#and now...the post s5 extras

[dspd]

Whew, just finished binging all 5 seasons of The White Vault just inside of a week and the last bit of my favorite character had me sobbing into the pile of dirty dishes I was washing.

9/10 for a good supernatural horror podcast drama

[bottombaron]

I'm starting to wonder if there is actually something legit about the 'right time' to turn Guillermo that Nandor keeps talking about...

It was brought up again in the premiere and something about how Guillermo said that "deep down I'm not ready [to become a vampire]" before Derek jumped him...

...what if Nandor hasn't actually been putting it off for no reason...what if there is actually a 'right moment' for it and this whole time we were thinking that moment had to do with Nandor being ready but what if it's about Guillermo being ready??

[pineconnie]

Fave martin blackwood things:

- lied about a MASTERS in PARAPSYCHOLOGY in his cv. why did he choose such a niche study like how many jobs could that even get you (EDIT I now know what a CV is and that he’s not telling every job he has a masters sorry guys I’m very jobless 🙏)

- writes the most terrible poetry you’ve ever heard (said with love) and plays background music while recording it onto a tape recorder for the vibes

- when encountering a terrifying worm lady that tries to add you to her flesh hive, he MAKES SURE to keep some of her worms just so he can stick it in his bosses face

-the rudest guy in the world (said boss) does one nice thing for him that he didn’t expect and he immediately falls in love (this is real to me ok let me have this)

-wears video game shirts to work

-goes on rants about spiders importance to the ecosystem to a guy with the worst arachnophobia ever

-hides CO2 cans so that ‘the worms don’t find it’

-forces his boss to go on lunch dates with him so he doesn’t completely lose it to paranoia

-walked into his bosses office, found a DEAD BODY THAT WAS DEFINITELY MURDERED, and all he says is “oh jon 😕😕”

-has practically the same reaction later on when someone tells him his boss compelled them to relive their worst trauma

-gets told the guy he’s been in love with for multiple years treats him horribly and goes “yeah and”

-outsmarted an avatar of the lonely despite being in a horrible depressive episode with no contact to anyone else

-manages to make peter fully believe he’s dedicated to the lonely even as his crush of many many years is practically confessing his love at every interaction

s5 martin is my favourite id need a whole extra post for him loml

[livesworthlivingau]

Lives Worth Living AU Hub

Hello! Welcome to my AU, Lives Worth Living! Spoilers for the full game and two hats below the break.

Quick introduction to the concept of this AU:

It's been 30 years since the events of the game. The party eventually disbanded to form their own lives, though remaining in each other's now and again at least. They are all together for the first time in several years... and sadly the last, as Odile lay in her deathbed. She lived a full life, it's natural causes, at least they're all together again. As everyone gathers around for her final moments, and she closes her eyes for good, Sif suddenly feels a tug on his sto-

Hard cut to 30 years ago, the day just after the events of the game.

And that's pretty much all you need to know going in! Only other thing worth mentioning is pretty much all option content is canon in this AU, especially two hats... ESPECIALLY two hats.

I AM FINALLY PORTING THIS FIC TO AO3! YOU CAN FIND A LINK TO IT HERE!

I don't know how long it will take to port everything over, and I will be posting chapters normally here in the mean time, but expect a large restructuring once I finish porting it over! Also I am renaming the Siffrin chapters to 'Reprise of Stardust' and collectively calling the fic Lives Worth Living over there.

OFFICIAL RECOMENDED READ ORDER

[S-1] [S0] [S1] [S2] [S3] [S4] [S5] [V1] [V2-4] [V5] [S6] [V6] [S7] [S8] [S9] [S10] [V7-10] [S11] [V11] [S12] [V12] [V13] [V14] [S13] [S14] [S15][S16] [V15] [V16] [S17] [S18] [V17] [V18] [S19] [V19] [V20] [S20] [V21] [V22] [V23] [S21-23] [S24] [V24] [S25] [V25] [V26] [V27] [S26-28] [V28] [V29] [S29] [S30] [V30] [V31] [S31] [S32] [V32] [V33] [S33] [V34] [S34] [S35] [V35] [V36] [S36] [V37]

Siffrin Chapters (Lives Worth Living)

[-1] [0] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21-23] [24] [25] [26-28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36]

Loop Vale Chapters (Behind the Vale)

[1] [2-4] [5] [6] [7-10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] [37]

If you're wondering why Loop is crossed out and Vale is in it's place, it will make sense by chapter 7-10, otherwise all you need to know is these are Loop's side of things. Text in Red represents duplicate lines between it and it's complimentary chapter, to let you know where it lines up with the other perspective without needing to repeat tons of lines.

Memories (First 30 Years)

[A Kiss] [Lost Letters]

Links to asks, lore posts, and art/fanart posts can be found here

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

LWLAU Hub Extras

LWLAU Art/Fanart Hub

If anyone wants to join the discord server, please send me a DM and I'll invite you! I'd rather not have the link posted publicly to avoid scammers/bots.

