#ty ev & sam

[theworkprint]

La Brea's “The Road Home, Part 2” ends on high notes all around

Finales are tricky things. Most long running series have their work cut out for them, but high concept shows – even without having the trouble of a long run – pose a particular problem. Depending on the concept upon which they’ve been built there is added shit to deal with. Not only do you have your standard character issues to clean up, but you’ve got that high concept that needs settling. La…

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”

A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.

Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.

He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”

“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”

Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.

John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.

Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.

“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”

Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.

Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”

“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.

You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”

Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.

“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”

And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.

A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.

Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.

The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”

You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.

“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”

You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.

Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”

“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”

At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”

“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”

“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”

You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.

“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”

Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.

“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.

The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.

“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”

“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”

You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.

You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”

The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”

Yup. Total dreamboat.

“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”

Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.

When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”

You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.

You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”

“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”

You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.

“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”

He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”

Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.

Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

“You’d what?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.

Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…

I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.

I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.

I’d have sex with you.

I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.

Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.

A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.

You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.

Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.

“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”

I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.

_

The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.

“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.

You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.

“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”

But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”

Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.

You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.

“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”

Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.

For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.

Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.

Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.

Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.

Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.

Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.

You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.

While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.

He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”

When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”

You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”

Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.

“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.

“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.

It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.

Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”

“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.

“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”

“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.

“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”

Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.

You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”

Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.

“Okay,” Sam melted.

“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”

Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.

You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.

You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.

You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.

The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.

“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”

Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”

“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”

Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.

“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”

You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.

You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”

Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”

“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”

You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.

“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.

He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”

You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”

“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”

You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!

Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.

“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”

You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”

An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.

“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”

(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)

Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”

You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”

“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).

It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”

Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.

You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.

It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.

In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”

Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.

…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.

“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.

He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.

Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.

…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”

It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.

“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”

Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.

Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.

Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.

“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”

“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.

You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.

“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”

Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”

Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.

You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.

“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”

Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.

You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?

“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”

Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.

“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.

He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”

You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”

Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!

You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.

Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”

So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.

When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”

Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.

“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.

You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”

The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.

You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).

A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”

The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.

His—lap.

There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).

Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”

Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.

That is not the case.

With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.

“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.

“Shut up, Sam.”

He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.

The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…

He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.

Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.

Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?

You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.

Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.

It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”

A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.

“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.

Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).

Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.

The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.

Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.

“Everything okay?” He worries.

Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.

You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”

Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.

“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”

His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).

“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.

You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”

The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.

“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”

The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.

“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”

Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.

“...In our bed…”

Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.

“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”

What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...

You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”

Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”

Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.

You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”

“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.

Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.

“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”

You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.

Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”

“Got super noisy?”

After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.

Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.

“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”

He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—

Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.

The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.

You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.

This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.

You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.

Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”

He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—

“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”

What in the ever-loving fuck.

I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).

All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.

Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”

He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.

Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.

This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.

They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.

You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.

“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”

The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.

You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.

Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”

Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.

Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.

Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”

Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”

He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”

The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.

You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.

Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.

You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”

You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”

This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.

“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”

“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”

You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.

“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”

But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…

Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.

You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”

After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.

Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.

You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.

“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”

You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.

Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”

Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.

Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.

“A-ah!”

Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.

There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.

Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”

“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”

Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.

If this is just how his fingers feel…

Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.

Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.

To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.

Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?

Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.

The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”

A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.

While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.

There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!

So…

Close…

And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.

Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.

“Sa—Sam—”

Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.

“Sam…”

You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.

Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.

Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.

A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.

You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”

And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”

“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”

In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.

Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”

(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)

He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.

This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”

With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”

You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.

He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.

Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”

Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.

“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”

His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.

When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.

“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”

Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.

…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.

“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”

You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.

It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—

“Take it out.”

Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.

It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…

You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.

You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.

For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.

“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”

“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.

For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.

Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.

“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.

You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”

Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”

He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.

Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.

You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”

Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.

Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”

You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”

Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—

—you go for it.

Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.

Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.

Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.

You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.

“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.

You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”

Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.

For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.

You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.

Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.

He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)

It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.

“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”

Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.

You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!

It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”

Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.

“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”

Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”

“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.

This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.

You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”

This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.

Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.

He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.

But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.

“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.

Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”

Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.

Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.

“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”

_

Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.

“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”

You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.

You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”

_

Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration

READ PART TWO.

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ╱ one syllable name masterlist ( below the cut is #181 one syllable first names. they are a mixture of feminine, masculine and neutral names, but please use as you see fit. please like / reblog if you found useful. )

air

anne

art

ash

ayn

banks

bay

bear

beck

bee

bell

ben

bess

birch

bird

blair

blaise

bliss

blue

blythe

bo

bram

branch

bree

britt

brock

brooke

brooks

cal

cale

carl

cash

cat

ceil

chance

charles

chris

clare

clay

cole

cort

cove

crew

cy

dale

dan

dane

dash

dax

day

dean

dove

drew

dune

elle

eve

faith

fay

fern

finn

firth

fox

frank

frost

gael

gage

grant

gray

greer

gus

gwen

hal

hank

hayes

hope

huck

hugh

jack

jade

james

jane

jay

jett

joan

joe

john

joy

jude

june

kai

kate

kay

kent

kerr

king

kit

knox

lake

land

lane

lark

lee

leith

lou

love

lux

luz

mac

mae

max

maeve

mark

maude

max

miles

nash

nate

neil

nell

north

nyx

oak

paige

paul

pax

pearl

penn

pierce

pike

poe

price

psalm

puck

quinn

ralph

ray

reed

reese

rex

rose

roy

ruth

sage

saint

sam

sean

seth

shane

shay

sim

sloane

snow

storm

tai

tate

tay

tess

thad

tom

true

truth

ty

vale

van

vaughn

vern

wade

walt

wes

west

whit

will

win

wolf

wren

wynn

yahn

zack

zane

zeke

zen

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Are they on the Naughty List? Or have they’ve been good all year?Well that’s for you to decide.

Start:November 12

End: December 31

«timeline»

◇ day 1-7: {Nov 12-18}

Day 1: Luis Sera - Ice Skating

Day 2: Carlos Oliveira - “I can’t believe you did that to Santa…”

Day3: Raiden - “I made you some hot cocoa.”

Day 4: Peter Parker - we were going to a Christmas party but fuck if you don’t just look sinful in red, and you know what? Fuck that Christmas party || Insomniac Peter ||

Day5:Goro Takemura- Dancing In The Snow

Day 6:Johhny Cage-Sucking on a Candy Cane

Day 7: Peter Quill- “are you really playing christmas music already? it’s barely november”

◇ day 8-14: {Nov 19-25}

Day 8:Gale Dekarios-Watching the snowfall from inside a cosy house

Day 9:Sam Drake-“Carmel apples, leaves falling down. What could better then November?” “I don’t know maybe fucking June?”

Day 10:Peter Parker -we got a little too carried away with the Christmas lights, and now suddenly my hands are bound with the lights and oh my god are we about to have sex? || Insomniac Peter ||

Day 11:Nathan Drake- it’s holiday dinner with your family, and oh Jesus where are your hands going?

Day 12:Peter Parker-“Do you need help hanging up the Christmas lights?” || MCU verse ||

Day 13: Peter Parker-“HAPPY NOVEMBER!” “No one wishes anyone a happy November.” “Well I just did.”|| MCU verse ||

Day 14:Tadashi Hamada-one lending the other their scarf to keep them warm.

◇ day 15-21 {Nov 26-Dec 2}

Day 15:Jacob Seed-Handing their S/O a positive pregnancy test with a sprig of holly and a note reading ‘Merry Christmas’

Day 16:Spencer Reid-Baking holiday cookies.

Day 17:Alejandro Vargas-Reader wearing nothing but a Santa hat

Day 18:Loki-A naughty sleigh ride || Exhibitionism sex ||

Day 19:Alex Casey-Build A snowman.

Day 20:Chris Redfield-“Let’s do something that puts us on the naughty list.”

Day 21:Mike Schmidt-Santa Baby: reader has decided to dress as Mrs. Claus for a little more “adult” Christmas fun. Oh boy!

