#and it’s arriving on Wednesday :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tornado1992 · 7 months

Text

He was freezing on his own boiling sweat. But he didn’t felt like freezing at all.

His body was unmoving, the dormant promise of shattering if it did. His mind was getting so annoying, whispering ideas of just going down, closing his eyes and never open them again.

He’s been in and out. His eyes hurt, his chest makes wheezing noises and he can feel every single bone in his body trembling while burning.

It felt like hell, and he did wanted to sleep.

No. He couldn’t give up. Not to the burning in his chest. Not to the choking hold in his throat. Not to the way his head felt like it was drilling rods into his brain. No, he was Sonic the Hedgehog. He wouldn’t lose to a stupid cold.

Even if he felt tremors going through his body while he felt like melting. Even if his lungs felt like drowning themselves inside him. Even if he never felt slower in his life. He will not lose to a cold.

And a cold that doesn’t even know how to do its job for the matter.

Colds are supposed to make you feel cold, or at least give you the illusion of it. Caves were supposed to be icy freezing, this cave was icy and freezing when they first entered.

He was in a cave. And he had a cold. So why the hell did he felt like burning.

Warmth other than his own body’s surrounds him, he knows that. And even in his hell like feeling, for some reason that warmth comforted him. And that was enough.

He’ll endure. He will fight this. No matter how long does it take or how much it hurts to breathe.

Why? You’ve ran enough

No. It’s never enough. He still has so much to see. He has still has so much to show him.

He will endure. He will fight this.

Something cold touched his cheek. Tiny and moving slightly, like breathing.

So cold.

His neck hurt so much, begging not to move, but that wet cold little spot on his cheek begged him to turn and see.

Tails

He was cuddled in a ball right beside Sonic. The little guys nose pressing on his cheek. No.

He wanted to yell. He wanted yell and shout for him not to do that even if he scared the kit because he should not be doing that. He shouldn’t be that close to Sonic when had a cold. His little nose shouldn’t be pressing to Sonic’s face when he felt like dying. This little malnourished kid shouldn’t be anyway near a deathly sick Sonic.

But this was Tails.

Tails was smart, Tails was the smartest. He knows colds are contagious, he knows colds can be deadly for little kids, he knows he shouldn’t be face to face with a contagious sick hedgehog.

And he still is.

Tails listened when they woke up in the morning and Sonic couldn’t move because his body felt like shattering and his chest felt like choking, Sonic told him to pass him the water, and he listened. Tails listened when Sonic first started coughing and told him to not face him so he wouldn’t get sick, he patted his back restlessly though, but he listened. Later in his delirious sickness Sonic told him to go outside the cave so he could cool off, because if Sonic felt like burning in here, little fluffy Tails sure must’ve felt like melting, and even if he didn’t, he just put on a worried face, and listened.

So why didn’t he listened when he came back in and Sonic told him to get away from him.

He covered the speedster with both their blankets, not caring about the apparent icy ground beneath him as he called it. Both his tails were draped over Sonic, securing the blankets in place and keeping him from moving. Keeping him from uncovering and freezing in his own sweaty burning body. Even if Sonic didn’t felt like it was helping, he knew the kid was doing his best. As far as he knows, the kid’s just copying what he saw Sonic doing when he had a cold, lots of blankets and wet rags, lots of water and ear scratches. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he didn’t want to feel warm. His whole pile of blankets and tails would’ve worked just fine if he hadn’t catch a low budget bootleg cold.

The kid was doing everything in his power to make him feel better, even if he was scared. Even if Sonic’s throat hurt far too much to try and tell him what to do. To try and tell him to get away, because he’ll get infected.

But Tails was just like him, reckless, arrogant, stuborn, and he wouldn’t stop until his brother felt better.

Tails was purring.

So cute and soothing. The greatest lullaby ever composed or interpreted. And it was so loud. Almost like the rumbling the cub’s tummy made on their first days together.