Special thanks to Lea for making this amazing website! It helps fuel the angst so well with the death screen gifs I've been generating at the end of some early chapters!~

[summerspectre]

some resources to make today a little lighter

or, a really silly list of things that have kept me sane

cartoons, movies, animations— oh my!

into the spiderverse

gravity falls season 1

the amazing world of gumball

regular show

kitbull + pixar shorts

bluey

a random powerpuff girls full episode & also there's a second one (original series dw)

ramshackle thesis + pilot + stone gets microwaved

lackadaisy

game grumps animated

mbmbam animated + original non-animated podcast (some funny shit

the egg (one of my favorite short stories, feels topical)

youtube reccomendations that are overall a good time

yknow the guy who makes the ghost songs every year (ghost duet, choir, etc.)? he does cool shit (louie zong)

nerdy nummies (go rosanna)

cinematherapy (a family + couples therapist & a filmmaker react to films (ex: nimona, tangled, pride and prejudice, up, coraline) and draw very real and grounding lessons from them)

jaiden animations videos

elyse myers vlogs (vlogs as a creator with autism, agoraphobia, and ocd and i find her insights to be incredibly comforting + takes extra care to keep her family separate from her work and is worth supporting if you need a comfort youtuber)

miscellaneous myths (myths from different cultures told in bite sized videos, done by an excellent team)

minecraft youtube newer and older to binge

minecraft oasis - ihascupquake

aphmau minecraft diaries origins, 1, 2, rebirth

aphmau mystreet s1, s2, s3, s4, interlude, s5, s6

aphmau phoenix drop high (mystreet prologue) s1, s2

legitimately one of the best resources to binge dsmp

-> technoblade dsmp

"actually good videos" - a technoblade playlist

-> + @royalarchivist has plenty of qsmp clips :) i will not be further endorsing the series itself for personal reasons but it's still important to the mcyt community & archivist does an excelling job archiving

(if anyone has good playlists for the life series or hermitcraft, please repost with them!)

all time tumblr favorites

tumblr folk stories (highly recommend god of arepo)

queer granddad spongebob

bumblebees rolling balls around

the making of emperor's new groove

alex hirsch vs disney censors (this is on youtube but it feels tumblrian)

resources for...

caring for your introvert (a silly amongst the serious)

if you're lost right now

after a long cry

if you're falling out of a plane right now (completely serious. no jokes anymore i already spent my silly)

the trevor project online chatting option

the trevor project site (tap anywhere quickly to exit immediately)

crisis hotlines

(stay alive, you've got this)

relaxing/asmr

hang out with piplup

squirtle's day at the beach

pikachu by the patio

relaxing minecraft long play

accounts i suggest for a boost in joy:

-> @akindplace

-> @twopartposts

-> @traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors

-> @i-am-a-fish (never seen a bad take)

-> @artsyaxolotl

-> @world-heritage-posts

and if you're reading this post at all, please feel free to add!

[bugsbenefit]

who's getting books and who isn't?

tells you a lot actually

in lieu of us getting a Dustin companion book soon i'm doubling down on my point about how insanely telling these books are about where the story is going. especially if you look as who is getting books. and i'm saying this both about El and Will (where it's already kind of obvious why s5 is important for them) as well as Mike (where it's also kind of obvious why s5 is important for his character but it hasn't reached mainstream awareness yet apparently lmao)

as of now Lucas, Max, and Dustin (about to come out), as well as Robin and Eddie, and even Hopper and Terry have one. and they all explore things outside of the main canon by doubling down on what filmed canon already established and adding a bit more layers since they have the time to focus on a single character (like exploring racism and how Lucas deals with it in his book, something the show doesn't dwell on, or exploring Robin's queerness, taking place before the events of s3)

and the focus these books have makes sense since they're mostly written by commissioned writers. so obviously they want to skirt any topics that delve too much into plot heavy areas where the writers a) wouldn't know where the story is going or b) even if they got notes, you don't want important lore drops that impact the later story dropped in companion books

in short we're getting extra story's about no spoilery topics the main story doesn't have time to/want to explore

which makes it all the more interesting we're already getting books about someone like Robin when you know if you asked fans what povs they'd like to see someone like El would rank significantly higher if you trust favourite character rankings. but for some reason El, Mike, and Will have never gotten one

and some of these reasons are just really obvious, especially when it comes to El and Will

1) they obviously can't just drop a book on El yet. on one hand, because her backstory with the lab is a major plot point of the show and they can't spoil it in a book (even if they tried excluding it, writing 200ish pages for a character who can't remember what happened before they turned like 8 is one of those things that would be kind of hard to avoid coming up). even post s4 there's still so many questions about her past and time at the lab, they just shouldn't give unlimited access to her inner monologue about it yet. and on the other hand, El finding her place in the world is quite literally one of her characters main recurring motives, even a companion book as innocuous as "El tries out hobbies" would be exploring something we'd kind of want to see on screen since it'd be a resolution to her character growth and not a fun side quest

2) they also just can't drop a book on Will. the fact that we never found out what actually happened to Will in the UD is already reason enough, the show clearly wants to explore it on screen later on. (now even more obvious since there's already confirmed s1 UD Will in the s5 official teasers). you really can't write a book from someone's pov who's main trauma and life changing moment is something you don't want to get into yet. just doesn't work

there's plot points the show obviously saved for later so both Will and El are pretty unfit as book topics

but with Mike that doesn't actually apply in the same obvious way. Mike not getting a book despite being the leader of the party, having the most on screen defined dynamics with the other kids, and being part of the shows "main" ship would be really odd. like. Really odd. on paper he'd probably be one of the first choices for an easy book protagonist for a fun party side quest. of course unless one of the two book deal breaker reasons applies also:

they can't give his pov because giving his unfiltered inner monologue would spoil s5

they want to explore something relevant to his character themselves on screen and it's not fit for a companion book

but again, in comparison to Will and El where the why is really obvious Mike sticks out because we don't officially know what he's got going on yet. he has no mysterious absence where we don't know what happened to him like with Will and no open ended origin story like with El

it just makes it a bit funnier to me how many people are still fundamentally unconvinced Mike has something going on that's important for the outcome of s5. post s2 the show tries to get some distance from Mike's head and he's joined the club of main characters who don't get books alongside major canon event magnets El and Will. and yeah, obviously you wouldn't want a book from the characters pov who's feelings and sexuality you're actively hiding. it's also a bit of a no brainer you don't want a companion work going into how he's not been doing so great over the past few years because the reasons for that are kind of relevant to the main story. Mike feeling guilty for El dying all the way in s1 is something that might be more fit to bring up in show when their relationship is being addressed instead of in side material

but all in all? the fact that out of all the kids El, Mike, and Will are the only ones who don't get secondary material yet is probably the biggest give away that the three of them are who s5 is planning to give the most insight on even all the in show build up aside. they're being skipped as book povs despite existing public interest and seeming like conventionally easy picks for book side stories

in the current economy around shows franchises, going against what'd be a good marketing decision is always a dead giveaway something is going on