◇ day 22-28 {Dec 3 -9}

Day 22:Matt Murdock-I picked you for secret Santa but I wrapped the wrong box so now I’ve given you a very festive sex toy, and oh my god this is so embarrassing

Day 23:Halsin-“Breasts/thighs are my favorite part to nibble on.”

Day 24:Miguel O’Hara-“You know, tying the legs together keeps everything moist.”

Day 25:Ethan Winters-Christmas Morning.

Day 26: Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish-Hanging Stockings.

Day 27:Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley-“The turkey’s not the only thing getting stuffed today.”

Day 28:Modern!Mizu-“Save some of that whipped cream for later.”*soon*

◇ day 29- 35 {Dec 10-16}

Day 29:Bigby Wolf-“You look even more beautiful covered in snow.”

Day 30:Harry Osborn-Christmas shenanigans under the tree, if you know what I mean

Day 31:Ethan Winters-“I’ll be content if you are the one stuffing my stocking.”

Day 32:Mike Schmidt-“Go on, open it.”

Day 33:Wyll Ravengard-“Did you decorate the tree without me? I can’t believe this!”

Day 34: Bruno Madrigal-Kiss Me Under The Mistletoe.

Day 35:Jordan Li-“Excuse me—where is my Christmas kiss?”

◇ day 36-42 {Dec 17-23}

Day 36:Mike Schmidt-"Why are there so many mistletoe?"

Day 37:Gojo“I’d like to be one of the unhealthy things you put inside your body this weekend.”*Soon*

Day 38:Luis Sera-“Alright, mister. I know you’re the one who keeps hanging up mistletoe everywhere."

Day 39:Chris Redfield-“Thanksgiving is for giving thanks” “And for body slamming each other during the family football match!”

Day 40:Aaron Hotchner-The scent of real Christmas trees

Day 41: Derek Morgan -“I’m going to have you stuffed better than the turkey by the end of the night.”

Day 42:Victor "Sully" Sullivan-“I’m not much of a cook, but I’m good at glazing.”

◇ day 43-50 {Dec 24-31}

Day 43:Leon S. Kennedy-Cabin Sex { Christmas Eve sex }

Day 44: Billy Butcher-“Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!”

Day 45: Bucky Barnes-“Did you spike the eggnog again?”

Day 46: Spencer Ried-“Will you make a gingerbread house with me?”

Day 47: Clint Barton- “It’s Snowing”

Day 48: Joel-Peppermint-flavoured everything

Day 49:Mizu-Snow/temperature play

Day 50:Johnny Cage-“It’s time for hand turkey’s everyone.” “FUCK YES YES!”

[book4air]

Social Media: https://linktr.ee/book4air

Book4Air #avatarthelastairbender #restorationproject

Showrunners: Ryoma Ishizuka Lucía Lobosvilla

'The Vow' Artist - Rick Orange Writer - Lucía Lobosvilla Letterer - Melissa Palacios

'Rebound' Original Artist - Ryan Hill Original Writer - Gene Luan Yang Additional Art - Luan Bindewald, Melissa Palacios Letterer - Melissa Palacios

'Rumors and Relics' Based on the story “Relics” by Johane Matte & Joshua Hamilton Writer - Lucía Lobosvilla Artists - Melissa Palacios, Vago, Luan Bindewald, Sam Lee Wins Coloring - Kat Peterson, Sam Lee Wins, Melissa Palacios Letterer - Melissa Palacios

Voice Directors: Lucía Lobosvilla Anthony Rodriguez

Composers: James A Reilly Aneesh Kashalikar Ty Porter Music

Audio Team Head Audio Engineer: Sam Gabriel Line Placement: Valravn Mixing Engineers: TheTVBunny (Elise Lepley) Mastering: Kim Morton

Video Team Team Lead: Ryoma Ishizuka Video Editors: Hazco Fox, PhantomSavage, TheRealizer367 (Walter Vitola), Astrid Ev, Curtis Creates Stuff, Mr.Amazing

Special Thanks: Book 4 Restoration Project Team Dark Horse Comics Nickelodeon Gene Luen Yang Gurihiru Aaron Ehasz Bryan Konietzko Michael Dante DiMartino Dave Roman Kevin Coppa Baby Lion Turtle Dave Subscribers and you!

Voice Cast

Aang - Ryoma Ishizuka Katara - Stephanie Pines Zuko - Cade Watts Iroh - D. Tyler Fultz Appa & Momo - Josh Lee Mai - Ari Thrash Kei-Lo - Belsheber Rusape Jr. Mura - Kat Peterson Tom-Tom - Victoria McMullen Ukano - PeanutButterMacaron Hanzo - Christian Sekhanan Dulma - Josephine Sweet Merchant - JJ Williams Fire Captain - Grant Corvin Headband Guy - Ara’digm Wong Additional Voices - Grant Corvin, Cade Watts, Lucía Lobosvilla, Ara’digm Wong

Promo Bumper Animated by Sam Lee Wins Voice of Katara - Stephanie Pines Video Editing - Ryoma Ishizuka Audio Editing - TheTVBunny (Elise Lepley) Mastering - Kim Morton

Patreon

White Lotus: Zac Harrell

Fire Sages: Daniel Lacey Stefan Gheorghiev

Dai Li Agents: Alejandro Navarro Minnichi

Freedom Fighters: Geans mistercokes

Cabbage Merchants: Abel Anna Yamshchikova Bunix can you feel it now mr Krabs Cezary Styczewski Edowen imitationpitaya Jake Sullivan Laura Castrillón Melissa Palacios Mercedes Valle Nerd King 101 Nichelle (ShadowleafTV) Night In Star Light Smith sniddee Tacosdecanasta Victoria C. McMullen Violet

Penguin Sledders: Ashe_Wottlin ayszhang BNT Dornfist Duke Skibbington Laala 212 Pokejedservo TheTobi2Uchiha TitaniaBird Tony Lui WhyNotReek Akiizayoi4869

Executive Producer: Ara’digm Wong

[corvidaeconundrum]

Hail, True Body Warriors AU

Gonna do this as bullets of random information I have gathered since tying everything together into a cohesive storyline is something I’ll battle when I feel conscious.

- Mimics are dark forest warriors, specifically those who have nearly faded away complete as they’re easier to control and influence as compared to the ambition fueled fresh ones. They are able to be led into a living cats dreams through the help of a Starclan cat(Morningstar/Lucifer in this case), where they kill the cat in their dream, and use it to swap places with them and wake up in their body instead.

-Cedarlily/Mark’s grandfather is the current leader of Thunderclan, with Copperstrike/Cian being deputy. This is kind of the reason he was given the suffix he has, as he was seen as lesser then the other apprentices as he grew, and was cursed to have the suffix of a flower as compared to the other more fierce names of his fellow warriors. He usually tries to keep his name hidden from as many people as possible, opting instead for Cedarfang when he can.

-Morningstar is a Starclan cat, he was given this blessing due to the fact that in his life, despite his technical crimes, he never once believed he was breaking the warrior code, and was completely in the thought that he was doing good for the clans. Basically got the Mudclaw treatment, damned bastard. Completely guiltless so now hes allowed in cat heaven.

-Badgersight/Sam was Thunderclan’s previous medicine cat, until he was exiled for breaking the warrior code due to a vision he had recieved from Starclan. He spends his time living around the territory, bouncing from place to place as to not ever be caught. This also helps him keep his Thunderclan scent and not be confused for a full rogue, which would warrant an investigation.

-Azreal has the same name, as he is a kittypet

-Appletuft/Adam was a kit found abandoned on Shadowclan territory, and subsequently adopted into it. He was lucky to have already been mostly weaned, as no queen wanted to take him for more then a week due to his aggressive behavior towards his ‘siblings’. He’s a bit of a Cuckoo in that way, a creature of the outside doomed to remove resources from the home that fosters them, all before the others, and completely in favor of itself. Despite how his aggression made the clan have a very deep distaste for him, he was a perfect warrior. Addershine/Eve is his current mate.

