#but ahhh I just put a fan in the window

[scobbe]

Spent $50 on incense and supplies for burning it at the monastery (we burn their incense at our church) only to burn two (2) grains panicking the whole time about setting off the smoke alarm.

[heartfullofleeches]

Currently feral over dorky fanboy of a slasher darling who couldn't give too fucks about him so I think we'll go with that. Darling is a bit disturbed by how accurate their little copycat's replicas are. Their old mask, that worn out coat, their first knife.... Wait, that is their first knife. How did... Darling would be quite surprised with what people can get their hands with the right connections. The only thing worse than that is when their little fan dresses himself as their slain victims. Sometimes it's simply wearing clothes that resemble what Darling's victims had worn in their final moments - others, he works for hours painting their wounds to the best of his capabilities while remaining within the guidelines for the sites he posts his costumes on to get Darling's attention. Everyso often, he'll have an outfit done even before the victim of the week's cause of death has been released to the public. Most people are too busy drooling over how cute he is despite being smeared in "fake" gore to really put things together, but there is one person out there who always knows his little secrets.

"I'd be a better victim than anyone you've hunted before... My bedroom window is always unlocked. I have my headphones on 24/7 so I wouldn't even hear you creep up on me. Maybe you could even sneak up on me in the shower ... I'm kidding!- I'm kidding.... Unless.... Ahhh, just thinking about it makes me blush!"

[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

[chaossturns]

Hii!! can you do chris x f!reader where she posts on tiktok to the audio that goes “give bitch sum head or sum” and chris sees it and takes her up on it?? tag me if u do it pls!!

𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐒𝐔𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐌 | 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

⋆⑅˚₊ — synopsis: you filmed a tiktok to the sound “give a bitch sum head or sum” while Chris is filming but he sees it while he’s out, so what will happen when he comes home?

⋆⑅˚₊ — pairing: chris sturniolo x poc!reader

⋆⑅˚₊ — warnings: oral (fem!receiving) , use of pet names , swearing , face riding , slight fluff & aftercare , established relationship , and overstimulation

a/n: i loved writing this request so much, also thank you for 100 followers ! 👅

a/n 2: join the taglist , ts looking empty 🫡

⋆⑅˚₊ — word count: 1.5k

not proofread

You were sitting at Chris’s desk, Tiktok sounds filling the emptiness of his room as you scrolled. Chris was currently out with his brothers filming a video, leaving you to be bored and alone.

While scrolling you stop on a video, the sound intriguing you. It was the beginning of the song “Slob on My Ckat” , the lyrics being “Give a bitch sum head or sum.”

You get up from Chris’s desk, walking into his bathroom and looking into the mirror. You place your phone on the counter, putting all your focus on your hair, fluffing it out a bit. You then pick up your phone, getting a good angle through the mirror.

As you film, you save some as drafts, and have different options to choose from. You finish up, heading to Chris’s bed, sitting up by the headboard.

While sitting there you start to go through the multiple takes, figuring out which one is posting worthy. You find the best video out of the bunch, captioning it, then posting it.

The fans knew you and Chris were together, so you got a lot of recognition on your Tiktok account. Some fans were not really fond of yours and Chris’s relationship, but it didn’t really bother you.

You get up from the bed and go upstairs, wanting a snack and a drink. Upon opening the fridge, your eyes wander throughout the various drink options. Lyrical lemonade decorating the shelves, along with pepsi, root beer, and water.

You grab a watermelon lyrical lemonade, going to the cabinets to get a bag of popcorn, and venture your way back down to Chris’s room.

Before sitting down on his bed, you grab his tv remote off his dresser, thinking about what to watch. You pick out the movie “Get Out” by Jordan Peele. The movie proceeds, but your phone is blowing up with notifications from Tiktok

Opening the app, your notification box is filled with likes and comments. You go and view your Tiktok, reading some of the comments as well.

likes: 106.4k Comments: 10.1k Shares: 120

comments:

@ christophersturniolo

- 👀

@ lucy50

- omg you’re so pretty 😍

@ sturniolofan111

- AHHH CHRIS COMMENTED

@ spam.jess

- lord chris is lucky 😩

You took notice of Chris’s like and comment, not thinking much of it since it was normal for him to do so. Getting more comfortable under his covers, you put your phone down and regain your focus on the movie.

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Me, Matt, and Nick were out filming a video. Nick’s timer had gone off, meaning we had to reset the camera. While doing so, I opened Tiktok, browsing through my following.

I came across my girlfriends video, listening to the audio, and smirking to myself. I liked and commented as usual, looking at how good she looked. An idea came to my head, now wanting to hurry up and get home.

Matt bangs on the window, telling me to look up from my phone and face the camera.

“Chris and Nick look towards me!” Matt yells, his voice slightly muffled since he’s outside. Me and Nick just look at each other, wondering where such anger came from.

Matt then walks to the driver side, getting into the car, and fixing his hair while doing so.

“So where were we?” Nick asks, wanting to get back on track with the video. I left him unanswered, impatiently wanting to go home.

We talked for about 10 more minutes before putting the camera up and making our way towards our apartment. I texted my girlfriend that we were on the way home, placing my phone in my lap, and glancing out the car window.

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐕

You get a notification on your phone, causing you to jump as you were absorbed into the movie. The text was from Chris saying he was on his way home. You grab the remote and pause the movie, getting up and using the bathroom.

Coming out of the bathroom, you collect your trash, and throw it away in the trash can in Chris’s room. You lay back down in the bed, grabbing your phone and scrolling through instagram.