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 08/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like in cannon baby MK was the kind of kid to eat glue, mainly because he hatched from a rock and doesn't know what anything is.

isn’t it like how all babies are? I think I also used to eat glue

@purpleprinceblood ha chiesto: In the spicynoodles bit where you explain how Red Son was charmed by Mk's beautiful personality and kind nature (/silly), you said Mk is Demi sexual Do you have other sexuality headcanons for the cast, or is it just "they're gay for each other"?

Pan for Mei, Bi for Redson, both Wukong and Macaque are in a way pan, in the sense that they don’t really care about gender, but are only gay for each other.

@kehideni ha chiesto: Whatever happened with never drawing a background ever again? :D On a more serious note: may we know the exact relation of DBK and Chiyou(did i spell that right?)? I'm just the nosy type :3

Chiyou has 72 brothers, one of them is an ancestor of DBK

@marcusalexander ha chiesto: I have a question is spider queen in your comic, and if so, is she like a part of the team or enemy or anuite? I'm just curious since she isn't that evil. By the way, I love your comic shadowpeach parents

The AU is set after S5, so I guess she’s enemy

Anonimo ha chiesto: Macaque HAS to be doing a little happy dance in the bio parents AU that murder isn’t considered distinct from self-defense Imagine being like… a legitimate threat to the world around you, and getting put down to defend it, and then being hailed as “the less bad one” because you were killed But this also means that MK probably views himself as a murdered for killing the LBD/Azure Lion too cause again “killing in self defense/defense of others= murder

most likely MK feels super duper guilty for what he did, and will continue to be until he get some extra comfort.

@goldenthecat ha chiesto: I'm wondering, since you watch lmk do you watch other Lego shows too? Like Ninjago or friends

does having saw the ninjago movie and a 4 hours video essay recap about the first 14 season count?

@haruwashere29 ha chiesto: Did wukong put his head over macaque’s chest to hear his heartbeat? 😭😭😭

OH OK NOW WE ARE ON WITH THE ANGST. YES 100%

Anonimo ha chiesto: You said Wukong is warm , change my mind that macaque has absolutely put his cold feet straight on wukongs back while he was sleeping not just cause he was cold but because he thought it was funny

hehe he has cold feet poor boy.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: I'm haunting you at thisnpoint im so sorry but your lmk comic gives ideas and thoughts bro lmao /gen SO HERES ANITHER THOUGHT... If you technically think about it, MK is basically an clone (not but words are EHHH) of Sun wukong because they came from the sane rock. But what about our spooky Macaque? We have no knowledge of how he came to be but we all may assume it's the same way with MK and Wukong. but.. BUT. If Macaque had his own stone somewhere in the shadows then what if there's an basically MK but Macaque verison? Even if not, that would be wild to think about lol

like a slightly more emo version of MK? Something like the OK KO situation?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello I just wanted to say I'M IN LOVE WITH YOUR COMIC it's sooooo good I'm obsessed and the recent part... I have no word only emotion Even though I use Tumblr for a while I still getting use to it so.. do you know any other Shadowpeach comics? I couldn't find any 😅

mmmm @kristea9ay is doing a shadowpeach parent story that’s really cute!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I NEED to see wukong and macaque having a cute moment and accidentally touch each others tails yk? 🥺🥺🥺 (and mk quitting is a stab to the chest, i dont think there is anything worse in store... Right?... RIGHT?!)

at this point they ain’t touching the tails “accidentally” anymore these bitches are too gay I can’t anymore-

@amyrosewithoutshadow ha chiesto: I think the next one that will need Sandy is Wukong, lol I always thought about one thing, how Wukong deal with traumas and crises? We only saw him dealing with it during his sleep, but what about a daylight crises? Love your art 💞

he has a “I can do it with a broken heart”-by-taylor-Swift-masking situation.

@alizardonfire ha chiesto: I understand why MK doesn't want to be their successor mostly because I think he needs time to think about all of it. There's a lot to unpack! I love how wukongs more shocked about it. And I think macaque kinda saw it coming?

i think Mac forseen that MK would have changed his view on Wukong for sure. But he didn’t know in which way.

@siennabanana ha chiesto: HDBDJDBDHSHDV NEW HEADCANON UNLOCKED: sometimes he misses his human form but he doesn’t tell wukong and macaque bc he feels like that would be an insult to them and plus he still thinks his monkey form is cool but eughhh dysphoriaa

awwww he might be sometimes! Good thing they are starting to hang out outside FFM as well!