-On the outskirts of all territories there is a rogue, fur a deep non-reflective black. He comes and goes as he pleases and no one has ever stopped him. If asked for a name, he only says Nobody. Elders like to scare the kits with the story, how he’s an omen, a warning of horrors soon to come. Cedarkit never believed them.

-Briarcloud/Bethany was a fierce warrior, who had the unfortunate habit of wandering. It’s how she discovered a kittypet and Shadowclan warrior having peaceful conversation on the edge of the latters territory. She was intrigued the moment she saw it.

-Robinwind/Cesar didn’t just die when he was killed, but something worse. For a clan cat to die in the midst of the Place With No Stars was an after life sentenced to pain and misery, of being trapped lost in this horrible place of pain, cursed to always walk alone along the thistles and blood. It’s easy to become lost in a place with no end. Starclan keeps it’s borders well hidden from it’s dark siblings.

[typingtess]

His plan to have them leave the cabin in Mammoth Lakes at 6AM so they’d be back in LA just in the early afternoon. While he was on vacation from NCIS, Deeks was working for the LAPD at the Rose Parade tomorrow and then the Rose Bowl.

The undercover unit had to send a few people over every January 1st to help with two huge events so Deeks always volunteered. Showing up for something most of the rest of the squad hated got Deeks some points from all of them. Plus, Deeks liked the parade – his Mom took him every year as a kid because New Year’s Eve was something old Gordo sort of controlled. Now, he was paid time-and-a-half to watch the people watch the parade. Nobody getting hurt means he did his job.

After the Parade, LAPD transports the officers working the parade to the Rose Bowl. He got moved to the VIP area after an old college buddy who worked in sports facility management saw him a few years ago. He’s there undercover – mixing and mingling with the VIPs - making sure nobody who shouldn’t be there somehow got in and making sure those who are supposed to be there behave. With Oregon playing, Deeks hoped to meet Phil Knight. Maybe he could get a pair of Jordans out of it.

But the plan to get back to LA took a turn around 8:30ish when they were on 395. Kensi saw a Denny’s and well, suddenly a Lumberjack Slam was in her future. And obviously his since he was driving. She got it as takeout with what looked like a gallon of orange juice. There was some breakfast sausage for a grateful Monty. He got a muffin, some fruit and a cup of coffee.

Another pitstop to clean out the truck and take Monty for a bio-break had them about an hour behind Deeks’s mental schedule.

“So, do we have a plan for the office?”

“Plan?”

“You know, for when we go back.”

“Well, I guess we go to the office, say hello to Callen and Sam. Ask Sam if Aiden is still home. Ask Callen if Joelle is still in the picture – probably need to find a better way to say that.”

“Deeks, be serious.”

“Well, you didn’t let me get to Nell or Eric yet. Or Hetty. Or Granger. I do wonder how he’s doing.”

“Be. Serious.”

“I. Am.”

“What are we going to tell them about us?”

“As little as possible.”

“That’s not in your nature.”

“That is exactly my nature.”

“Deeks, I say this with great affection, you talk all the time.”

“Thank you for the great affection. And I do talk all the time. But I’m pretty good at saying very little by saying a whole lot.”

Kensi sat for a second, opened her mouth and decided against whatever she was going to say. “So we say nothing.”

“Nobody’s business.”

“So our secret.”

“Not a secret, just not something I want to discuss with Eric, Hetty, Ty in IT.”

“What if Hetty wants to know?”

“Hetty’s not in the position she use to be. For good and for bad.”

“What does that mean?”

“She probably can’t send you halfway around the world again but I could go back to LAPD without Director Vance breaking a sweat.”

“So we keep things quiet.”

“No, we don’t flaunt things. Things were going on before this trip, things will keep going on after this trip.”

“That wasn’t firmed up before.”

He turned his head and looked right at her. “It was always firm for me.”

“Me too,” Kensi said with a big smile.

They drove a little while with the area looking a lot more like the California they knew and a lot less like the mountains.

“So what do I say if Trudy from accounting asks about my vacation.”

“That Trudy is the office busybody. Probably comes with being named Trudy.”

“And if I don’t have an answer, she’s fill in the blanks.”

Imitating Kensi, Deeks started, “Trudy, I went skiing with Deeks and Monty. And snowboarding. I was bad at that.”

“That’s a lie!”

“The bruises on your ass disagree.”

“They’re not bruises.”

“Kens…”

“The rental snowboard was cheap.”

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools,” Deeks chided before going back to his Kensi imitation. “I went skiing and snowboarding with Deeks and Monty. He rented this great two-bedroom cabin right at the foot of the mountain. Two bedrooms are totally the way to go. We had such a great time.”

“We did.”

“And she doesn’t need to know that Monty used the other bedroom because the cabin stove in our room and the fireplace in the living room were bad for him.”

Kensi was quiet for a minute. “You would have been dangerous as a fulltime lawyer.”

He smiled. “The secret is to tell the truth, just tell the truth in the way that is best for your case.”

[alterchaos]

THE OPEN WINDOW

Life is perfect on Earth. Surrounded by her friends and family, Eve couldn't be happier. Nothing could ruin her special day...

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: THE FAULT IN OUR STARS: CAPTIVES

NEXT CHAPTER: IF TIME STOOD STILL

Things had never been better for the Thorndyke girl as she walked along the spring path leading to her school. She wore a bright blue dress with puffed sleeves and a matching ribbon tying up her long, flowing golden hair. Her expression was full of boundless joy.

Nothing could ruin her day.

“Hey, Eve! Wait up!”

The girl paused, smiling warmly as her brother ran to her side. She giggled.

“Sorry, Chris! I’m too excited!”

Her brother chuckled, ruffling her hair slightly.

“That’s okay, sis! After all, today is-”

“Eve!”

“There she is!”

Danny, Helen, and Francis waved down the girl before approaching excitedly. It’d been almost a year now since they met and became friends.

A whole year…

Eve smiled to herself, thinking back to the hedgehog who’d caught her that fateful day. Sonic had done so much for her in all this time. Thanks to him, she had a family and friends she could count on as well as a life of endless adventures to look forward to, especially now with Eggman gone from Earth.

He meant everything to her.

She couldn’t even imagine life without him anymore.

And she didn’t have to.

She knew he’d never abandon her. He wasn’t like that.

He was always there right by her side.

And he always would be…

…until the end.

“So! How does it feel to be a year older?”

“You’re eight now, right? Congrats!”

“Yeah! My little sister is growing up fast!”

Everyone laughed heartily.

rrriiiiiiiiing

“Oh! That’s the bell! We’d better get going everyone!”

“See you later, birthday girl!”

“See you!”

The girl raced into the building excitedly, unable to contain her anticipation for when she’d finally be able to go home and see everyone.

Yeah…

Nothing could ruin this perfect day.

—----------------------------------------------------

“Happy birthday, Eve!”

The girl’s family and friends popped some noise makers as they presented her with a homemade chocolate cake. She giggled, beaming with joy at the sight. Her mother lit a couple candles, handing the cake to Sonic who approached the girl with a smile.

“Here. Make a wish.”

Her wish?

She thought about the lonely birthdays of her past, her mother and father too busy to stop by while Chris simply went out with his old friends.

That’s right…

So much had changed since then…

“My wish…”

Eve smiled.

“...is for things to stay exactly as they are now…”

…forever…

Eve blew out her candles.

Nothing could ruin this perfect da-

knock knock knock

Everyone turned towards the front door in curiosity.

“Oh my…I wonder who it could be at this hour?”

“I’ll get it.” Nelson walked over to the large door with Tanaka and Sam close behind him. He opened it only to be met with a few government agents dressed in black suits. Nelson’s tone and face grew stern, “Can I help you?”

“Are Sonic and his friend’s home?”

Sam stepped forward, “Who’s asking?”

“Relax, sir. We aren’t with G.U.N.”