A couple of minutes later you hear the garage door open and close, signifying the triplets were back home. You continue to be on your phone, waiting for Chris to come into his room.

You hear his bedroom door open and shut, footsteps coming closer to the bed. You look up from your phone and smile at Chris, getting out of bed, and giving him a hug.

“I’ve missed you too baby.” Chris says, gripping that back of your thighs, and hoisting them around his waist. You press a kiss to his lips, Chris using his free hand to grasp around your neck.

You pull away, smiling as you climb out of his arms. Turning away from Chris, you plop back onto the bed. But Chris doesn’t come and lay down he just stares at you, his blue eyes becoming intoxicating.

“Chris, why are you looking at me like that?” You question him, he just smirks and comes closer to the bed.

“Y’know I saw your video right?” He asks, you slowly nod, trying to understand the connection between this. He grabs onto your ankles, pulling you even closer to him.

“Chris what are you doing?” you ask, becoming flustered from all of this.

“Hmm, how did the audio go?” he taps his index finger against chin, making it seem like he’s deeply pondering about something. “Give a bitch sum head or sum?” He asks again, causing you to finally understand what’s going on.

Chris is now on his knees at the foot of the bed, stripping you of your jean shorts, leaving you in your pink laced underwear. He opens your thighs, peppering kisses to the left and right, slowly moving closer to the clothed cunt.

You sigh out, enjoying the feeling of his lips dancing across your thighs. You begin squirming as his lips get closer to your core, making Chris grip onto your hips to prevent you from doing so.

Chris plants a hot, wet kiss upon your covered clit. You whimper out, just wanting Chris’s lips on your leaking core.

“Please Chris.” you whine out, looking down at him between your thighs.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, now sucking on the inside of your thighs, creating hickeys.

“I need your mouth against me please.” you say, sifting your fingers through his brunette locks. Chris then proceeds to peel your underwear off of you, stuffing them into his pocket.

His lips finally attach to you core, you dragging out a loud moan from your throat. Chris’s tongue leaves long licks to your slit, slipping it into your soaked hole from time to time.

“Oh, shit Chris.” you yank his hair that’s tangled in between your fingers , resulting in him groaning out into your pussy. Chris then begins to suck on your clit, the knot in your stomach becoming more apparent.

You rock your hips into Chris’s face, his nose hitting your sensitive bud every time you do so.

“Mmm, Chris i’m close.” you sigh out, Chris now increasing the speed of his tongue.

“Cmon, give it to me mama.” Chris mumbles into you, making a rush of pleasure cascade over your body as you cum.

Chris doesn’t give you time to rest, he gets up from his kneeling position, lays his head by the head board, and pulls you over his mouth.

You feel his mouth enclose around your dripping cunt, your hand automatically gripping the headboard due the vast amount of pleasure. Chris moves his hands around your hips, tightly holding onto them as he moves them against his face.

“Fuck Chris!” you say, a moan flowing from your mouth. You throw your head back, leaving your mouth agape, overwhelmed by all of this.

“Is it too much baby?” he asks, you whine out in response. The sound of Chris slurping up your juices filled your ears, driving you completely overboard.

“C-c-can’t take it anymore Chris.” you say, slightly lifting your hips away from Chris’ lips. He then goes to wrap his arms around your thighs, keeping you trapped above his mouth.

“You taste so fucking good, just give me one more please?” he asks, continuing his torturous assault on your pussy. You collect his hair back into your hand, moans and whimpers leaving your lips as your second orgasm begins to take over.

Your breathing becomes heavy, now releasing your cum all over Chris’ face. He cleans you up, not leaving any left over cum.

You fall to the side of Chris, looking into his face and giving him a lazy smile as you see your juices glistening off him in the light. He gets up, grabs a warm towel, and cleans off your thighs.

He then grabs another pair of your underwear and one of his hoodies, and puts them on you. You slide underneath the covers, your body sore. Chris then comes next to you, wrapping your legs around his waist as you snuggle into his neck.

for - @ellaynaa 🔥

tags: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @sturnsslut @bigbeefybitch @rileysturniolo @itsnotmariahh @summerssover @l0ver-i @thenickgirl

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 LESSERAFIM AND THEIR HOT HEADED MEMBER lesserafim x reader

★yn’s best live moments 1M views

↳ warnings: yn from paparazzi and this fic, idol au, yn being a short (for the plot) hot head, yn is the second youngest member

➩ CLIP #1 PLAYING… 📼

yn adjusted her glasses as she read the comments of the live, she tilted her head at some of her fans comments because it screamed stupidity but she’s trying her best not to say anything since chaewon has been on her a lot lately.

yunjin has been the one answering the questions and entertaining the fans but all yn could think about was how she shouldn’t even be here, the older girl crashed yn’s live when yn wouldn’t answer her comments on the live.

“ahhh, you’re so cute with your glasses, you’re always wearing contacts I forgot you even need them.” yunjin squeals leaning into yn who visibly flinches at the contact but yunjin just laughs because she’s so used to it, “my cutie.”

“nah bro,” yn says scratching her arm, she looked away from yunjin who’s mouth drops in offence, “nothing about me being visually impaired is cute.”

“I can never win with her guys.”

➩ CLIP #2 PLAYING… 📼

yn wraps her white zip up sweater tightly around her as she sat beside her window the grey skies from the rain coming into veiw, she adjusts her glasses and she yawns and rubs her face.