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: If Wukong ever manages to be able to control his kaiju form, I could easily see Macaque's kaiju form using him as a bed, and along comes MK wanting in on the action. Then, he proceeds to lay on top of Macaque, squishing him with his kaiju and making a wholesome monkey family bonding session. With Wukonh laughing that Macaque is being squished. Just a funny thought I had.

oh my I think he would be waaayyy to big for the other two ahah

Anonimo ha chiesto: For your LMK shadowpeach AU will Ironfan be making up for all of MK's birthdays she missed? (Dropping off a mountain of presents at FFM?) (My partner joked she would give Redson in a box, not in a bow or anything just in an open box like a cat.)

she would probably make a courtnapping room for her son to gift him, and Red Son would die from embarrassment right there.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Dose macaque sometimes cook for MK and wukong since wukong tends to eat his fur/hair and macaque fonts approve of it

I think yes, he would cook probably really basics but nutrient-full meals, the few times they don’t eat noodle from pigsy shop

Anonimo ha chiesto: TCan we get Red Son and MK Angst because Red Son technology tried to kill MK a lot of times?

just bc of the AU main plot I don’t think so, also bc at this point traffic light trio are all friends with each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Speaking of birthdays, I assume Pigsy and Tang celebrate when MK showed up in their life or a random day when MK first asked about his birthday. Would Wukong and Macaque ask Nuwa the day he was put in the rock/broken out of it (I assume he came out and was immediately brought to Pigsy the same day but idk) or is that sort of a sore subject still, with the whole harbinger thing?

I think the best thing would be to celebrate it the day they found it!

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: Giuro che è un mese che provo a rendere il mio cosplay di mk simile alla tua au (perché anche se è semplice è stupendo), ma non so come fare le orecchie... Sono di nuovo qui per dirti quanto adoro la rua au btw :)

ADUYDJYTDY SE HAI BISOGNO DI RIFERIMENTI FAMMI SAPERE! E MANDAMI IL RISULTATO QUANDO HAI FINITO!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just waiting until Mk realizes the other things Wukong and Macaque did, yk like what Sun did to Redson, what Mac did to some of the monkeys all that

I think with time MK will slowly learn everything, but for example I guess now Red Son and Wukong are at truce

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just obsessed with your shadowpeach comics!!✨✨ But heey~ how about bai he!? l think it will be super amazing if add her in the future to this little cute monkeys family

awww baby!! I hope she went back to her family honestly! But I also hope sometimes she visits MK!

@yainmy ha chiesto: Oh gods I when I found this bio parents au I got HOOKED. I love it so much and the shenanigans and the angst are just *chef's kiss*. I have some curious questions if you don't mind me asking, but if a similar situation happens in the future like when mk got baby-fied, but instead his forms get split up (human and monkey demon) would he have that child crisis of fear "if im not this certain way they wont want me as theirs anymore", considering he is still learning about the whole monkey business? Also in a shenanigans sort of question, I don't remember how stone monkeys are made in their world but it would be hilarious if mk asked wukong and macaque that since they both are male and they technically "had" him then does that mean they can give him a sibling if they wanted? Sorry if it's to long of an ask 😅

i think MK would mostly feel a sense of loss for the fact that in a way, things should have been like this, like when he “hatched” Wukong probably would have found him if it wasn’t for the fact someone or something brought it to Pigsy shop. He would have grown up with someone who could tell him how to be a stone Monkey and teach him his power. Surely, I think Wukong wouldn’t have been as good as a parent as Pigsy, and MK doesn’t regret a bit how things actually ended up happening, but it’s a bit of a case of “sometimes I imagine how my life would have been if it went this way”

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know it's a bit out of the scope of your comic, but I'm wondering if Mei's design is just stylistic additions as if they were always there due to her dragon heritage, or if you have any ideas of scenes that took place as she grew more dragon features?

she started to grow more and more into them after she was accepted by her family sword and started to use her dragon form more and more.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you ever think Macaque and Wukong argue over who the little monkeys on the mountain like more? Like Im 100% sure Macaque wouldn't really care but the idea of not being the favorite bothers Wukong

the monkeys go crazy for soft fur Mamacaque. Wukong will always be pissed at this.

@snsp6 ha chiesto: do u like the hc that Mac has naturally snow-white fur? cs when u showed him wo glamours I realized that u don’t rlly color anything so I wanted to ask if it was still black or some type of mix between the two

akjdkajsbkaj I love for that shit YES. Yeah I don’t really colour my comics but yeah he cover it with glamour

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don't think MK ever really acknowledged that Wukong is a person, still a glorified deity. As mentioned MK hasn't really read the actual book and really didn't know his flawed side. MK has seen the worst parts of Macaque and still accepted him.

and now he knows about Wukong worst oarts and still accept him :D

@alistairliddell ha chiesto: What is FFM?

Flower Fruit Mountain

[beansstuff-mlb]

ML x Unus Annus AU

youtube formatting:

1 more

deciding to post these now since i (probably) might not continue drawing any more screencaps, wouldve loved to draw more of ethan and mark as adrien and felix but sadly a subset of the ml fandom during the s5 era killed my senti-twin and overall adrichat hype (i still love them dearly tho 🫶)

here’s some extra stuff i don’t really like idk (jumpscare warning i know it’s awfully creepy-looking LOL)

^actually i randomly redrew this screenshot for the fun of it and then that’s when i got the idea for this au

for the extras, the one on the bottom i started but i dunno if i should finish it. the one on top, i reeallly don’t like it but i’m posting it anyway because memento mori unus annus type shit ykwim

in conclusion, the lesson to gain from all this is hey now don’t try this at home dododododoo

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain. 

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside. 

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him. 

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already. 

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to. 

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you. 

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness. 