“If it’s all the same to you, then, we’re a little busy celebrating my daughter’s birthday at the moment. Good day.” Nelson began to close the door, pausing though as the agent caught it.

“Look, this is a matter regarding the fate of our world. We only came to ask for his help.” Nelson hesitated, “As you can see, we didn’t come bearing weapons of any kind. We just want to talk…please.”

All three men’s eyes widened at the addition of the ‘please’. Given their status within the government, this had to be serious for them to not simply take what they wanted by force.

“Alright…but make it quick.” Nelson invited the agents inside.

“Thank you, sir. We won’t be long.”

—----------------------------------------------------

“You better have a good reason for interrupting my friend’s birthday…”

The blue hedgehog sat cross-legged on the sofa, arms crossed in tandem as he glared at the agents. He was joined by the Thorndyke parents as well as Tails and Amy. Chris had taken the worried birthday girl up to the attic to make some crafts with Cream, Cheese, and Vanilla. The other members of the Thorndyke family lingered around the corner, listening in.

“We do.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The spokesperson gulped, “R-Right…well…As you know, the veil between your dimension and ours is thin, fragile even. The tiniest anomaly between the two could spell disaster for all of us.”

“Your point being?”

“...”

“Look, lady, we aren’t here on Earth to cause you any trouble-”

“We know that, though, I fear it’s not as simple as that…”

“Whaddya mean?”

“The window between our worlds, the one that allowed G.U.N. to conduct the research on Project Shadow, is going to close soon and we don’t know when, or if, it will open again. If you and your friends choose to remain on Earth, it could cause unforeseen destruction for all of us. We aren’t just some planet that can be traveled to under normal circumstances…We are parallels…dimensions meant to reflect one another, not to mix.”

“Then how come nothing bad has happened in the year since we got here?”

“That’s because the window between dimensions has remained open, allowing the worlds to coexist without issue. If they were to close, however…”

Sonic looked down, “There’s no telling what would happen…” He closed his eyes in deep thought, pain crossing his features. Though he didn’t understand the intricacies of it all, he understood enough to know that leaving Earth was the only way to protect everyone. Still, one question remained, “How did you only just now figure this out?”

“It was because of your final battle against Dr. Eggman. To put it in basic terms, when he left, we noticed a change in the makeup of our universe and got to work immediately.”

Sonic closed his eyes, “I see…”

“...”

“...”

Nobody knew what to say, all of them trying desperately to process what this meant.

This…was goodbye…

“How long do we have?”

“Maybe a week if that. The sooner you leave the better.”

“...”

“What will you do, hero?”

“...”

“Sonic?”

“...”

He didn’t know what to say as everyone stared at him with wide eyes. He had to make a call as their leader. This conversation wouldn’t end until he did.

He hated it.

He hated all of this.

He opened his crestfallen eyes.

“How long would it take to find us a way home, Lil’ Bro?”

Tails’s ears dropped, “I can craft a machine to send us back with chaos control. It would take…maybe a day since we have all seven emeralds…”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you, Sonic. We will offer any assistance we can.”

Sonic looked away in pain and frustration, “Just get out.”

“...Very well.”

With that, the agents stood up one by one and left the Thorndyke residence.

clack

Everything was quiet.

Then Amy spoke, “What about Eve? On her birthday no less…”

“...” Guilt washed over the hedgehog’s expression.

“I can talk to her.” Lindsey stood up, pausing only when her eyes fell on a small figure in a night gown at the top of the stairs.

“Eve…”

Everyone turned sharply to look at the young girl in shock. Her brother stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.

“How long have you two been standing there?”

Chris looked hurt, “Long enough…”

“Sonic…”

The hedgehog turned away as the girl descended the staircase slowly, her eyes wide and wet with tears.

“Sonic…you don’t mean that…”

“...”

“Come on…tell me it isn’t true…”

“...”

“You really wouldn’t leave me like that…would you…? What about my wish…?”

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry, Eve…I…we have no choice…”

The girl froze, her entire world shattering before her.

Nothing could have ruined her day…

…except that.

Tears sprung up in the girl’s eyes as she scrunched her face in denial, “S-So…So you’re going to leave me…J-Just like that…?

“Oh, Sweetie…” Lindsey walked over, offering her hands to her daughter’s trembling shoulders, “Not everything can last foreve-”

“I DON’T ACCEPT THAT!!!”

The girl yanked herself free, her face turning bright red as tears flew from her eyes.

Chris raced to her side, “Eve-”

“I’M JUST GOING TO END UP ALONE AGAIN!!! NOBODY CARED UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG AND NOW YOU’RE LEAVING ME!!! IT ISN’T FAIR!!!”

Chris grabbed his sister’s shoulder’s as she lunged forward, pulling her trembling figure back, “No that isn’t true! You won’t be alone again! I’ll make sure of it!”

“LET GO OF ME, CHRISTOPHER!!!”

Chris startled at her using his full name once more.

“Eve…” Sonic watched her with guilty eyes, “I’m so sorr-”

“I HATE YOU!!!”

With that, she yanked her arm free and ran upstairs to her room, sobbing as she went. Her door slammed closed as everyone watched in sadness. Sonic looked down as Amy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Eve…”

—----------------------------------------------------

knock knock knock

“Eve?”

The bedroom door creaked open, revealing the girl’s brother.

“Hey…Eve…can you say something? We’re all really worried about yo-”

whooosh

The boy’s eyes went wide as they fell upon the far window…

The open window…

A rope made of tied bedsheets slinked beyond the wooden frame and down to the courtyard in the back.

“No…”

Chris ran to the banister at the top of the stairs with frantic footsteps.

“GUYS HELP!!! WE HAVE TO HURRY!!!”

“What? What is it, Chris?”

“IT’S EVE!!! SHE…SHE RAN AWAY!!!”

“WHAT!!??”

Lindsey cried out.

SHOOOOOOM!

Within a few milliseconds, the Hero of Mobius raced out the door and into the cool, spring night in search of his missing friend.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[zmediaoutlet]

happy wincest wednesday z! if sam and dean were dropped into ff7, which characters do you think they would get along with or not get along with?

happy wincest wednesday eve -- ty for indulging me both on doing the wincest wednesday thing and also for this hilarious crossover, lol. Talk about tones that do not mesh.

Which obv makes it better, haha. Like Dean would be just straight-up heckling Sephiroth and it would be DESERVED. Who's that portentous. Jesus. I guess in the same way that when they got dropped into Scooby Doo and suddenly could do scrambling cartoon runs and whatnot, tho, if they were dropped in FFVII they should also gain the equivalent of video game protagonist powers (and possibly hair -- Sam's suddenly even more shaggy and shiny, god help us). Dean doing weird gun kata shit bc that's just how it'd be in Midgar for him -- yeah, why not!

Things I believe to be true:

Dean and Barret would initially not get along at ALL and then Dean would be extremely gentlemanly and kind to Marlene (because he has another kind of superpowers) and then Barret would be like. Okay. We are now best friends. They could get drunk and yell at corporate sloganeering together.

Dean obviously hits on Tifa but it's just in like a friendly 'we are both super hot and there are rules here' way. She is sweet and rolls her eyes about it and then they're actually pretty platonic. Plus Dean respects a bartender, especially one who could decapitate you with a kick.

Sam initially thought he could hang with Vincent just for the quiet vibes, and also the 'hey, do you feel like your girlfriend got killed and there's something monstrous inside you' element, but... it turns out you can have too much in common with someone, and like, how do you even talk about that. He ends up getting along more with Cid. Sure, Cid's a dick and brash and drinks too much, but he's actually very sweet on the inside, and Sam's like 'wow, it's like Bobby's 30 years younger and feels strongly about tea.' (Dean and Cid argue about mechanic details and Dean's offended that he's not allowed to fly the Highwind. Sam hears the bitching about each other from both sides.)

They both can't stand Yuffie. Sam tries, but... fuck.