“let me put on some music,” she says reaching over to her side table that has a bunch of cds, she shows a bunch of wave to earth cds to the camera before placing one in her vintage cd player.

the soft music plays and she brings her totoro plush to her chest closing her eyes, “this is nice.” she says softly, this is probably the first time the fans have ever seen the hot head so calm, but hey, she is in the comfort of her room.

“yn!” the voice of eunchae fills the room as yn’s door burst open.

yn’s eyes are still closed as she visibly tenses and fans laugh at the way her fists clench practically strangling her plushie as eunchae makes her way into the frame of the camera.

➩ CLIP #3 PLAYING… 📼

yn holds the camera in her hands as she laughs when she sees eunchae fall trying to climb up the slide at the park that the girls decided to stop by.

“did you guys see that?” she laughs, but fans are just in awe that this is what brings the hot headed member joy.

sakura comes up behind the younger girl and adjusts the hat that she made for her on her head, tightening the scarf around yn’s neck as well, “I didn’t see you put in your eye contacts, where are your glasses?” she asks.

“I forgot it.” yn says simply before letting out another laugh when she see yunjin fall next, she leans into sakura who wraps her arms warmly around the shorter girl, “this is what’s making you happy?” the older girl laughs before looking at the camera that yn’s holding and waving.

“they’re just such idiots,” yn says before letting out another laugh when she sees chaewon fall.

➩ CLIP #4 PLAYING… 📼

“chaewon unnie is with me this live because she said i missed behaved last one.” yn exposes leaning towards the camera as chaewon’s face pales.

“that’s not true.” the older girl laughs nervously, nudging yn who just looks at her blankly.

“I just wanted to spend time with this cutie.” chaewon says pinching yn’s cheeks who cringes and tries to slap the older girls hand away.

“ew, stop.”

➩ CLIP #5 PLAYING… 📼

“shopping in japan.” yunjin says to the live as her, yn, sakura and kazuha walk the streets of shibuya.

the girls get to the crosswalk and yunjin turns the camera towards yn and sakura who holds yn’s arm when they cross.

her and kazuha giggle at the sight, “ah, you’re so cute yn.” she says teasingly, knowing the fact that the younger letting sakura hold her hand as they cross would embarrass her on camera.

yunjin and kazuha’s mouth drops when all yn’s does is being her hand that’s not occupied behind her giving them the middle finger still looking ahead.

★☆ I was bored so I wrote this

[mikobeautifulheart]

Hiii (’◡’) I really liked that fan fiction of choso where he's jealous over the kitty but I think it would be so cute w nanaaamii plz plz💗(*ˊᗜˋ*)

Ahhh thank you for reading my fic (and liking it) 🥰.

Here we go

Jealousy

Tw: none, just fluff. But not edited.

FEATURING: NANAMI

It all started after a hard day's work. Another overtime.

Nanami sighed as he turns the key and steps inside your shared apartment, he really needed to just feel you right now.

"I'm back." He mumbled kicking off his shoes.

He dosent hear you move or respond...weird. He walks into the living room, sunlight comes in golden rays settling on your sleeping figure. His mouth upturns into a smile.

Until it dosent.

There on you peaceful rising chest was a white fluff ball, it's form also rising up and down. It took his spot.

Feeling something around you, your eyes slowly open to see a very exhausted Nanami.

"Welcome back Kento" you say sleepily sitting upright the white fluff now in your arms.

"What do you have there?" He asked.

You were to tierd to tell how he asked the question. Was he upset? Angery? Hard to tell.

"Oh this guy. I found him on our window sill this morning and he was injured."

Right on que the cat lifts one of its paws up revealing a small bandage wrapped around it.

Kento thought a vain in his head was going to burst when the cat turned to face him only to snuggle right under your face and reveal its big blue eyes.

There was something wrong with this cat. Cats don't just show up injured on a 6th floor apartment window. Cats don't smirk and hit people's nerves.

And most importantly they shouldn't look like a carbon copy of a white haired co worker that passes him off.

"He looks better already." Kento mumbled glaring at the cat.

"You know I actually have a cut here to" He said lifting his shirt up only too show half of his torso with a deep wound on one side.

"Oh Kento, why didn't you go to Shoko?! She would have foxed this in a minute!" You said putting the cat aside and getting up to grab your patch up supplies.

"She was on break and I wanted to see you." He sighed.

"But I see someone beat me to it." He glared at the cat.

You brought over a box and started attending to the wound.

"Kento what if it got infected? What if you made it worse? You cant just ignore this like it's nothing!" You said as you finished disinfecting it.

He only watched as the cat jumped off the couch and weaved between your legs.

"Aww isn't he the cutest." You said looking down at the cat.

"If you say so darling. How long is he going to be here anyway, i'm afraid his owners might begin to miss him"

"Actually he's a stray, he doesn't have anyone Ken, isn't that sad!"

"mm very, what do you suppose we do about it?" he asked glaring into the cats back.

"We should at least look after him until he heals, and I know this apartment doesn't allow pets but I spoke to the land lady and she said I can keep him here until he's better" You beamed only making him sigh.

He can't make you sad when you were this excited about having a cat, TEMPORARILY.

"Okay. We can keep him for now, but I need to rest and that means me and you. No cat."

The cat meowed loudly from the other room.

"I mean it."

"Okay Ken!" You said just glad you could keep the cat.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: Tehe thanks for the request anon and sorry it took so long :( have a good whatever time.