When was the last time he ate? They’d been here for hours. He must get better soon, he has to get Tails some food, he gave him all his water, poor kid must be so hungry and thirsty, How long have they been in here? It was still nighttime when they entered the cave, but he could swear he could see the evening light outside even with the rain. There wasn’t supposed to rain till a few days.

It hadn’t rained since a few days ago. So sudden, so inconvenient, took them by surprise when running down an extensive clearing, no cities, forest or caves in miles. Sonic curled around Tails as much as he could, running for what it felt like hours trying to find some shelter. Tails was almost dry when they finally found the cave, Sonic was soaking wet.

Maybe he should’ve dried himself, maybe he should’ve started a fire before just dropping on the ground. But Tails was fine. Tails was dry, warm and already asleep in his arms, so why do any of that? Why put him down to start a fire when the kit was already so cozy and warm? Why put him on the cold ground when Sonic’s chest was dry enough to function as a makeshift bed? Why wake him up with the loud noise of their backpack opening just so Sonic would get a towel out when his fluffy tails were already doing their best to share their warmth with him?

He’s in the middle of thanking the heavens for not letting his little bro get sick even when he slept practically glued to the hedgehog’s side. Really, he was thanking the heavens, until they sent a painful reminder that even if the keed didn’t, he did got sick.

A burning in his chest, almost chocking. He coughed, he was almost getting used to the feeling, as painful as it was, but not so much to the green looking drool that always followed, its presence letting him know that he wasn’t getting any better, great.

The drool he coughed this time wasn’t green. It was red.

The blood didn’t stopped coming out, the rain didn’t go away, and he could feel the warmth being ripped from his body.

He could feel how the universe was trying to take him away from his little brother.

Who gave it the right?

This kid was abandoned, outcasted, abused, hit, starved. The universe was willing to let that happen but Sonic wasn’t. He wouldn’t. And he didn’t, the moment he saw him he knew he wouldn’t leave him like that, and not long after he knew he wouldn’t leave him ever.

But the universe had other plans, and Sonic felt himself dying.

Why was the universe so focused on making this five year old kid suffer. The universe might not have favorites, but Sonic is starting to feel like it’s biased. Because if the universe takes him away, Tails will be alone again. This kid who can keep up with him and never ask him to stop, this kid who stayed with him to fight deadly world threatening battles, this kid who nuzzled right beside him trying to make him feel better even if he could die. This kid, his kid.

Why?

Why did the universe wanted his lil bro back to eating from trash cans, to shelter himself from the rain in some badly dug hole. Why does the universe want to leave him alone again?

He’s survived natural disasters, evil scientists, a few gods of destruction, and the universe wants to take him out like this. He’s fought and bled for this kid, he would do it again. And if the universe has plans on taking him right here, right now, then it better be preparing plan b.

If he’s going, he’ll decide how he goes. He’ll decide the moment, even if it’s sooner than he ever expected, he’ll do whatever he wants till he goes.

The universe wanted his kid to suffer by Taking Sonic away, but the universe didn’t take for account the kid’s strength, not his will, nor his heart.

Sonic did. And he won’t leave him without that, if he’ll leave, he wont leave him without closure.

He could give him that, he’ll give him one last thing. He was burning. But now he knew far too well that the cave they were sheltered in was closer to freezing than anything else.

The kit was already doing so much to keep him warm. His own little blankie draped over the speedster head. His tails so still, so cold over him. His nose felt like an ice cube. He was always the warmest of them, a little ball of fluff, a tiny sun, his own little sunshine. And he was freezing.

He’s kept them both warm so many times. He can keep him warm this one time.

Hugging him must increase the chances of him getting a cold. But at this point, Sonic is sure it’s not a cold what has him like this.

Tails is smart, Tails is the smartest, Tails knows this isn’t a cold.

So he reaches for him with his trembling arms and aching hands, the kit uncurls, and he hugs him. He knows this kid will not go over a stupid “not cold” or whatever this is. He’s survived worse, he’s endured worse. Worse than Eggman, worse than Sonic and worse than anyone in the world could imagine.