Aerith is obviously nice to them both, and flirts with them both in her sunny easy way, but there's a little wall there -- Aerith, angel-like, has this element to her that they can't touch, and she recognizes them both as touched by destiny too, and it's just... Sam says to Dean, one night, that she reminds him of Anna, and Dean agrees. (Although he doesn't have last night on earth sex with Aerith.) ((Aerith is out in a meadow one day when Sam goes for a walk, and she vaguely implies that she knows Sam and Dean are soulmates and that that must be nice, and Sam doesn't exactly know what to say because she seems so sad about it. But he carries the basket of herbs she picked, and helps her over the little river so she doesn't get her boots wet, and she smiles at him grateful and knowing and then sends him back to his brother.))

Cloud: neither of them know what to do with this fuckin guy. They don't respond well to Cool Loner Types. Plus Dean recognizes crazy when he sees it, and nudges Sam hard the first time Cloud has one of his Little Moments and Sam's like, ow, yes, I see it too. Still, after the whole... psychotic break thing (and after Aerith dies) I feel like they'd each be able to handle part of it -- Dean being apparently-callous 'let's deal with the logistics and problems in front of us' support; Sam being like, hey, if you want to talk about hallucinating your worst enemy I Am Your Guy. They would both also have a lot of sympathy for the, you know, mother dying in a fire set by the devil part.

Red XIII: Dean: "Holy shit, dude. They got their own Scooby Doo." Sam: "I'm pretty sure that's... really offensive. He's like... a member of an indigenous tribe or something, Dean." Dean: "Sam, he is a talking dog." Sam: "...Yeah, he is. But if you offer him a Scooby Snack I will not mop you up when he kills you."

[todayingoodmusic]

not to glaze but

i love eve lindley ty mr robot s2

ofc sam esmail my goat followers her on twitter

THIS IS THE BEST NEWS IVE GOTTEN ALL WEEK

[theworkprint]

La Brea’s “Fire Storm” heats things up!

After being disappointed by “Maya”, La Brea has more than made up for it with Tuesday’s adventure: “Fire Storm.” We begin in 2021 with Gavin getting kidnapped at gunpoint by a mystery woman. Ty and Sam are once again on the hunt for Gavin. Back in 10k B.C. Sam’s suspicions about their unnamed contact is proven correct when the person produces a picture that appears to be Eve tied to a chair.…

[a-z0-9-i-n-gram-completionist]

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4:    1842 1908 abdo able ably acce acin acru acti actu adep ages ainf ajor akes akin alis allo alls ally almo alog also amil ampl anal anat ance ands andu aneo ange anim answ ants anus aped appa appe area aren arge arki arks arly arms arou arra arsa arte arti arts ased aske atar ated ater athe atid atio ativ atom atte atty atur avit awar aybe babl back ball base bdom bear bedd behi belo betw beyo biof bitt blog bodi body bone boun boyl brat brev bsta bula burr bute call cavi ccen ccyx ceed cent ceps cept cher chiu cial cien ciet cing cles cloa clus cocc comp conn cons cont cosu cret crib crum ctio ctua ctus cula cuta dard ddar deal deed denb denc deos depo dept desc dfis died dies diet ding disp dnes does dome domi dors dula duri eaki eall ears eart ebra ecia ecre ecti ectu edda edin edis eedi eein eems efer egio ehin eing eith elat elet elop elow elvi emal emel emen emor empl emur enbo ence endi ends engt engy enhn enop enor enti entl entu enve eous epos epti eque eral eran ered eres erio erly ermi erru erse ersi erte erti erto erus escr espe esti esty etal etat eton etwe ever evic evid ewha excl exem exte extr exus eyon fami fatt fema femo femu fest fibu fied fift find firs fish form foss frac frog from furt fuse gely geme gest gica gion gird glan glue gold gona gous grea grou gyst hape have head hear heir here hert herz hese hich high hims hind hing hips hird hite hium hnac hole hoto houg hroa hume hyme hymu iall ibed ibio ibul ibut ical icep icks icky icul idea iden ideo ides idfi ienc iety ifes ifie ifth ight ilar ilia illi imag imal imil imse inal incl inde infr ings inky inse insi inst inte into ints inuo iofi ions ious irdl irst isch ishe isop ispo issu ists ites ithe itio ittl itty ivel join jori just juts kele king kink kive knee know ksch land larg larl late lati latu lden legs leng leta leto lexu liar lier life lifi litt llie llow lmos loac logi logo lond loos lope lops lowe lowi lung lusi lvic lymp lypm mage majo make male mall many mark mass mati mayb mely meno ment meru meta mewh mila mili mina mite moot mora most moun mous mple mpli mpri msel murs musc must mygo naci nads nali nalo nato nboy nclu ndee nder ndin ndne ndon ndul nect neit neou ness next nfro ngem ngth ngys nhna nima nnec nopt norm nost note noxi nsec nseq nsid nsis nste nswe ntai nter ntin ntio ntly ntri ntua nuou nusu nvel oaca obab occy ocee ocie odie oesn ofib ogic ogou oint olde olog omat omen omew omin ompr onad ondo only onne onse onsi onta onti ontr oolo oose ooth oped oper opte oral oria orit orma ormo orsa oses osit osso oste osto osty osus otal oted othe otic ough ound ount oups outs ower owin oxio oylo pare part patt pear peci pelv perl phot pica pine plex plif poin pose posi post ppar ppea ppos pred pris prob proc prop pter ptid pubi quar quea quen ques quit ract rain rang rans rapp rate rath rawr rdle real reat rect redi refe regi rela reme rent rest rete reve revi rgel rges rial ribe ribu righ ring rior rise rity rkiv rksc rmat rmit rmou roat roba roce rogs rope rost roun roup rowe rpri rran rrou rrow rruc rsal rsed rsio rstl rteb rter rthe rtic rton ruco sacr sacs sals same save sche schi scie scle scri scul secr sect seei seem self sequ shap shes side sidf simi sion sist siti sits sive size sked skel skin smal smoo soci soft some sopt sori spec spin spos sque ssor ssue stan stea ster stic stin stio stly stom stot stud styl sual subs such supp surp surr swer syno tain take talk tanc tane tars tata tead tebr tend tera tere teri term tern than that thei them ther thes they thig thin thir this thou thro thus thym tibi tica tick ticu ting tinu tiny tion tips tiss tive toma tomy tons tota toti trem trib tsid tter ttle tual tuat tudi ture turn twee tyle typi uall uart uate ubis ubst ucos udie ueak uenc uest uite ular ulat umer unde undi undn ungs unus uous uppo urin urns uros urpr urro urth uscl uscu used usio usiv usua utan utsi velo vely verr vers vert very vice vide vill vity ware ween well were wers what when whic whit whol wing with xclu xemp xiou xten xtre ygol ylou ymen ymph ymus ynos

yond ypic ypmh ysto zool    815/1679616    (813/456976)    (2/10000)

