friday, and I’m still sick three days later, so it didn’t happen. I did managed to scrap together a simple mani last night for today. So hopefully I’ll feel better by the time my weekend comes around so I can do another St. Patrick’s mani AND March’s Wrassling mani and get back on track.

Colors Used:

China Glaze- Spring Jungle, Holly-Day, Passion, Twinkle Twinkle Little Starfish

Maniology- Smudge Free Top Coat

OPI- Matte Top Coat

[nuggiebugge]

The slashers with a chubby s/o!

Michael myers

michael doesn’t care what you look like to be honest

It doesn’t matter, skinny, thick, curvy, tall, short

He just wants someone to wet his Willy (jk)

He will grip those love handles like they’re the only thing keeping him on the ground

Jason voorhees

like with michael, it doesn’t really matter

He loves you for you, and the fact you love him back is a wonder in its own

He loves how soft you are, and it just adds to how much he loves to cuddle when hes not chasing off those horny fucks.

You are so warm ohmygosh

If youre insecure about your pudge, he will kiss you all over to make you see yourself the way he does

He will kiss your cute little tummy, your soft thighs, your full lips

Brahms heelshire

he thinks you look like a teddy bear

If he wasn’t clingy before, he is now

He will try to be subtle when he gropes you, but its obvious hes squishing your love handles

You’re perfect for cuddling, so he will never let you get up from the bed, couch, floor

If he sees you poking at your stomach, or looking at yourself with anything but adoration, he will jump on you and not let go until you say you’re perfect. BECAUSE YOU ARE WHATS WRONG WITH YOU?!

He will demand in his little voice “say it y/n! Say you're perfect or you're carrying me all day!”

Vincent Sinclair

you look like a sculpture of a Greek goddess

No, y/n look *shows you sketches and painting of Greek goddesses*

If he comes up from the basement while youre cooking, he’ll come up behind you and just hug you shyly.

You know what he wants, and turn around. you smoosh him in your form, smothering him in warmth and softness.

Cuddle sessions are at least an hour long. It’s mandatory, what do you mean?

He will learn to cook your favorite food, and if it turns out good he will perfect it just to see you smile.

Chucky/Charles lee ray

He doesn’t really care to be honest

He just thinks you're pretty/handsome in general(shut up he’s a bicon and you know it)

He might not show you special affection because of it, but he loves the way your curves fit into clothes.

Bubba sawyer

oh my goodness you have a belly like he does!

You’re so cute, just like a little panda

He will scoop you up just to hear you squeak (caught off guard by his strength, he stronk)

He will snuggle you all day if you let him

He will babble in your ear trying to tell you how cute you are, but it just comes out as a marbled mess

He’s so soft for you like omg

Thomas Hewitt

you're just like aunty Mae

He thinks youre adorable

Your pudge just adds to his attraction to you

He will ask Luda Mae to help him make your favorite food to impress you

He is a very serious man, but you melt all of that away

He will learn how to bake just to make you smile

Pyramid head

at first he thinks you're weak

He slowly starts to like you though, he doesn’t think you're cute, he thinks you're beautiful

You’re exactly like a goddess he once served

He will kiss the ground you walk on

He will carry you around all day while he kills creatures that dared to bother you with their incessant bloodlust

He will never get tired of feeling your soft pudge on his shoulder

He will pet you like you’re a cat

Asa Emory/ the collector

Collector

he treats you like he would treat one of his most prized collection

You’re just a perfect specimen

Your extra pudge adds protection to your internal organs, which means he doesn’t have to worry much about internal damage

You���re very sturdy, you can handle a lot of physical abuse. Therefore, he can be a tad more rough with you

Asa

he likes it when you sit on his lap while he works

When you're sleeping together, he likes to be little to be able to squish you a little bit, he loves feeling how soft you are

Like in his collector persona, he loves that he can be rough with you, but in a different sense of course wink wonk

Jesse cromeans/ Chromeskull:

you're his perfect princess

He will spoil you so much, he will take you out to dinner or he will cook you meals from scratch

The clothes you need are too expensive because the plus size market is bullshit? He will buy you an entire new wardrobe

You want a corset, but the cheapest one in your size is 60 dollars? He will buy you a better one than that shitty waist trainer.

It almost feels like you're his sugar baby, but its not like that. He might expect extra cuddles, but that’s only because you're so warm and soft

He has cameras, so if he catches you self-deprecating in any way he will come home immediately. It doesn’t matter where he is, he's coming back to smother you in kisses.

Tiffany valentine ray

oh my gods lets go shopping

You said you needed a new bra right? Let’s go babe! Mamas got you!

She is a PDA queen, she will snuggle you in public, commenting the whole time about how soft you are

If she hears one comment about your body coming out of anyone’s mouth, she’s taking a nail file to their throat.

No one insults her baby

Nancy Downs

she would think youre the cutest thing ever

She will take you out to eat every weekend, and then have picnics every Friday after school :)

She would compare you to goddesses(not as to anger any of them, because some are quite vain)

She would believe that Monol put every ounce of love into your body, and believe you were his gift to Nancy.

She that there’s only more of you to love

If anyone makes you feel bad about your body, they are going to be on the news the next morning

Stu Macher

He is a Florida man on crack.

He will come running up out of nowhere, throw you over his shoulder, and run away leaving your friends confused as you scream in the distance.

He might look like a little twink, but it takes some real muscle strength to gut someone

He will make sure to leave you flustered every time you talk, gently rubbing your sides as you talk, hugging you from behind to squish your tummy

Billy Loomis

He LOVES thicc queens

He is a chubby chaser for sure

He would loved it if you laid on top of him while you two cuddled, he loves the comfort of your weight pressing on him

You’re like a heated, weighted blanket.

He thinks you’re so sexy, the way that dress/suit hugs your figure