Tails was trembling, but he wasn’t coughing or wheezing everytime he breathed. Tails would survive. Tails will live happily, Tails will eat the best foods, have a beautiful house and tons and tons of friends.

Sonic doesn’t think that only because he knows him, he knows that because he loves him.

Love him?

It’s not even a question, but if it was, is not a question about if, its a question about how. Because he does love him. He doesn’t love him like the morning breeze or chilli dogs, not even like his speed.

He loves him… like the sun. He loves him like the sun and the sky and life itself.

He loves him like something he couldn’t live without.

He loves him.

He has his arms wrapped around his tiny body, holding him close, nuzzling him tight, but he needs to see him, he needs to tell him, he needs him to know.

He has to open his eyes, he has to see him one last time. To make sure that he’s not too scared. To try and tell him everything he hasn’t told him. To apologize for everything he couldn’t give him. To promise him that not even the universe can separate them.

It hurts to move. It hurts to breathe. It hurts so much. But he has to. He has to look at him, he has to open his eyes and look at his.

All his might into that little action. Baby blues shyly stare back at him. Chaos. He loves those sky like eyes. All the wonder and innocence that fills them. All the dreams and hopes they hold. All the love. But as shiny and glowey as they are, he wished they wouldn’t be shinning like this, not with tears, not with sorrow.

Still, he couldn’t ever bear not to love those eyes.

Cradling his white fluffy muzzle in his gloves, he feels like he has the whole world in his hands.

Always with you. I love you.

He hopes his words can reach him, if not through his voice, then through his eyes.

He hopes he has taught him enough. Enough to live a joyous amazing life. Enough to go to his friends so he won’t be alone when Sonic goes away. Enough to never stop, to never hive up until he can reach for the stars. Enough to know that he is loved.

He hopes he has shown him enough of the world, but he also hopes he can reach new places on his own, so his eyes will glow and sparkle again, not with tears, no, never with tears.

He looks at him, there’s fear in his sight, but there’s also bravery. He hopes those baby blues never stop shining.

A tiny, so much smaller hand than his own made its way to his own muzzle. Little fingers cleaning the droplets that were falling from dull emerald eyes.

Crying emerald eyes.

Huh, he doesn’t remember the last time that happened. But again, its not really surprising either. Chaos knows this kid makes the impossible possible. If he can give this kid his smile, then he can give him his tears.

They sting, make his sight blurry, and feel hot against his face. But these are happy tears, so it’s alright.

If he will go while seeing the most beautiful sky ever, then he is grateful he opened his eyes one last time.

Tails will survive. He’ll make sure of it. Because the moment he goes off, he’ll find whatever is up there. he’ll fight whatever is up there, he’ll kill whatever is up there to make sure they don’t take him.

But Sonic isn’t gone yet, he was still here. So he’ll make the most of it, the most of the hours, minutes, or seconds he has left to be with his brother.

He wants his brother’s last memory of him being one of love, not fear or sadness, love.

So he smiles.

Sonic held him till there wasn’t any warmth left he could give him.

Tails hugged him even when there wasn’t anything warm to hold on to anymore.

138 notes · View notes

laylajeffany · 4 months

Text

Their Own Kind of Pride | Wenclair Microfic

Sitting in an airport experiencing an act of homophobia because Delta has delayed my flight FIVE TIMES and it's the only thing keeping me from kissing my girlfriend for the first time in seven weeks. DURING PRIDE MONTH? Actually - I've got really complicated feelings on that - so here's a 2.5k microfic that is set in the Murder, She Woe universe about six months into Wednesday and Enid's move to Grisly Cove. How I wrote this in the most overstimulating environment after an hour at the airport bar - I don't know. A pride miracle I guess.

Rated: G TW: Talk about complicated feelings surrounding pride

“Should we order a rainbow flag?”