[barrenclan]

Can’t stop thinking of a Have You Seen My Sister Evelyn AMV/MAP of Pinepaw and Daffodilpaw looking for their sister. It starts out silly- cartoon art style, Pine and Daff asking various Clanmates on where they saw Asphodel last, lots of hijinks and slapstick, etc. Over the course of the song, the landscape gets progressively darker and more realistic, with occasional realistic shots, until at the very end the gleeful illusion is broken and it’s just BarrenClan standing over a child’s corpse

Okay, I have got to address this. This is the - fourth? fifth? - time that this song has been suggested to me with this exact idea for it. I answered the first one some time ago, and haven't answered the succeeding ones for that reason, but I cannot ignore it any longer. PATFW fans psychically communicating to each other.

I see you sliding a DreamSMP song in here, I was there. You ain't slick.

Where will you be When the sun goes dark

Where will you be When death comes knocking Oh no, where will you be

I'm always surprised how many people write songs about empty, forsaken lands! It's more popular than I thought.

There's nothing left of this day There's nothing left of this town Our time has ceased with such sorrow There's no one left here to mourn

Outside they cry, wolves in the night <- arooo.... Dark with their howls all around We'll just lie here, clothed in our sheepskin And trying to pretend there's no harm

I am going to put my two cents in and say DarkProwl.

You called, I answered Open the door, I enter The glow, the candor A feeling like no other

I wanna climb inside Be someone impolite Wanna eat you alive Should I, should I, should I?

AHHH HELP... you're not. Wrong??

This sounds like a super cute idea, with Blacknose being the singer and the bridge between Egret and Mallow.

It could be weird, but I think I'm into it You know I'm one for the overly passionate I like you, and I loved him We could all be the best kind of friends

You've got so much in common Talk about your taste in women I'll be in the middle While you two get along

Heartaches, heartaches My loving you, they're only heartaches Your kiss was such a sacred thing to me I can't believe it's just a burning memory

Heartaches, heartaches What does it matter how my heart breaks? I should be happy with someone new But my heart aches for you

Wailing... sobbing... my boys.......

Please, please be here for me dear 'Cause I've never needed a friend more And I can't stress enough How much it means to me that you're trying And I don't mind if you can't hold me like you used to 'Cause I've never hated myself more And this is just a bump in the road and I promise I'm trying

I'm trying to tear the wool from your eyes But a part of me wants to let you be 'Cause then you wouldn't see what I've become

Yes I think it would be!

Follow my moves Don't make a sound We will get past and we'll never be found Darker than blue Darker than black We will escape and we'll never come back

I can see it! Something about lost childhoods, and homes that used to be full but are now empty.

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid The house is white and the lawn is dead The lawn is dead, the lawn is dead

Illinois toll road, Indiana plain Roll the windows down, shoot at the change Half return, half return Honey in your mouth when you gave me my name Tears in your eyes when you pull it like a chain

[humblequestvinyl]

mountain with a view

MOUNTAIN WITH A VIEW, EDDIE DIAZ X FEM!READER

APART OF THE ‘ROLLING UP THE WELCOME MAT’ SERIES

SUMMARY: after one too many late nights, y/n l/n is sitting at their kitchen table, debating if her and her husband's marriage is even worth fighting for.

inspired by mountain with a view, by kelsea ballerini

previous chapter, | next chapter,

lowercase is intentional! wc: 1.9k

warning: angst!!!!! swearing, marriage problems, trust issues (?) if there’s anything i missed let me know!

a/n: AHHH NEW SERIES W EDDIE <33! i'm so excited for this!! also my deepest apologies in advance bc i am so mean to eddie in this LMFAOO hope u guys enjoy <333

“COUNTRY STAR Y/N L/N HAS FILED FOR DIVORCE FROM HER HUSBAND, EDDIE DIAZ AFTER FIVE YEARS OF MARRIAGE.”

the voice of a news reporter flooded through the tv as photos of the former couple were placed on the screen. 

“L/N on instagram asked her fans on instagram to be mindful, and that both parties are fragile, and to respect their privacy.”the reporter went on, before a photo flashed of the h/c girl, “L/N is currently gearing up for her fifth album release; SUBJECT TO CHANGE this september.”

the video came to a stop, and she saw her best friend standing in front of her, with a horrified look on his face, “you and eddie are getting a divorce?” her heart hurt. this wasn’t how she wanted him to find out.

“it was bound to happen buck.”y/n’s voice was strained due to all of the crying she had done for the past two months, with a heavy feeling in her chest, “you and i both saw this coming.”

“i didn’t.” evan buckley’s voice dropped, and y/n slipped the shades to the top of her head, revealing her bloodshot eyes, “never once did i see this coming.”

“this wasn’t how we wanted you to find out.”her voice cracked, playing with the strings of her hoodie, “eddie said he was going to call you about it.” buck’s eyes watched as the girl avoided his eyes, refusing to make contact with them, knowing if she did she would probably burst into tears.

“why did you file for divorce?”

(TWO MONTHS BEFORE.)

STARING OUT THE BIG OPEN WINDOWS OF THEIR PENTHOUSE,

y/n could see the sun rising as she finished making breakfast for her and her stepson, making sure to leave some for her husband in case he came home in time.

eddie diaz and y/n l/n had first met when she was 21, and he was 23, one kick-starting on their music career, while one had just become a single parent to a son from a former marriage. somehow, they still made it work. getting married at 23 and 25,  going from texas, to los angeles, becoming a mother figure to his son chris, and making sure she could still go on tour.

they thought they had it all figured out, with everything working and a fixed schedule.

until they didn't.

so here she sat, waiting for her husband to come home while her stepson got ready for school, knowing she’d have to force a smile, make everything seem like it was okay, and be able to play the part of the perfect wife, perfect wife. it wasn’t until she smelt smoke that y/n realized the toast was burnt to absolute crisp, and was ruined, meaning she’d have to make more.  