5:    abdom accen acing acrum actio actua adept ainfr ajori aking allow almos alogo amili ample analo anato andul aneou angem anima answe appar appea arent argel arges arkiv arksc aroun arran arsal arter artic asked atars atera ather ation ative atomy atter ature avity aware bably balls based bdome bdomi bedda behin below betwe beyon biofi bitty bodie bound boylo brate brevi bstan burro cally cavit ccent ceedi centu cepti cherz chium ciall cienc ciety cloac clusi coccy compr conne conse consi conta conti contr cosus crete cribe ction ctual cular culat cutan ddard denbo dence depos descr dfish dings dispo dness doesn domen domin dorsa dular durin eakin eally earts ebrat ecial ecret ectio ectus eddar eding edisp eedin eeing egion ehind eithe elati eleta eleto elope elops elvic emale emely ement emora empli emurs enboy endin ength engys enhna enopt enorm entio ently entua envel eposi eptid equen erans erest erior ermit erruc ersed ersio erteb ertic erton escri espec estin estio estyl etata etons etwee evers evice evide ewhat exclu exemp exten extre eyond famil fatty femal femor femur festy fibul fifth first fishe forma fosso fract frogs furth fused gemen gical girdl gland golde gonad great group gysto haped heart herto himse hnaci hough hroat humer hymen hymus ially ibiof ibula ibute icall iceps icept icula ideal idenc ideos idfis ience ifest ified ilarl iliar illie image imila imsel inali inclu indee infro insec insid inste inter inuou iofib irdle irstl ischi ishes isopt ispos issue ither ition ittle ively joint jorit kelet kinky ksche lands landu large larly later lativ latur ldenb lengt letal leton lexus lifes lifie littl llier llowi lmost loaca logic logou londo loose loped lower lowin lungs lusio lusiv lymph lypmh mages major makes marks matid matio maybe menop menti merus metat mewha milar milia minal mites mooth moral mount mplex mplif mpris mself muscl muscu mygol nacin nalis nalog natom nboyl nclus ndeed nding ndnes ndula necti neith neous nfrog ngeme ngyst nhnac nimal nnect nopte normo nosto noted noxio nsect nsequ nside nsist nstea nswer ntain ntere ntinu ntion ntrib ntuat nuous nusua nvelo obabl occyx oceed ociet odies ofibu ogica ogous oints olden ologi omati omewh omina ompri onads ondon onnec onseq onsis ontai ontin ontri oolog operl opter orial ority ormat ormou orsal ositi osits ossor oster ostot ostyl other otica ounde oundi oundn outsi owers owing oxiou oylou paren parti patte pears pecia pelvi perly photo pical plexu plifi point poses posit poste ppare ppear ppose predi prise proba proce prope ptera pubis quart queak quenc quest quite racti rainf range rathe reall rectu redis refer regio relat remel rentl resti rever revic rgely rgest ribed ribut right rkive rksch rmati rmite rmous robab rocee roper rosty round roups rower rpris rrang rroun rrowe rruco rsals rsion rstly rtebr rther rtica rticu rucos sacru scher schiu scien scles scrib scula secre seein seems seque shape sides sidfi simil sists sitio sivel skele small smoot socie somew sopte soria speci spine spose squea ssori stanc stead steri stick sting stion stoma stoti studi style suall subst suppo surpr surro swere synos tance taneo tarsa tatar tebra tendi tends teral teran teres terio termi their there thert these thigh thing third thoug throa thymu tibio tical ticks ticky ticul tinuo tions tissu tomat total totic treme tribu tside ttern tuall tuate tudie turns tween typic ually uarte uated ubsta ucosu udied ueaki uence uesti ularl ulatu umeru under undin undne unusu uppos uring urost urpri urrou urrow urthe uscle uscul usion usive usual utane utsid velop verru verse versi verte verti vicep viden video villi wered which white whole xclus xempl xious xtend xtrem ygold ymeno ynost ypica ystom zoolo    622/60466176    (622/11881376)

6:    abdome abdomi accent action actual ainfro ajorit allowi almost alogou amilia amplex analog anatom andula aneous angeme animal answer appare appear arentl argely argest arkive arksch around arrang arsals articu atarsa ateral athert ations attern bdomen bdomin beddar behind betwee beyond biofib bodies boylou brevic bstanc burrow cavity ccentu ceedin centua ceptid cially cience cloaca clusio clusiv coccyx compri connec conseq consis contai contin contri cribed ctions ctuall cularl culatu cutane denboy deposi descri dfishe dispos domina dorsal during eaking ebrate eciall ecrete ection eddard edings edispo eeding either elativ eletal eleton eloped emoral emplif enboyl ending engyst enhnac enopte enormo ention entuat envelo eposit equenc eresti ermite erruco ersion ertebr ertica escrib especi esting estion estyle etatar etween everse evicep eviden exclus exempl extend extrem famili female femora femurs festyl fibula firstl fishes format fossor fracti furthe gement girdle glands glandu golden gonads groups gystom hearts herton himsel hnacin humeru hymeno ibiofi ically icepti icular idence idfish ifesty ilarly illier images imilar imself inalis inclus indeed infrog insect inside instea intere inuous iofibu irstly ischiu isopte ispose jority keleta keleto kscher landul largel larges latera lative lature ldenbo length letons lifest lified little llowin logica logous london lowing lusion lusive majori marksc mation menopt mentio metata mewhat milarl miliar minali mplexu mplifi mprise muscle muscul mygold nacing nalogo natomy nboylo nclusi ndness ndular nectio neithe nfrogs ngemen ngysto nhnaci nnecti nopter normou nostot noxiou nseque nsists nstead nswere nteres ntinuo ntribu ntuate nusual nvelop obably oceedi ociety ofibul ogical oldenb ologic omatid omewha ominal ompris onnect onsequ onsist ontain ontinu ontrib oologi operly optera ormati ormous ositio ossori osteri ostoti ostyle otical ounder oundin oundne outsid oxious parent partic patter pecial pelvic plexus plifie points positi posits poster pparen ppears predis probab procee proper pteran quarte queaki quence questi ractio rainfr rangem rather really rectus redisp region relati remely rently restin revers revice ribute rksche rmatio rmites robabl roceed roperl rostyl rounde roundi roundn rowers rprise rrange rround rrower rrucos rtebra rtical rticul rucosu sacrum scherz schium scienc scribe scular sculat secret seeing sequen shaped sidfis simila sition sively skelet smooth societ somewh sopter sorial specia sposes squeak ssoria stance sterio sticks sticky stomat stotic studie sually substa suppos surpri surrou swered synost taneou tarsal tatars tebrat tendin terans terest terior termit therto though throat thymus tibiof ticall ticula tinuou tissue tomati totica tremel tribut tually tuated tudied typica uarter ubstan ucosus ueakin uestio ularly ulatur umerus unding undnes unusua uppose urosty urpris urroun urrowe urther uscles uscula usivel usuall utaneo utside velope velops verruc versed versio verteb vertic viceps vicept videnc videos villie xclusi xempli xtendi xtends xtreme ygolde ymenop ynosto ypical ystoma zoolog    446/2176782336    (446/308915776)

7:    abdomen abdomin accentu actuall ainfrog ajority allowin alogous amiliar amplexu analogo anatomy andular angemen answere apparen appears arently arksche arrange articul atarsal atherto bdomina beddard between biofibu brevice bstance burrowe ccentua ceeding centuat clusion clusive compris connect consequ consist contain continu contrib ctually cularly culatur cutaneo denboyl deposit describ dfishes dispose dominal ecially ections edispos eedings elative eletons emplifi enboylo engysto enhnaci enopter enormou entuate envelop eposits equence erestin ermites errucos ertebra ertical escribe especia etatars eversed eviceps evicept evidenc exclusi exempli extendi extends extreme familia femoral festyle firstly formati fossori fractio further glandul goldenb gystoma himself hnacing humerus hymenop ibiofib iceptid icularl idfishe ifestyl imilarl inclusi infrogs instead interes iofibul ischium isopter isposes keletal keleton kscherz landula largely largest lateral ldenboy lifesty llowing logical lusivel majorit marksch mations menopte mention metatar milarly minalis mplexus mplifie muscles muscula mygolde nalogou nboylou nclusio nection neither ngement ngystom nhnacin nnectio noptera normous nostoti noxious nsequen nswered nterest ntinuou ntribut ntuated nusuall nvelope nvelops oceedin ofibula oldenbo ologica omewhat ominali omprise onnecti onseque onsists ontinuo ontribu oologic opteran ormatio osition ossoria osterio ostotic oticall ounding oundnes outside parentl particu pattern peciall plified positio posteri pparent predisp probabl proceed properl pterans quarter queakin questio raction rainfro rangeme redispo relativ resting reverse revicep rkscher rmation robably roceedi roperly rostyle rounder roundin roundne rrangem rroundi rrowers rrucosu rtebrat rticula rucosus science scribed sculatu secrete sequenc sidfish similar skeleta skeleto society somewha soptera special squeaki ssorial sterior stomati stotica studied substan suppose surpris surroun synosto taneous tarsals tatarsa tebrate tending teresti termite therton tibiofi tically ticular tinuous tomatid totical tremely tribute typical ubstanc ueaking uestion ulature undness unusual urostyl urprise urround urrower uscular usculat usively usually utaneou veloped verruco version vertebr vertica vicepti vidence villier xclusiv xemplif xtendin xtremel ygolden ymenopt ynostot ystomat zoologi    297/78364164096    (297/8031810176)