Wednesday stared at her wife with unblinking eyes, trying to determine if she was serious or not. Enid cringed, glancing to the side. “I mean…it’s fine, we don’t have to do that!”

One – the clashing colors, two the display of pride…oh. Was that more of the problem, other than the colors? Wednesday took a brief look inward as she tried to determine which was more of a reflection of her feeling about such a flag. Generally – she was against any sort of show of patriotism or allegiance. She didn’t need anyone to know where she stood on anything by looks alone.

Wednesday tilted her head, wanting more information before outright rejecting Enid. “Tell me what your thoughts are in wanting to hang a flag that represents the LGBTQIA+ community in front of our home.”

“Um…we’re gay?” Enid offered, then let out a giggle. “And June is like – somehow, only three days away. This year is slipping between my fingers, I swear – if I had like, fully realized summer was this close, I would have been making very different choices in my workout routine -”

“Say a negative comment about your body and I’m going to take you to the bedroom and write poetry over every part. And not in the kinky way you want,” Wednesday said, pulling a dip pen out of seemingly nowhere. Enid pouted. “You have a body, and you’re going to put a bikini on it – therefore, you have a bikini body. I want to see you in your little triangles, barely covering you with your little silly strings holding them together. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

Enid flushed.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Wednesday glanced up from the piece of steak she had been neatly slicing into which she’d seared to rare perfection for her wife – medium-well for herself. “Why would you want to display a pride flag?”

“It feels like the right thing to do,” Enid replied as she looked to the side. “I mean…we’ve never…done any pride stuff, together. I obviously never dated any girls before you – so, it’s not like I did any on my own. Now that we finally have our own place, I thought maybe…but we don’t have to. For real, I just – was…putting it into the universe.”

Wednesday bit her lip. Pride in the strange, touristy-town they’d moved into six months prior was about to be A Big Deal. She had seen the advertisements, on her occasional trip into town – and Enid was already working overtime at the establishment she’d secured a gig in, which was absolutely rainbow-inspired. Sighing, she wondered, “Are you anticipating participating in any of the downtown events?”

“I mean…I don’t know – when I say that I just realized it was about to be June, I’m totally not just saying that.” Enid sighed, trying not to inhale her food as she spoke. Wednesday twitched – she always waited too long to eat…especially so close to a full moon…she wished her wife would take better care of herself –

“Are you expected to participate in the parade, of all things, with your workplace?” Wednesday wondered, unable to keep a disgusted sort of grimace off her face.

Enid rolled her eyes. “We’re not required to…but…” She bit her lip. “I kind of…I kind of want to.”

“You already work at a gay bar, Enid.” Wednesday could barely comprehend what was going on during their dinner hour (four o’clock in the afternoon, that Thursday – Enid had to work). “Do you want to be made a spectacle of?”

“Well – that’s…kind of what I’m hoping, generally, Wednesday – you know I love it there, you know I want to…maybe be in the show someday, I don’t know how, I mean…it’s not like I have an act, but…yeah, I’d like to be in the parade with my work friends.”

Friends…right. Enid had made a host of those.

“Okay,” Wednesday said and then could’ve practically gulped as she wondered, “Do you…want me to…watch?”

Enid managed to smile again and shook her head. “No, you don’t have to take yourself to a parade, Wednesday. Though it does feel like the optimal time for someone to be unsuspectingly pick-pocketed. Maybe you could go and observe petty crime and get some inspiration for your novel.”

“I have plenty of inspiration,” She said, somehow – avoiding a massive subject.

“So, I’ll take it – that’s a ‘you do you’ on the parade, and a hard ‘no’ on the flag?” Enid asked after a full minute of quiet.

“Enid,” Wednesday placed her knife and fork down, deciding she was going to make a very bold decision in that moment. “I have never felt like I belonged in any community. This community – you and I…maybe with the addition of some of our old outcast friends from school…that’s all the community I’ve ever needed.” Enid nodded her head – going along with whatever Wednesday wanted…

…but that was not what Wednesday wanted.