“shit.”she muttered, rushing to make more, as she saw chris come down the hallway, and she forced a smile, brushing her h/c hair out of her face, making sure to tie it back.

“did you burn the toast again?”chris asked with a smile, and y/n forced a laugh, nodding before she brought over a plate with pancakes and eggs on them. “unfortunately, i did. i’m making more right now.”

a knock on the front door came, before it opened, revealing carla, and she had a wide smile spread across her face as she came in, and y/n waved as the toast popped up, less burnt than before. quickly placing it on a plate, and putting it on the table, making it so chris would be able to get to school on time.

“you go get ready for the day, i’ll make sure chris eats.”carla told the 28 year old, giving her a soft smile, and y/n nodded, before rushing off towards her room, and grabbing the clothing she needed for that day.

walking into the bathroom after she had changed, her eyes glanced down, seeing a wedding band that wasn’t hers sitting on the counter. 

it was her husband’s.

she felt anger run through her, with a million thoughts racing through her mind. why would he take it off? or why did he leave it at home? did he forget it? did he take it off intentionally before he left for work? 

why did he take it off?

“bye n/n!’chris yelled, breaking the girl out of her thoughts, and she gripped the counter, trying to keep her anger under check. “have a good day at school chris!”she yelled back, and the front door slammed, as she took a deep breath in.

it was a few moments before she walked back out towards the kitchen, noticing everything was put away, except for the burnt toast. opening up her refrigerator, y/n grabbed the butter out, and brought it over towards the kitchen table, before spreading the butter against the toast, and taking a bite out of it.

her eyes scanned back over the mountains as the clock struck 7:30 am, realizing her husband was over three hours late coming home, and had missed seeing his son in the morning for the second time that week.

it killed her. it absolutely killed her that he wasn’t coming home, and she was the one who was carrying all of that weight on her shoulders, trying to keep this marriage going when it was all one sided. she felt like a glass plate, and was breaking into a million pieces.

hearing boots come towards her, her head snapped towards it, seeing her husband eddie diaz walking towards her, before placing a kiss on the top of her head, with no words spoken between the two.  the tension in the air made her uncomfortable. it was so thick that you could almost cut it through it with a knife.

it was a while before any words were spoken between the two, and when they were, they were laced with anger and confusion.

“you left your ring at home.”y/n spoke up, taking another bite of the burnt toast, afraid to see the look her husband was giving her, “and you were late coming home again.”

“i forgot it when i left.”eddie admitted, glancing over at his wife for a moment, before looking back at his plate of food, “and i was finishing up something with buck.”

wrong. he wasn’t with buck, because buck had texted y/n back at five, saying he hadn’t seen eddie since he left his shift at 4am. 

“what? you don’t believe me?”eddie questioned, as y/n got up to throw the toast away, keeping silent for a moment, debating on how to handle the situation, before she shook her head no.

“i don’t believe you.”y/n admitted, placing the plate in the sink, avoiding eye contact with him, and she could feel the anger radiating off of him, “because buck texted me at five that he hadn’t seen you since you left your shift at four.”

she saw eddie freeze, knowing he had gotten caught into a lie, and y/n had seen right through it. he wouldn’t be able to hide whatever he was away for.

“okay fine, i wasn’t with buck.”eddie admitted, causing y/n to lean up against the kitchen counter, facing her husband to read his body language.

“so, where were you?”

“i don’t understand why you need to know.”eddie shrugged, getting defensive, causing y/n to read all the red flag, “it doesn’t matter to you at all.”

“it does matter to me eddie.”y/n spoke softly, fearing of an argument breaking out, but it was enviable with the two. “i want to make sure you’re not sitting in the goddamn morgue.”

“well guess what, i’m not.”eddie spewed, catching y/n off guard, “i’m standing right in front of you, trying to eat breakfast while you’re bothering me.”

“because i want for you to realize that i’m worried about you.”she told him, and she could tell he was dismissive, “i wait up for you every night, only for you to not come home until chris is about to leave for school.”

“and i never asked you to do that.”he stabbed his eggs with his fork, and y/n tensed up, “that’s your own doing for staying up and waiting.” y/n gave him a look as she took his words like gut punches, making her absolutely sick, “maybe you should just stop staying up and waiting.”

“maybe you should come home on time.”y/n shot back, folding her arms as she watched him closely, “to the family you have. to your son.”

“i do!”eddie defended, and y/n shook her head, “no you don’t! for the past four months you’ve been late coming home after every single shift eddie!” 

“you’re forgetting your ring, you’re not coming home on time and you’re distant.”y/n pointed out as eddie brushed past her to put his plate in the sink, and walked towards their shared bathroom, slipping his wedding band on, “there! are you happy now?”

“no i’m not!”y/n exclaimed as eddie started to change, and she followed him, “we’ve been in and out of therapy for the past three years and absolutely nothing has changed eddie. i’m so tired of it.”

“i mentally cannot handle another year of us being just fine.”y/n whispered, causing eddie to snap his head towards her, with a shocked look spread across his face, “what are you trying to say?”

“i want a divorce.”y/n spoke aloud, making all of her feelings real, and she saw eddie’s face fall.

“you want a divorce? all because i’m taking extra shifts to try and provide for our family? to pay for the mortgage for the house you insisted we had to have.”he shot back, and y/n felt her anger bubble over, causing her to snap, “you don’t even pay for the house! i do! it’s under my name and everything! not yours!”