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

[whisperedmeg]

do you have any head canons for soft animal Spencer (or reader)? I’d love to hear them if so!!

oh my gosh, literally soooo many. I’m planning on making a very chaotic rambling post after the series is finished — sort of my soft animal manifesto with all of my thoughts/feelings on the whole thing, including my head canons. but I’ll share a few early because I genuinely love so much that someone cared enough to ask 🥹

spencer & reader play scrabble every thursday night after dinner. spencer lets reader win like, once a month. she pretends she doesn’t know he’s letting her win.

she packs little notes in his lunchbox (like the one from reentry burn on his first day back post-prison) at least a couple times a week. sometimes goofy, sometimes serious, and sometimes nsfw. he keeps every single one.

i mentioned in terminal velocity that spencer keeps a little dish on his bathroom vanity with hair ties in it for reader. he also always wears one on his wrist (à la s5 spencer) when they go out and she’s wearing her hair down, because he just knows she’s gonna want to put it up at some point and never remembers to bring a hair tie herself.

reader loves taking Polaroids. she had a crappy little urban outfitters instax camera, but spencer gets her a super nice vintage one for her birthday (which makes her cry because it’s so thoughtful). she takes photos of him when he’s cooking, reading, driving (on the rare occasions when he drives). sometimes he steals it and takes pictures of her, too. they’re scattered all throughout their apartments in little frames and on the fridge and etc. spencer keeps a few nsfw ones in his go-bag to have with him when he’s away on cases.

reader keeps hand lotion in her purse just for spencer after realizing how often his hands crack in the winter from over-sanitizing and anxious skin picking. it smells like sweet almonds and now spencer misses her anytime he gets a whiff of a similar scent while away. (yes, she pavlov’d him with hand cream).

spencer connnnstantly forgets to take his socks off during sex. reader giggles every time she realizes he’s still wearing them. one time she stopped mid-reverse cowgirl to make fun of his mismatched star trek socks.

spencer rarely gets sick, but when he does, he gets sick sick. reader has a dedicated sick-day protocol for him — extra pillows, electrolyte drinks, cold compresses, and a little basket she puts on his nightstand that holds cough drops, tissues, a few comfort books, a jar of vicks vapor rub, and a goofy polaroid of them from their first real vacation together (with a scribbled “i ❤️ you” on the bottom in sharpie) to make him smile. she goes full nurse-mode and he teases her for it, but deep down it just makes him love her even more.

and when she’s sick, he tries to care for her the same way. runs her a warm bath, brings her herbal tea and homemade soup, takes her temperature until he’s positive her fever has broken. when she loses her voice and has to whisper, he talks in a whisper too, without even realizing it.

okay this was more than a few, I got carried away 🥲 I can’t help it I just love them too much

[carigm]

MAJOR POTENTIAL SPOILERS/LEAKS REGARDING S5 (WARNING)

Last Spring/Summer, a semi popular fandom account on Twitter got sent some leaks about S5, focused on the first half of the season. At this time, many fandom accounts were receiving supposed leaks, so our attention was a bit scattered and we didn’t focus on any of them too much. A popular leak account on Twitter (unrelated to ST) also mentioned that they had gotten the first half of S5 leaked, and that this source is “never wrong”. Now, it is hard to tell if these leaks are the same as the ones that the specific fandom account I’m talking about received, but something to keep in mind. Her leaks were given to her by a person named James (which I assume is a fake name). These leaks were also posted on Reddit, last year, by her (the person in the fandom that got the leaks from James) but some major things were omitted in that post. I’m gonna leave a link here in case you guys want to read the discussion.

I’m sharing these leaks with you because some things from them are kinda lining up with what we’re seeing from S5 production. Keep in mind that these could be fake/wrong, and James himself said he didn’t have info on the last couple of scripts.

According to James, Mike dies in Ep. 3. I’m adding more screenshots later for more context, but the gist of these leaks is that Mike bites it, mlvn never breakup nor do they get a resolution, and Byler is left up to interpretation but never really happens. (I don’t really need to get into how shitty this all is writing wise)

Let’s go over the things these leaks might have potentially gotten right, according to what we know so far.

1. James said that the time jump would occur in ep. 1, after an establishing scene where S4 left off. He said the time jump would place us in late 1987/early 1988. He also mentioned there would be a series of flashbacks showcasing stuff from before the time jump. The dates he gave do seem to be accurate, and David Harbour had a shaved head right before they went into filming, which could imply pre time jump scenes.

2. According to him, after Mike dies, they find a letter he had been writing. Some of us were theorizing Finn had a letter in his back pocket in those rooftop pics. Could’ve also been Finn’s script and he just stuck it there (who knows).

3. He said that Joyce gets badly injured in ep.3, and since there’s speculation Winona was seen filming at the hospital, some people think that means she was taken there because of her injury. It’s important to notice that Natalia, Cara, and Finn were also supposedly seen filming at the hospital, and that the production called for many extras for nurses and paramedics. So whatever they’re filming at the hospital, it might be bigger than Joyce getting injured in her leg. Let’s remember Max is at the hospital too. I’m not 100% sold on this part of the leaks.

4. Today it was revealed that they’re setting up to film at Stone Mountain. (This is where they filmed UD scenes for S4)

Apparently production might have purple tentacles out already. (UD vines?)

Cara Buono mentioned, in that video shared by Ross Duffer, that she was filming stuff from Ep.2. This was around 2 days ago.

The people that know about the leaks think this is where Mike dies in ep. 3. Here’s some further context:

Here’s some stuff he said about mlvn:

Which is just….meh, because like I said, it doesn’t look like him and El ever breakup before his supposed death. Plus Byler never gets any resolution.

Now some things that might disprove the leaks (I’m trying to be impartial here)

1. These leaks mentioned Argyle a couple of times, saying he has a hero moment at some point. Eduardo made it sound like he’s not coming back to the show, but tbh he could just be lying. He’s listed for ep.2 on IMDb (and yes I know anyone with an account can edit that site)

2. These leaks say that Mike is very insufferable for the 3 episodes he’s alive, basically lashing out at everyone, specially El, and just overall behaving like an asshole. I really didn’t get that from the ElMike rooftop scene, in fact he seemed very gentle with her. People that know about these leaks think that the rooftop scene is Mike maybe apologizing to El and them having a heart to heart, right before he dies (no comment).