“I said I…not we,” She cautioned, leaning forward a little bit, wishing she hadn’t tossed her hair in braids that morning – so she’d have looked more…mature, when delivering such an assured monologue. “You have always enjoyed belonging. It’s always been important to you to be a part of something that is bigger than yourself.” Enid swallowed and looked to the side – her eyes were visibly misting over. Hardly able to stand it, Wednesday reached for her hand. “That is not a bad thing. That is a normal thing. That is what people are supposed to want – to be part of life with other people.” Wednesday rolled her eyes a little, squeezing her hand instead of withdrawing her own like she wanted to. “I wish I wanted to be part of life with other people,” She said in almost a whisper. “Just because I need to hide in the shadows doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let the sun shine on you. If you want to order a rainbow flag, we will hang it on the front porch. Perhaps we should get two – to hang one from the back for the boats that enjoy riding around the cape to see as well.”

Enid blinked out twin tears that she could clearly not avoid. Wednesday’s internal guilt meter (that only ever activated when Enid was involved) intensified. “Enid,” She sternly called for her to explain when a full minute of silence passed. Her wife almost never stopped talking – and she was going to choose then to be quiet? “What are you thinking?”

“Just…that…I’m…really happy, that you think it would be okay to hang that flag.”

Defying her body’s urge to drop her shoulders in a most dramatic sigh, Wednesday gave a curt nod. She waited, for more…and when none came, she decided to finish cutting her steak.

They ate in not uncomfortable quiet, but…there was obviously more to say. As Wednesday took Enid’s plate upon finishing, she felt her grip her wrist. “Um…I’m going to…I need…” Enid let out a near whimper. “Can we go talk, for a minute?”

Wednesday swallowed a lump in her throat that was far from unexpected, though that didn’t mean she could tolerate it. She made sure her face didn’t betray her and stiffly followed Enid to the living room, where their new-ish sofa looked way too comfortable for the discomfort that Wednesday had swirling in her gut.

She sat on the edge of an ottoman and Enid paced for a bit in front of her, clearly working up nerve and courage. After so much time passed that Wednesday thought she was going to get motion sick from watching her turn and pace and turn and pace, Wednesday gripped her wrist, forcing Enid to suck in a breath. “Don’t be afraid to tell me what’s on your mind. I want to hear it. Even if I disagree – I’m not going to rebuke you, Enid.”

Enid collapsed into a puddle of tears beside her. Fully unsure why, Wednesday tapped into the part of her brain that was responsible for demonstrating her very limited scope of affection, almost all of which was reserved for her wife. Curling an arm around her and tucking her close, she let Enid get her shirt collar all wet as she unexpectedly heaved another sob. Wednesday almost felt a flutter of fear in her chest as she waited for Enid to clam enough to express what the tears were all about.

It was some time – a long time. Whatever Enid had been holding in, related to that damn rainbow flag…she’d been holding it in for a long time.

Finally, after her heart was about to hammer right out of her chest in anticipation of what her wife would say, Wednesday tried not to look relieved when she started speaking.

“When my mother rejected me…” Enid sniffed. “I knew – it wasn’t…just because of this. It was just…maybe…” She shivered – her face so blotchy and red, Wednesday really…just – surprisingly, almost wanted to take her to bed and…cuddle and hug her until it cleared.

Enid tried talking again, but her words got stuck in her throat. She practically choked as she tried to speak. “Enid, come here,” Wednesday insisted, scooting back into the corner of the sofa and opening her arms. Enid nodded, crawling onto the cushions and into them, the sigh she released like a deflating balloon. Wednesday rubbed a hand up and down her back, kissing her temple three times. Enid let out a near coo, then, nuzzling her face into Wednesday’s neck. “Do you want me to call your jerk of a boss?” She whispered, “Tell him you’re not well?”

“No,” She muttered. “I want to go to work. I like work. I just…want to tell you about why this is so important to me, first, okay? And – we can totally cuddle until then, I’ll find a drag queen to coverup any hives left on my face when I get there.”