“i’m the one who pays for the cleaners, the groceries, the electric!”she yelled, as the two stood in their bedroom, one that hadn’t felt like theirs in months. “i feel like i’m the only one who’s doing all the work all the time because you’re never home!”

“you loved me way more at 23 than you do now eddie, and that's a fact.”she told him as she brushed past him to pack a bag, “i cannot keep doing this anymore.”

“you’re just like your parents. giving up way too easy on our marriage.” eddie swore, and y/n felt something snap inside of her. “first off, don’t you dare talk about my parents! secondly, i have tried for months to get through to you.”

“you’re the one who never came to nashville when i called you begging to hop on that flight, one i paid for by the way!”y/n exclaimed, zipping up the bag she had packed, “i knew you had the week off and didn’t have chris at all and you still refused to come.”

“i’m done trying eddie.”she finished, before storming past him and walking towards the front door of their penthouse.

“so you’re done?”he questioned as she grabbed her car keys, and opened up the front door, staring right back at him with tears in her e/c eyes.

“this is when it’s over for me.”

[lipglossanon]

i feel like i kinda disassociate when i type and send asks lmao i just get anxious ya know? but you mentioned priest leon and honestly i’ve sent enough detailed asks in to get accurately kinkshamed lol so let’s say after Spain (i’m not a slut for RE4 leon that’s silly 🤭😉) leon quits//retires and becomes a priest right? right. or like he’s seen some shit and becomes a priest after retiring 🤷🏼‍♂️ whichever leon floats your boat. so he’s a caretaker for a little chapel in the woods somewhere and you’re on a trip for christmas (bad weather, closed roads, one bed holy trinity trope pun-fucking-intended) and what you don’t know is a kindly 20 something or if you’re an ~i love DILFS~ leon fan 30 to 40 something (because you might be calling him Father later 😉) moderately unhinged priest is about to make you get on your knees and repent for your sins 🙂🤭

- 💀

(i saw the end of your answers about me writing and i wanted to say i would love to but i’m too scared in case i loose my tumblr again lmao, i appreciate it though <3 also my brain conjured up the idea of stepdaddy leon in a speedo during family vacation to mess with reader,,, enjoy 🤭)

💀 anon, hi! 👋

AGDKL sending in asks is kinda nerve wracking, anonymous or not 😅

Ahhh! 🙈 no but this is fantastic. After Spain, Leon’s like I’m out and the president is so grateful to him that he lets him go so he’s like I want a simple easy job and priest is what he lands on

And so he finds this middle of the nowhere chapel that basically has next to no parishioners (they’re all old and make the trek to the chapel for like spiritual emergencies or like holidays such as Christmas and Easter).

So basically he’s just living in the middle of the woods just keeping to himself when you happen to be passing through (to see family, let’s say it’s Christmas). And you’re car gets stuck cause you forgot to put on the chains for your tires

But you remember passing a little chapel literally two minutes ago so you make the short cold trek to it before it gets too dark and this stacked, hot as hell priest opens up the door after you knock and you’re just like uhh help? 😅

And he invites you in as you tell him your car trouble and he’s listening but his face is totally unreadable so you’re just like I can just call someone and get out of your hair? And uh oh the phone lines are down and there’s no service :( so you’ll have to wait til the morning but in the meantime Leon offers you his bed but you’ll have to share cause there’s no central heat and his little room only has a small fireplace :( 🤭

You’re so flustered and sweet that Leon wants to bite you, just eat you up and it’s kinda driving him crazy cause he hasn’t felt this way before (but he also hasn’t seen anyone younger than 70 in ages lmao)

So when you’re both lying in his bed, you keep squirming to get comfortable which just leads to rubbing against Leon who’s getting hard until finally he just can’t take it anymore 🤭

He’s all over you, biting you and sucking marks all over your skin, telling you how sinful it is to tempt a priest and how you’ll have to pay for it with your body 😵‍💫 😵‍💫 he’s just so rough with you, completely animalistic that by the time daylights weakly streaming through the windows of his room, he’s still buried in your cunt as you plead for forgiveness 🥴

Sorry I totally went way overboard with the reply 🤪

And no sweat about writing! I love getting your asks which is basically the same thing 😉 and Leon in a Speedo is 🤤 🤤

[chipthekeeper]

so. instead of typing out my reactions as the show played, i recorded a voice memo of my own personal commentary. some highlights lots of nonsense under the cut

episode 1

- As excited as I am for this……I wish it was Andor

- Please be good

- Immediate alien. All of the Andor criticisms out the window. We're back

- Why did she pay that guy? This is like the main place. He barely pointed. She was very easy to find

- It's hitting me that this is High Republic shit and that's just fucking beautiful. I might cry. Oh my god, spinning noodles

- Backup knifes. Oh god….She sliced your backup knifes

- oh [splutters] a backup backup knife!!!

- She's got another backup knife?!

- Man, that was so fast. Like. I mean, I knew, we all knew. But damn

- Come on, he's just a noodle guy. Leave him alone

- IN THE COLD OPEN! She dies in the cold open. Fucking hell. God

- Okay, so she has different hair. So maybe it's not Moon Knight

- Oh fuck, I love this ship. I'm going to be obsessed with this

- [gasps] Pip!!! [pathetic whining] he’s a babyyyy [voice breaking] Oh my god. I would die for him

- [just fully unintelligible noises for Pip]

- [chuckling] aha! Trade feds, neimoidians. heh. It's all coming together….