All in all, if Mike is dying this early, I’m sure we’ll know soon enough. The rest of the cast is gonna be filming for like a year, and Finn will be done in like two weeks 💀

I also hope there’s more leaks soon (on Reddit) so that we might compare them to these and see wtf is up.

I know someone is gonna inevitably ask why leaks would be out almost a whole year before they started filming when we usually get them during filming or post production, but I’ve been told these leaks happened around the time the writer’s strike began, which is when they were originally gonna start filming. I was also told other shows had issues with leaks around that same time.

I don’t want to get too much into the truly awful writing we’re facing if these are real but…First, I believe it’s a total disservice to Mike’s character. One of your mains since S1 and you don’t even offer him the option of dying towards the end of the season? Even fucking Eddie got that. Two, it seems like a very easy cop out for not having to make Byler canon. Let’s just have neither ship be endgame and that way we don’t get queerbaiting allegations. It also stands in a zone too close to torture porn for my liking, because sure let’s kill the character two of the most traumatized characters in the history of TV love most. And yes, it’s also a disservice to El and Will’s characters. And lastly, if that supposed letter vaguely alludes Mike having some sort of sexuality problems (we don’t know atp) it is pretty fucked up they just killed him off like that. Sure let’s not explore any of that, but give a half assed explanation via letter ex machina. This is looking like Supernatural finale levels of bad to me.

Another point, I distinctly remember the Duffers saying, after S4, that they could never kill off a character like Mike because it would be too painful, and that ST would cease to be ST and lose its identity. They didn’t want to be like GOT. I sincerely hope they actually meant this and were not trying to be cheeky or whatever the fuck.

It would be genuinely insane, and quite frankly, a highlight of their lack of writing abilities.

I hope the leaks are wrong, but I felt like it was necessary to warn everyone just in case. I know I’m not watching something this awful.

[all-pacas]

Ok, you’ve done Cameron being tempted by diagnostics in s4… what about Chase? Obviously he has his boundaries era but he pretty much always helps House out when asked…

And for extra credit - in a universe where Foreman had a choice between going back to House or working elsewhere as a doctor but not in diagnostics what would he have done?

chase is actually a firm no, i think.

the end of s3 was all about moving on and making changes, right? foreman thinks he's ready, but the narrative proves he is wrong: he is acting out of emotion and fear, he still defers to house and misses the details. we see in s4 and his stint at mercy that he's still very much falling back on old patterns, even as he celebrates himself for changing: he isn't ready.

and chase, the show posits, is ready. if the criteria for moving on are trusting yourself and not needing house, then he has it in spades: he goes on a noted diagnostics hot streak in the second half of s3, and we see him shed his lapdog persona and start openly challenging house, even calling house out on his schemes. we see it also in his reaction when he's fired: he is… genuinely okay. he's happy to move on after the shock passes, even eager; he also releases cameron from his crush, he is ready to let go and move forward with his life (and cameron immediately doubts herself and pursues him — she's also the one alongside house insisting nothing will change, nothing needs to change. themes!).

and frankly, he is thriving in s4. he is canonically the best surgeon in the hospital; he started his new job strong. he has respect he's never had, he's still able to diagnose issues at a glance, and his and house's relationship is actually pretty good now: not only does he still help house out no problem, but he's still calling him out, and they go bowling together. from chase's perspective, it's a win-win. he even has a girlfriend. he doesn't need diagnostics anymore.

in s6, chase, correctly i think, says cameron always liked it more than him. i think he is 100% truthful here. the draw of diagnostics was never really the puzzle solving or the prestige of working for a famous doctor, it was that he enjoys house. he likes doing crazy things. he likes house. he doesn't need to work for house to have that relationship, and he never shows any signs he misses it in particular: he's actually often reminding cameron in s4 and s5 that it's good they don't work for him anymore, that "we left him to avoid the insanity." (he's wrong, he was fired, but he seems to be sincere.) i also don't think it's unrelated that when chase's new life falls apart in s6, he goes back to diagnostics. but he doesn't need it in the same way before it does.

--

for foreman, i think the timing really matters. straight out of s3? he's going to lead a neurology department somewhere, because his goal is to prove he isn't like house and can still succeed and be amazing more than anything (even if it's kind of a lie and he hasn't changed at all yet). but by… i don't know, s6? foreman seems to have gotten more settled in who he is and how he sees himself; he's not nearly as reactionary. there's a moment in mirror mirror where foreman realizes he doesn't hate house or diagnostics, and sheds a lot of his angst about it as a result. there is a point where i think the math does shift, and he'd want to learn from house more than he wants to prove himself as someone separate from and better than house - but it isn't post-human error.

[psalmsofpsychosis]

David advocating for batjokes is so cathartic bc i remember ages ago some were suggesting that gotham!batjokes wasn't really a two-hander and only Cameron was playing up the tragic love arc (which is crazy because david has talked about Jeremiah loving bruce before the ace chem episode dropped and the fact that he literally plays Bruce as though he's on the verge of crying in every other scene he has with post-reveal Jeremiah but okay)

I need to hear these two guys idea dumping on each other while filming season 5

postgrad David and Cameron are dream Gotham blunt rotation for real because i geniunely think they're both incredibly delightful and unhinged and strange individuals and i also think that they both knew what they were doing.