8:    abdomina accentua actually ainfrogs allowing amplexus analogou angement answered apparent arkscher arrangem articula atarsals atherton bdominal biofibul brevicep burrower ccentuat ceedings centuate clusivel comprise connecti conseque consists continuo contribu culature cutaneou denboylo deposits describe disposes dominali edispose emplifie enboylou engystom enhnacin enoptera enormous entuated envelope envelops eresting errucosu ertebrat escribed especial etatarsa evicepti evidence exclusiv exemplif extendin extremel familiar formatio fossoria fraction glandula goldenbo gystomat hymenopt ibiofibu icularly idfishes ifestyle imilarly inclusio interest iofibula isoptera keletons landular ldenboyl lifestyl lusively majority marksche menopter metatars mplified muscular musculat mygolden nalogous nclusion nections ngystoma nhnacing nnection nopteran nostotic nsequenc nteresti ntinuous ntribute nusually nveloped oceeding oldenboy ological ominalis onnectio onsequen ontinuou ontribut oologica opterans ormation ossorial osterior ostotica otically oundness parently particul pecially position posterio pparentl predispo probably proceedi properly queaking question rainfrog rangemen redispos relative reversed reviceps revicept rkscherz rmations roceedin rounding roundnes rrangeme rroundin rrucosus rtebrate rticular sculatur sequence sidfishe similarl skeletal skeleton somewhat sopteran speciall squeakin stomatid stotical substanc surprise surround synostot tatarsal terestin termites tibiofib ticularl toticall ubstance unusuall urostyle urroundi urrowers usculatu utaneous verrucos vertebra vertical viceptid xclusive xemplifi xtending xtremely ygoldenb ymenopte ynostoti ystomati zoologic    189/2821109907456    (189/208827064576)

9:    abdominal accentuat analogous apparentl arkscherz arrangeme articular bdominali biofibula breviceps brevicept burrowers ccentuate centuated clusively connectio consequen continuou contribut cutaneous denboylou described dominalis edisposes emplified engystoma enhnacing enopteran enveloped errucosus ertebrate especiall etatarsal eviceptid exclusive exemplifi extending extremely formation fossorial glandular goldenboy gystomati hymenopte ibiofibul inclusion interesti isopteran ldenboylo lifestyle markscher menoptera metatarsa musculatu mygoldenb ngystomat nnections nopterans nostotica nsequence nterestin oceedings oldenboyl onnection onsequenc ontinuous ontribute oological ormations ostotical particula posterior pparently predispos proceedin rainfrogs rangement redispose revicepti roceeding roundness rrangemen rrounding rticularl sculature sidfishes similarly skeletons sopterans specially squeaking stoticall substance surroundi synostoti tatarsals teresting tibiofibu ticularly totically unusually urroundin usculatur verrucosu vertebrat xclusivel xemplifie ygoldenbo ymenopter ynostotic ystomatid zoologica    112/101559956668416    (112/5429503678976)

10:    abdominali accentuate apparently arrangemen articularl bdominalis brevicepti ccentuated connection consequenc continuous contribute engystomat enopterans especially etatarsals exclusivel exemplifie formations goldenboyl gystomatid hymenopter ibiofibula interestin isopterans ldenboylou markscherz menopteran metatarsal musculatur mygoldenbo ngystomati nostotical nteresting oldenboylo onnections onsequence ostoticall particular predispose proceeding redisposes reviceptid roceedings rrangement rticularly stotically surroundin synostotic tibiofibul urrounding usculature verrucosus vertebrate xclusively xemplified ygoldenboy ymenoptera ynostotica zoological    60/3656158440062976    (60/141167095653376)

11:    abdominalis accentuated arrangement articularly breviceptid connections consequence engystomati exclusively exemplified goldenboylo hymenoptera interesting menopterans metatarsals musculature mygoldenboy ngystomatid nostoticall oldenboylou ostotically particularl predisposes proceedings surrounding synostotica tibiofibula ygoldenboyl ymenopteran ynostotical    30/131621703842267136    (30/3670344486987776)

12:    engystomatid goldenboylou hymenopteran mygoldenboyl nostotically particularly synostotical ygoldenboylo ymenopterans ynostoticall    10/4738381338321616896    (10/95428956661682176)

13:    hymenopterans mygoldenboylo synostoticall ygoldenboylou ynostotically    5/170581728179578208256    (5/2481152873203736576)

14:    mygoldenboylou synostotically    2/6140942214464815497216    (2/64509974703297150976)

Why are rain frogs so round? What's /inside/ of them around such an itty bitty skeleton?

So it turns out this is a really interesting question.

The first thing we must be aware of is that rainfrogs as we see them in videos of them squeaking are not quite the same shape as they are when at rest:

[x]

But you are quite right, they are very round. This is exemplified by the skeletal photo you refer to:

[X]

So what are we seeing?

Well, firstly, note that the body cavity in these frogs actually envelops the femurs, such that only the tibiofibula (fused in frogs) and the tarsals and metatarsals are outside the body. The arms are quite similarly enveloped, but a bit of the humerus does extend outside the body cavity too. This predisposes them to a rounder body shape.

Next, note the ilia - the U-shaped bone in the pelvic region. These in some breviceptid frogs are synostotically fused with the sacrum - that is to say, they are bound by bone-based connections to the bow-shaped vertebra at their tips. This whole joint seems to be quite smooth, and as a consequence, the back of the frog is quite smooth. The other thing we can see here is that the urostyle (i.e. the frog version of a coccyx) juts quite far beyond the ischium and pubis. This extends the body cavity beyond the hips. Note also that the pelvic girdle seems to be largely below the spine, rather than the typical position for frogs behind it and continuous with it. This makes the legs sit below the spine, rather than at its end, enhnacing the vertical roundness of the animal.

Next, let’s talk some soft tissue. Now, I’m not as familiar with soft-tissue in frogs as I am their skeletons, so you’ll have to bear with me a bit (rawr). Beddard (1908!!) studied the soft tissue of Breviceps verrucosus Rapp 1842. It seems that the majority of the body of these frogs is actually muscle. Beddard noted that muscles join the leg at the knee that extend into the body cavity, such that the inclusion of the thigh in the body cavity is further accentuated by musculature. The rectus abdominalis muscle is unusually large, extending from the lower abdomen up and around the sides of the body. Indeed, this large size appears to be the pattern with all of the major muscles, though in the throat the typical arrangement of large and small muscles is somewhat reversed. On the lateral side of the head, there is a substance that is not muscle, but appears to be loose tissue in which sits what is apparently the thymus gland.

There is a very large gap between the end of the urostyle and the anus (one fifth of the total length of the frog), in which there are almost no muscles, save for the one surrounding the lower cloaca. On either side of this area, between the posterior-most muscles of the thigh, lie two large ‘lymph-hearts’, as described by Beddard. These are between one quarter and one third of the total length of the frog. A further lypmh-sac sits between these lymph-hearts and the skin of the femoral region, and they are thus probably analogous to the femoral lymph-sacs of other frogs.

I find it interesting that Beddard (1908) did not mention any glandular formations in the dorsal region. As is evidence from many images (see below), these frogs are able to secrete a white, sticky, noxious substance from their skin (which they actually have to use during amplexus, as the male is too small relative to the female to mount her properly, and so he sticks himself to her with his glandular glue… kinky).

[x]

These glands do not apparently take up a great deal of the cutaneous tissue, and so I suppose are of no consequence to the size of the frog, especially relative to its enormous muscles.