- They have better accents this time

- Yeah, Pip. Come on, buddy. He's like a multi-tool. This is hilarious. [wheezing laughter]

- Oh, what's this? [gasps] A VECTOR!!! Holy fucking shit. [laughs in satisfied THR fan]

- YORD!!! TIME FOR THE YORD HORDE HERE WE GOOOOO

- Yord. You’re such a prick– ohhh n….Mind touch. Or not. Ugh, I don't like that. Yorddd. You're a prick. Your padawan is cool though.

- Oh my god, they're buddies!

- “Your mothers, your sister” (truly the most ugly and horrifying sound you’ve ever heard came from my mouth here)

- What's HAPPENING?

- Yord. Come on, buddy

- Iron Man?

- Yeah, we know it's Coruscant. Looks like it's made out of Legos. That's great

- *Sol telling the younglings the force is an ocean or whatever* [adorable whining] Elzar Mann coded!!

- “Master Vernestra” [another very ugly noise] Oh god, what a thing to hear. Oh fuck

- “i remember when you were that small” [giggling] fuck

- [delighted laughter] They become chairs, that's amazingggggg

- Wheeeeeeee! Oh shit

- Piiiiiip! Pip, wake up. D-does he have legs? Can he move? I-I don't know if he can move on his own

- Oh, oh–oh n-no…. (tbh don’t even remember what was happening here)

- Now you gotta land this thing. Oh, it's on..fire ahhh that’s a problem. Girl, good luck

- You better hold..your little droid. Hold him!

- [delighted gasp] Jecki!!

- “it is highly unlikely she survived” Oh, it was a very lucky crash, don't worry about it

- ....I think we should give Vernestra some hair back

- Okay, I'm out on Moon Knight theory again, which is great because I like..the other way better

- Well……..No, no, I'm out. I'm out. I'm out. Not gonna suck me back in again……….Oh god but it would be interesting if she thinks—ah fuck!

- *scary horror movie twin thing* [terrified] Ah, what the!! Who the fuck is that? [whispering] what the fuck…..oh. Uh-uh. Mmhm. oh. Horrifying. Scary. I don't like this at all. Wwwwhat was that? [incredulous noises] What the fuck?

- [delighted] Yord!!!

- [gasps] Selkath! Name That Alien, babeeyyyy!

- Yorddd! He’s ripped!!

- Just. Put your shirt on, bud……I can't wait for that to be gifs

- Back to this terrifying shit

- Oh, it's baby you………..Oh there's some Force shit happeninggggg

- uhhhhhh?

- “i saw her die” did you though???

- Yord put your lightsaber away, dickhead….it’s pretty though, don’t put it away :)

- Yord! Chill!

- Okay. Capital A Acolyte, so….

- Is each of the episode titles going to be for both of them?

- Nina Gold casting! the goat. un-de-feat-ed

- I'm sure I don't need to sit here and watch all the credits.......[gasps] Neal Scanlan! ah see, I would've missed that

episode 2

- *watching previously on, "mothers" mentioned* Show me motherrrrr!

- [stressed out sigh] I'm confused. I hope to be less confused by the end of this episode. But if not, we'll talk about it…..I say as if I'm speaking to someone besides myself

- Jedi outpost! When are we?

- Not cool Mae

- Is she going to kill somebody in the cold open of every episode? because that's going to really..start to hurt

- WOW, you guys are so unaware. How are you Jedi?

- “attack me, with all your strength” just–nobody wants to do that, do they?

- [delighted giggling throughout Mae/Torbin “fight”]

- Oh, Tommen. Why are his feet weird? Is he….not human? He’s gotta be human

- *osha talking about being flexible* Oh. Flirting? No, that's inappropriate………..There's flirting. It’s happening

- “let’s say this twin theory holds true” [ironic cackling]

- So Yord's a cop, which is unfortunate. As a founding member of the Yord Horde

- *Mae picks up a cup while Qimir is sleeping* Throw it at him. *she throws it at him* [satisfied cackle] I'm always right

- It'd be so funny if he's not the guy

- Hmmmmmm……So he can also be an Acolyte?

- I need this drink shaker

- So I like it much better if he's not the guy and he's just….helpin’

- So you're cheating at your Jedi killing homework and you don't want your boy to narc. That's hilarious

- [snorting] Your dad never likes when you get a tattoo

- [theorizing mumbles] They came to recruit…and the girl started the fire….They took her afterward….Fuck

- [whispering] I don't know what to do with my arms

- It's pretty theeeere. I'm going to be obsessed with this planet

- “i know why you took the Barash Vow” [most delighted scream/gasp yet] BARASH VOW MENTIONED!!! [confused mumbling] Okay, but he's there–why is…Did he come out of it?.......Oh, it's a different variant of the vow?

- [cackling in Tommen Baratheon] He sounds like a full grown man. Ohhh my god. Was not ready for that

- *kitten squeaks in background, not relevant to commentary but had to mention*

- Well, that's not good–girl, get out of there! Don't touch the evidence! Oh my God. You’re not helping yourself here, kid

- Go, escape, flee

- Atta boy, Yord

- Ohh that guy better be a descendant of Ram Jomaram

- You go, Jecki. Oh she’s so proud of herself [chuckling]

- Why do I have a feeling this isn’t gonna work?.......You’re very bad at this

- “Maybe supply us with the truth” Ooh! Get him, Yord!

- “I have a bad feeling about this” YEEEEAAHHHHHHH

- “You are not my master. I do not need you anymore.” ouch

- [groaning] I'm with Yord, I have a bad feeling about this

- Ope, all your backup knifes is gooone….