Like, putting it into context— Cameron was just coming off 11 years of Shameless US, jesus christ. He was a gayism veteran at that point, he knew what the tone oh his plot was, of course he was going to act it that way and talk about it that way. But also, David was a 16 years old kid. Like, i dont know what indepth philosophical nuance people expected him to bring to the table, he was a fucking child at the time, teens take things lightly, it's what they do. But still it's an insane, insane thing to me that some people thought that gotham!batjokes is an unintended one sided narrative because, as you yourself said, David's acting is incredibly deliberate and distinct, Bruce's body language is a whole world of its own when it comes to Miah, and we're not even talking about the plot points. So i think that in the specific S5 time frame he played it more intuitively and less philosophically like Cameron did, and he didn't necessarily have a grown up's vocabulary around the narrative, i honestly didn't expect him to. But now that he's older and has had time away from the clutches of DC and also more years on him, he's came back full force. His analysis and understanding of Joker is on point, and he took extra care to really highlight where his priorities lie in a "Joker Essey" video by sticking the fucking "only Batman would go to this length to find the good in Joker, because he's his one true love" comment sticker right on top. There was no reason for him to highlight that comment, or draw any attention to it at all, if he wasn't aboard the batjokes train of hell. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and man does it heal me to the bone, i'm just so glad to know that everybody has been on the same page all along, it shows on screen and offscreen

[chefkids]

The way filming was so low key this year gives me hope for filming s5 next year and also terrifies me. I think if it was a series finale type of wrap there would be a much bigger celebration. Also I feel like FX would be milking the HELL out of everything to promote a “final season”. For the production to come this far without any kind of promo that this is the last season seems like it would be a horrible promo move. So many shows build on an anticipation of the last season so if season 4 is it…. They’ve killed that anticipation because we know nothing

It's quiet......... too quiet.

These people are all a bunch of emotional softies. If today was really the last day of the bear EVER I feel like there would have been more noise. More posts. At least some matching farewell t-shirts or something on that set....... Ayo went to NYC for a photoshoot and then back home to Boston and Jeremy has apparently just been at home in LA which I feel like are things that could all have been moved if today really was the final finale shoot. Theoretically they could have had an early wrap party a week or two ago with everyone there....

Idk when this was, maybe today?

but still I feel like things are off. FX was gladly parading all these people around Chicago for promo last year. It's not like they've totally given up on them, the CEO is still a believer in the series and knew things would be off with S3. He's still giving them space and promo in all the Hulu Disney FX coming soon clips. They know there is still an audience. They're going to have to work extra hard to promote Season 4 cause all of the organic hype of last year has died. They've been so weird about everything since last year not even knowing what or how much they were filming. idk.... I don't want to build up hope for a Season 5 cause it's not that abnormal to just announce that it will be the final season like a month or a week before it airs, but it really does not feel like the end right now.

[ilikekidsshows]

I've recently watched the ML London special and had to think about your words several times. Mostly about Maribug's pity party and coddling.

My negative coddling highlight (which also made me laugh in disbelief) was when Marinette questioned her decision to keep Adrien in the dark to "protect him" and she "had no choice" so Tikki tells her she isn't the Kwami of Truth (???) and Marinette should "stop thinking and take some rest". What the heck. That felt like they wanted to show a worried, sympathetic Marinette, but quickly brushed aside anything else. A simple "we don't know" of the Kwamis would have felt more natural, too, instead that cryptic Kwami of Truth nonsense. Plagg apparently doesn't care much about Adrien anymore now that he's under Marinette's wings, he has shown no emotions or opinion about Adrien's wellbeing. Sad, very sad.

Also, seeing the whole conversation in which Marinette decides that Nathalie has to be Adrien's surrogate mother, while Nathalie was not convinced of that but was ready to go to jail instead....wow. Forced motherhood onto a woman who clearly didn't feel called for that position and who rather atone for her very real crimes... feels kinda sexist to me. Why is Marinette the one to decide that for Nathalie and Adrien? And Marinette and Nathalie suddenly having a bond strong enough for hugging and that shit? Where did that come from? Everything for coddling Marinette, apparently, everyone but the new villain is on her side.

The only scene that felt worthwile to me was the very short moment in which Adrien lashes out at Bug Noire. He finally felt alive and as his own person for the first time in forever (S5 essentially), even going as far as - gasp - making Ladybug uncomfortable. Chat Noir also was completly forgotten the whole special, only to come back into existance for that empty Ladynoir scene at the end in which he has to spout his obligatory "you and me against the world" speech.

I did like the background music, though, and the fighting choreography, which actually made me realize that Ladybug never before has fought hand-on-hand that long on her own. Which, of course, she had to here, since there was no Chat Noir to do it for her this time. I couldn't not think about your "Chat Noir fighter" post then.

Sorry for the wall of text. I just wanted to let you know that I had to think several times about your posts and answers during the special.

---

Thanks for the peer review, Anon! In media analysis, someone watching or reading the work and finding the analysis a good match for the source material is a clear indicator that the analyst has hit a resonant reading.

I think what we have in the Nathalie example is a writers' crutch becoming obvious. I can point several instances where Marinette gets instant or near instant support as soon as she needs it, but the Nathalie situation is extra glaring in how little in-universe sense it makes. Cat Noir propping her up in ‘Origins’, ‘Miracle Queen’ and several other times makes sense; he’s her superhero partner. Alya makes sense, she's her best friend. In ‘Love Hunter’ Luka almost magically drove past and happened to notice she was upset and could drop whatever else he was doing to tend to her instead as soon as she needed someone to cry against. That one is a bit ridiculous, but it was used to set up them getting together later so it feels organic after the fact.