The diet of these frogs consists almost exclusively of hymenopterans and isopterans (ants and termites). Neither of these insect groups are particularly fatty, so it is little surprise that their bodies appear to contain no large fat deposits - fatty bodies extend from the gonads up to the lungs and heart, but these comprise only a tiny fraction of the frog’s mass, and don’t contribute to the round shape. Instead, their bodies are extremely muscular, allowing them to be adept burrowers, ideal for their fossorial lifestyle.

So TL;DR: rain frogs are little balls of muscle (maybe the largest muscle mass relative to body mass of any vertebrate? science just doesn’t know).

Ref:

Beddard, F.E. 1908. On the Musculature and other Points in the Anatomy of the Engystomatid Frog, Breviceps verrucosus. Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London, 1908:11-41 [x]

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Showrunners: Ryoma Ishizuka Lucía Lobosvilla Based on "The Last Airbender Prequel: Zuko's Story" by David Roman & Alison Wilgus Published by Del Rey Manga Illustrated by Nina Matsumoto Additional Art Taylor Sameyah Kamen Randall Additional Writing Lucía Lobosvilla Voice Directors: Lucía Lobosvilla Anthony Rodriguez Composers: James A. Reilly Aneesh Kashalikar Ty Porter Head Audio Engineer/Mixing Engineer: Ryoma Ishizuka Assistant Head Audio Engineer: Sam Gabriel Line Placement: Grant Corvin Sam Gabriel Xuan Vinh Huynh Valravn Mixing Engineers: Luca Nando The TVBunny Mastering: Kim Morton Video Editors: TheRealizer367 (Walter Vitola) Astrid EV Curtis Creates Stuff Hazco Fox Ryoma Ishizuka Special Thanks: Book 4 Restoration Project Team Dark Horse Comics Nickelodeon Gene Luen Yang Gurihiru Aaron Ehasz Bryan Konietzko Michael Dante DiMartino Dave Roman Kevin Coppa Baby Lion Turtle Subscribers and you! Voice Cast Zuko - Cade Watts Iroh - D. Tyler Fultz Azula - Lucia Lobosvilla Ozai - Jakob Dillon Fire Sage Shyuu - Justin Cabanting Head Fire Sage - Christian Sekhanan Extras (Walla) Howie K Mike Medina Brianna B Lucia Lobosvilla Jakob Dillon Maia Harlap Sam Gabriel Iris V Nate Roberts Carmilla Jo Jazzy Oliver Francisco Hernanadez Kauthar Harrak-Sharif James A. Reilly Adam New Sirach Deen

[madaboutyoumatt]

Josh

Rezygnacja z basenu nie była w planie Eve. Miała iść najpierw Joshem, a Matt był pierwszą zmianą planu. Udało im się to ugrać nowością i  czasem spędzonym z drugim tatą. Eve została na chwilę wygrana, a sytuacja opanowana. Tymczasem druga zmiana? Tutaj Matt musiał wyciągnąć z rękawa coś lepszego niż spotkanie z ciocią Ellie.

Na szczęście ta nie wiedziała, gdzie pracuje jej ciocia. Co nieco słyszała, że pomaga ludziom, ale nowe miejsce było zarówno ciekawe, jak i przerażające. Evans miał szczęście, że to pierwsze wygrało. Jego nerwy też się nie udzielały dziewczynce. Chyba fatalny nawyk zakopywania emocji nigdy wcześniej nie był tak przydatny, a wszyscy wiedzieli jak Eve je wyłapała.

Nie bez powodu krzyk był głośniejszy przy Joshu, a sceny w sklepach częstsze. Pozwalała sobie przy nim na coś, czego zwykle nie robiła Mattowi. Może mu się należało, może nie. Na pewno Josh dawał się jej łatwiej niż sam Matt.

Teraz oboje wpakowali się w taksówkę, wysiadając pod szpitalem. Matt nawet gdyby chciał wrócić po auto, nie miał prawa jazdy, będąc zdanym na komunikację. Dotychczas nie było ono potrzebne. Josh lubił prowadzić i był w tym dobry, zarówno w dalszych trasach, jak i tych codziennych. W końcu zawiezienie Eve i Matta, pozwalało dostać się na siłownie przed pracą, zaliczyć piekarnie albo szybkie zakupy, na szczęście bez dziecka. Mieli dopasowany i ułożony grafik, który właśnie mógł się posypać.

W szpitalu izba przyjęć była zatłoczona i pełna ludzi. Ktoś siedział z miską pomiędzy kolanami, do której skapywała krew z nosa, ktoś kulił się na krześle z bólu brzucha, a kawałek dalej ciężarna kobieta oznajmiała, że odeszły jej wody i gdzie miała się zgłosić. Eve mocniej wcisnęła się w Matta, obserwując otoczenie dużymi oczami.

- Ciocia tu pracuje? – dopytała. Cokolwiek Ellie mówiła, a na pewno nie opisywała tej strony pracy, musiało się to kłócić z jej wyobrażeniami. Nie było chmurek, kolorowych ścian i atmosfery podobnej do tej z przedszkola. Bardziej… Czymś innym. Szare ściany, dużo ludzi wchodzących i wychodzących, a na rękach jednego pana płakało właśnie małe dziecko. – Matt, chcę do domu – oznajmiła zapierając się. Na szczęście już przy kontuarze.

- Tak? Jak mogę pomóc? – zapytała pielęgniarka, patrząc przez szybę na dziewczynkę. Chyba tylko jej spojrzenie wbiło Eve bardziej w nogę Matta.

- Chce do domu – powtórzyła ciszej.

- Przyjęto tutaj niedawno Joshuę Branda – Matt odpowiedział.

- Rodzina? – pielęgniarka dopytała, wpisując nazwisko do systemu. Z drzwi prowadzących za to na oddział, wypadła Ellie. Rumiana, łapała oddech, musząc przybiec tutaj. I jak przez chwilę wyglądała twardo, podchodząc do Matta z misją i tak samo silnie przytulając go do siebie, tak po kilku sekundach zdawała się sypać. Chyba otoczenie i wewnętrzna siła trzymałą ją w ryzach.

- Jest rodziną – odpowiedziała koleżance, a ta po sekundzie kiwnęła głową. – Oficjalnie jesteś. Jeśli ktoś cię zapyta, masz tak odpowiedzieć. Rozumiesz? – spojrzała na niego poważnie, krótko, prowadząc go już korytarzem w sobie znaną stronę. Dopiero widząc jak Eve musiała truchtać, zwolniła odrobinę tempo. – Jest na intensywnej. Nie wpuszczają tam nikogo bez legitymacji, ale może nie wykopią – spojrzała na Eve na moment, zatrzymując się przy maszynie ze słodyczami. – Kupisz nam skarbie żelki? Jestem taka głodna, ty na pewno też po placu. Matt by zjadł drożdżówkę – uśmiechnęła się słabo do Eve, wyciągając telefon z kieszeni aby zapłacić zbliżeniowo. Oboje wiedzieli, że nie było opcji, aby ta chociaż na chwilę puściła dłoń Matta. Przekupstwo było tylko próbą odwrócenia uwagi. – Podejrzewają uraz kręgosłupa, krwotok wewnętrzny i złamaną nogę. Prawdopodobnie wstrząs mózgu. Dopiero po operacji okaże się jak poważne są obrażenia – przejęła żelki od Eve, nie wspominając o tym, że na oddział przywieźli tylko Josha, a nie jechał sam. Miała nadzieję, że Matt nie zada tego pytania w ogóle. – Mam zmianę do 21. Jak ją skończę spróbuję nas wprowadzić – spojrzała na niego, ściskając go za ramię. Nie brała pod uwagę innych opcji.  – Jeśli musisz gdzieś być, nie sądzę, że to potrwa krócej niż dwie godziny – miała na myśli Eve. Czy Matt może spróbuje ją gdzieś podrzucić… Czy Eve w ogóle się da.