Rubbing her back again, Wednesday nodded, kissing her one last time. Enid shifted, so she could look up at her, practically cradled in her hug. “Finding out that I loved you was the nail in the coffin, for my relationship with my mom, for my standing in my old pack. You know that.” Wednesday tried not to think about it – that she was the ultimate reason that Enid’s mother had cast her only daughter aside… “For so long…I felt like…this part of me, the…interested in girls part of me was…was…like a curse, almost. There wasn’t a single thing I’d ever done to meet my mom’s expectations – and then…I went and defied gender norms and expectations, too.”

Wanting to rebuttal, but holding her tongue, Wednesday let Enid finish. “And…I don’t know – I never felt, like…ashamed or anything, because I am attracted to women, because I love you – I literally would tell anyone that we’re married. Sometimes against your will,” Enid giggled a little, obviously thinking back to their honeymoon when she managed to get them free drinks everywhere they went for her inability to keep the news to herself. “But…I’ve also never celebrated it. I’ve never taken the time to think about the fact that – hey, a lot of people struggled for us to be able to legally do this – to be together, to be in love – that…so many people worked for so long to make marriages like ours legal. And there’s so much more to it – I’m learning so much at my new job…but – Wednesday, I think…I think I’m just…I’m proud of myself, for the first time, in this way.”

Nodding, Wednesday was proud of her for being proud of herself. She might not share the sentiment - but, she could celebrate her wife.

“I want to walk in the parade, because I’m not ashamed of who I am and who I love. But I also don’t want you to feel like – you are, because you’re not interested in participating? I don’t know, now this all feels complicated and kind of icky…”

Cupping her cheek, Wednesday tilted her own head. “Look at me, dead in the eye. Not for one single second do I feel…icky,” She parroted her own word back to her, “Because you want to march in a gay pride parade. I don’t feel embarrassed, and I don’t feel shame.”

Enid bit her lip, looking conflicted. “But…I know it’s hard – can you tell me what do you feel about it, Wednesday?”

She gave a genuine shrug. “I don’t feel anything about it. If it will make you happy, if this is how you want to express yourself, then I want you to do it!” She almost shouted the ending and Enid blinked a few times in apparent surprise at the tone she was using. “I just…I just…”

Enid took a turn to put a hand on her face, clearly making sure her eyes didn’t wander to the side, but stayed locked on hers. “Tell me.”

“I…don’t know, Enid. You know that rainbows are never going to be my thing. There is just not a universe where I can put a rainbow flag in my fist and go walking down the street with it. That’s not me. I don’t experience pride in that way.”

“But…you are proud, aren’t you?”

“I’m proud of myself,” Wednesday declared, “For opening myself up to love, to the person who deserves love more than anyone else I have ever known.”

At that, Enid’s eyes welled up again.

“I’m not interested in a parade. I’m indifferent to a flag on the house. But I am proud, every time I walk out of the door with you – Enid,” She almost smiled. “I’m proud of being behind these doors with you. I’m proud of everything that happens on this couch – I’m proud of being able to snuggle with you like this, and all the things that I’ve allowed myself to engage in in our bedroom…Enid,” She did smile then. “I do have pride. It might not be the corporate, parade-going, deals-at-the-bar while Lady BlahBlah or whoever plays way too loud kind of pride. But – I’m proud of myself, for being open to love with you.”

Enid attacked her in a kiss as she straddled her suddenly, then held onto her so tight – it was almost difficult to breathe. Wednesday gripped her just as tightly back, hoping that she’d successfully conveyed what she needed to.

When Enid pulled back for another kiss, much sweeter that time, and rubbed a hand along her collar bone, she let out a breath of relief. They’d both understood one another, keenly. They both had pride, in their own way. “Enid, I will come to the parade to watch you. So long as you don’t expect me to wave a flag or dance. But when it’s over, I’ll be there to kiss you, and tell you about how I disassociated a vivid scene for my book about a horrible act taking place at such a function.”