The notoriously stoic Nathalie, who has zero bond with Marinette up until now suddenly holding her more gently than she's ever held Adrien while she cries happens only because no one more appropriate was around to do it instead. It's an escalation. Luka’s super timing was stretching believability so much people started to joke he had actual empathy-based superpowers. With Nathalie, it's completely out of nowhere, but the stans ignore it because the show has made it a staple that someone will always prioritize Marinette, and because they're just so glad Marinette has someone to comfort her because she's such a miserable wretch who never gets enough support. Finally, there's an adult she can count on! Except, Nathalie also starts immediately taking marching orders from Marinette, so it's just even weirder.

It's not that Nathalie is actually being set up as a confidant to make up for her past misdeeds, she's just instantly a Marinette groupie because the writers needed someone to prioritize Marinette's feelings. It functions as a way to make it clear to the audience that this is what they should worry about: how Marinette is feeling. And it worked; just as Adrien started voicing his own emotions, he got shut down by our lead and a big part of the fandom was more concerned about Marinette being upsette than Adrien, who is infinitely worse off than Marinette.

[dinkbear]

camp camp s5 e1 review (MAJOR SPOILERS!)

yea i thought it sucked

i just watched the new cc episode and i thought it was....not great

the pacing was very off, i feel like they had the potential to tell an emotionally complex story regarding max's feelings to returning to camp and seeing so much different, but that's difficult to do in 15 minutes, i feel like it could've worked better if it were even just 20 minutes. also, in "With Friends Like These" i thought max's new VA sounded practically the same as his old one, but in this episode he just sounds...off. again, a lot of the lines felt forced, when i hear this new guy i don't hear the little shit-stain max i just hear Some Guy™. i understand WHY they changed the va, but as a poc myself i genuinely could not care less if a white actor voices a poc character esp in an adult cartoon. it actually really brought me out of it when max was snapping at the obstacle course because it just felt like nothing, like i didn't care.

i. hate. CJ. i think he's unfunny, i don't like his design, i just...don't like him. hoping and praying that gwen stays and he LEAVES or there's some crazy twist or SOMETHING i just do NOT like him. also, why does he have the authority to deny the campers food??? is david not his boss??? DO SOMETHING BRO

david also felt off, i know that now he knows the campers better and he's had character development but he just seemed disingenuous

the bit with nikki freaking out over max possibly being mad had so much potential to be built on and have something done with it but it just...didn't. it was just that one line and that was it, i was excited for some crazy conflict that didn't happen.

i thought the thing with neil's clip on earring was hilarious and im sad that it'll probably only be in that one episode </3

UGGGGH they CAN tell heart-wrenching stories, they CAN expand on these characters emotionally, they CAN DO SO MUCH and they HAVE....but, for me, a big part of what made episodes like "The Order of the Sparrow" and "Parents' Day" so moving was that it was out of the formula. i LOVE LOVE LOVE shows that set themselves up as being episodic/formulaic/sitcom-y and then slowly introduce lore and show that the characters are 3-dimensional and have conflict, etc, etc. but in this episode and in "With Friends Like These," the emotional story-telling feels forced. it's not set up like its a regular camp camp episode where something unexpectedly emotional happens, its set up to be the unexpected thing...which makes it expected and lose its value. especially because, back when i was SUPER hyperfixated on this show like 4 years ago, post watching "Parents' Day" or "The Order of the Sparrow" or whatever, when i rewatched other episodes i saw more to these characters hidden in little aspects of their behavior or their reactions or their dialogue that was there the WHOLE TIME, but seemed like it was just a regular old episode where regular old things happen, but now it seems as though they are straying away from that and instead having the emotional development and storytelling be completely unsubtle and on the nose. i suppose it is the writers' choice and they have every right to do that even if i don't like it.

speaking of on-the-nose, i wasn't a fan of how they just flat out said "max is upset that things are different," in the episode he said how he didn't like that everything was changing over and over and over again. and like.....take "Parents' Day" for example, max was being an extra asshole to everyone subconsciously before realizing and admitting the real reason, which was great and how kids work (because remember, max is 11) but in this episode it was pretty much "GRRRRR EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT AND IM MAD ABOUT IT!!!!!" and i know it was supposed to be like 'well WHY is he so mad about it :o" which could've been good and interesting if there were...buildup...or anything...and not "This camp sucks, but you know what else sucks? Life out there. Family, school, a crumbling society?" and "You're just as lame as before, which is why you didn't have any friends back home to begin with." its just like....come on. was that REALLY the best way to get that across??? THEY CAN WRITE SUBTLY SO WHY DON'T THEY!?!?!?!?

i feel like there is SO MUCH potential to exploring max's emotions but they just seem to keep being unsubtle and on-the-nose about it, which an emotionally neglected kid would NOT be. we have to remember, they're kids. i feel like the earlier seasons did a great job of making that obvious- making them little rascals, oblivious to things, mischievous, full-of-energy, little devils, the line "I saw it on TV!" from s1 e4- but in these newer episodes its treated as though that aspect is not important (note: i have never rewatched s4 because i didn't like it, so i am not going off it for reference bc i barely remember anything that happened) max wouldn't know that he's upset with them changing because of how lonely it is, and i know he was supposed to be projecting but the dialogue felt so forced it didn't even feel like projecting it just felt like admitting. i don't expect the writers to have a phd in child psychology or something, but if they want max's emotional reactions to have power and be meaningful, i feel like they should be a CHILD'S emotions.

granted, this is all my opinion. i'm sure for the reasons i disliked the episode, someone really loved it for the same ones. i would give it a 3/10, but there was no jasper, so it gets a 0/10. very excited for the next episode, the post-credits trailer made it seem like it'll be good.