Giving a full laugh and a very proud smile, Enid kissed the side of her cheek. “Maybe we just hang one flag on the house instead of two. That might be overkill.”

“One flag sounds acceptable,” Wednesday agreed, squeezing her hip – thinking…if Enid really worked her over – perhaps she’d even show up for a single night in June at her club…a Tuesday though - not a weekend, and not during that ridiculous show. The only way she’d ever drag herself to such an event would be if Enid were the shining star of it – and since she didn’t even have an act, Wednesday was sure, she’d never find herself spending more time at the club than she wanted to.

#wednesday 2022 #wenclair #pride #one-shot #the plane literally just arrived as I finished reading this #it looks like it's only a hate crime because I hated it #layla's >5k challenge #murder she woe #needless to say barely edited #enjoy this is the only sort of pride stuff I can manage bc I feel like Wednesday :)

79 notes · View notes

ihatedean · 2 months

Text

july 02' teen king of the month | wincest

for @wincestwednesdays week 1: performance.

Explicit, featuring camboy sammy and dirtbag dean. Stanford era. 500 words.

The whole thing's too new to be illegal.

Visible only from the neck down, Sam says listen what I do for you.

His voice covers, only for a moment, the wet sound of over-lubed fingers going in and out of his body. Desperation squeezes Sam's throat in a long, needy whine, almost childish. There's a cartoonish ding! sound from time to time, like coins falling all over. Sam whispers thank you.

Miles away, Dean sits desolate in a dark library wearing shitty headphones with a hand between his jeans and underwear, open-mouthed in front of a stained CRT monitor. Starving— a kind of grief there are no words for.

Can't, Sam keeps saying, growing frustrated. Been at it for an hour and a half, went online three hours ago.

Can't without you here, whispered like a secret, an inside joke flying past the audience.

The words move Dean deeper than expected, soul thrashing in its cage— Sam's puffy and overused, glistening. He stole the webcam at a house party and it proves to be way better than the one he started with. Coins fall again. Thank you.

He said he liked earning his money, wouldn't accept whatever help Dean offered. The whole thing's too new to be illegal, not really any laws surrounding it (and Sam would know). It's the right amount of criminal for him— Stanford or not, he's still Dean's brother. Still needs the adrenaline.

Sam's hips stutter, a shocked oh like this isn't what 226 people are here for. He's leaking, speeding up. But still.

I can't. Please, are you—?

And Dean is. Always will be. The a and the e of the old membrane keyboard get stuck and he has to tap once, twice, because kids like Sam use these computers to play games all afternoon, not to jerk off in front of them. His fingers are shaking.

whatever67: you can. come on. let go.

There's a clumsy shift to the angle, a groan born not entirely out of pleasure like Sam's strained something he shouldn't.

Then, a tease: beneath Sam's jaw there's a softness, some fat yet to dissolve. Never shows his face. The camera doesn't catch the mole on his thigh but Dean could close his eyes and tell Sam's getting close by heartbeat alone. Sam laughs, swallows, then finds a faster, rougher pace— it's like he's burning alive, soft groans turning more and more animalistic. A full body shudder as he focuses on the head of his dick. He's hypnotizing.

Yeah? He whines. Yeah? You watching?

It's half theatrics, un-practiced seduction; the chat comes alive with words of encouragement Sam won't read because he's not talking to them.

Ding!

whatever67: yeah.

But this is real: he can feel it, intimately aware of Sam's body shaking, squeezing— information that, though on display, is really Dean's only.

Dean doesn't let his hand move. Too obvious for this place. Small, precise grinds against worn fabric find swelling bliss, and he hides his face as he comes, quietly watching Sam make a show of it

#wincest #wincest wednesday #.mine #miruwrites #<-wow can u believe that #annnnyways our new cutlery arrived see ya #shut up you did not see that

33 notes · View notes