- Wheeee! [chuckles] Yord.

- [extremely high pitched] ooooohhhh thebackupknifehedidn’tfind!!!!

- BWAH SMOKESCREEN!!

- Are they gonna run together? I would like that to happen. Run and go back to Mom

- Go, go with her……Missed. Missed on purpose!

- Kind of hurts me to see what Vernestra becomes

- Man, if she kills Kelnacca, I'm gonna be so mad

- *episode ends* DAmmit!! Ugh. God. Fuck! [grumbling] This is gonna be a long ass week

so clearly i'm very normal about all this !

[contentment-of-cats]

Part I

I cannot think of anyone I would rather have at my side, as we walk our measured miles down the winding road of life (yours being FAR more tenuous than mine) Nonetheless, here we are with you lighting the way as we navigate illness, cats, and fandom. Since you’re so old - ancient even (not so inside joke😆) I have the pleasure of accessing your - WHUT?!- 30 years of fandom activity.

Holy guacamole 🥑!

Welcome, my friend, as this is the first time I have had the pleasure of inviting you to my imaginary easy chairs over here at the Asker’s Studio™️ (cats are extra welcome here)

This is probably going to be in two parts. In this first installment, I would like you to give us your history:

How did you enter fan fiction?

What was the medium? Did you participate in Zines?

Please list the fandoms. What were your experiences/favorites?

Did you have anywhere like A03 to post your fics?

Do you still have any connections from back in the early days?

Included in your history, I would be curious to know if you attended any comic-cons, gatherings, etc.

Bonus: Is it true that in the early days, people used their real names?

***

We will end the first half with the overview. The second half of the interview will deal with the growing pains of Fandom: Censorship, Fandom lifecycles, Media transitions, pitfalls (Dark Fandom), and lessons learned.

This has been a long time coming. I’m thrilled to see it come to fruition.

Ahhh! It's great to find this in my inbox this morning. Thank you so much for asking me.

I'm so happy you're feeling better. The measured miles are thoughtful ones, and good for clearing out the crap, but also for finding out who is willing to walk them with you. I'm blessed to have you and other ride or die folks with me. Man, I am Old, not just Fandom Old, but within hailing distance of sixty! No sin in Old, there are a lot of folks who don't make it. I'm blessed there, too, to have the extra time that I do. Let me get comfy in that easy chair, sip my coffee and cuddle a cat.

How did you enter fan fiction?

I became aware of fan fiction and fan works when I was in middle school. My hometown had a great record store, and I'd go in on Fridays with my allowance and whatever kid-work money I had. My Walkman was a constant companion, and I'd buy cassettes and records, then go down the street to the newsstand for comics. One day, I went in and there was a Star Trek mimeographed 'zine - someone cut a mimeograph stencil and inked it. I picked it up, it was the same price as a comic book, but it had stories - some that I should not have been reading in middle school, but I did!

Side note. I remembered reading Spock: Messiah in a zine before it came out as a book. Everyone tells me that no zine would publish something that godawful

It's weird, but now I look back and think that it was someone working in a school. Could have even been one of my teachers. Photo copiers were huge and expensive back then, most schools didn't have them. Those zines were something I anticipated as a kid - and my mother trashed the lot when she found them. Of course, some never put out more than one issue, but the record store soon became the zine store.

I'd always told stories in my head as a kid, but I didn't start writing until I took a creative writing class as an extracurricular in high school. Fan fiction writing for me didn't enter the picture until the start of the internet (at $2.50 a minute on a dialup modem and pre-Windows 95) and I fell into fandom as an activity on Usenet. I think my first fanfic was a Skinner/Scully from X-Files about 1994. I wrote pretty regularly in that pairing, but the fics, the archives, and the e-Groups/Yahoo Groups are long gone.

What was the medium? Did you participate in Zines?

My first fics went to a Usenet group, and then after that to a Skinner/Scully e-Group. I submitted to a couple of archives, too.

I didn't participate in zines, but I did read whenever I could get my hands on one. I stashed them in the attic under one of the floorboards with my comic books and the bodice-ripper romances.

Please list the fandoms. What were your experiences/favorites?

Nancy Drew books were my first fandom. Little House on the Prairie books, too, but I really loved Nancy. Comics - Archie, Wonder Woman, Dr. Strange, and I casually read about a half dozen others. Of course I loved my Saturday morning shows. The after-school specials were too preachy and I hated them. I wished for a magic box to record all my shows so I didn't have to pick and choose - the betamax was out and OMG so expensive. Mom was not going to cough up that kind of money just to record cartoons and kids shows.

My first visual media fandom was Star Trek which I started watching when it was in syndication. I think I was seven or eight? I bought the books long into the early 80s. Space:1999 was next, Star Wars was after that. I know I picked up the zine before the movie came out. Battlestar: Galactica was a favorite and had its own zine.

Then there was a long lull where I was just too jammed with messy family stuff, school, and extracurriculars that kept me out of the house. At fifteen, I started a paycheck job. I didn't really get into being a fan again until ST:TNG, X-Files, and Heir to the Empire. I was in the Harry Potter and Black Butler fandoms, and also wrote in Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Star Trek's reset movie. Fandoms after that were Stargate (movie and SG1), ST:TNG, Babylon 5, Star Trek: Voyager, Sliders, Farscape, Firefly, all of the Star Wars original trilogies (do not talk to me about the sequels), some of the books, and naturally the two latest Thrawn trilogies. I've enjoyed The Mandalorian, Andor, the Bad Batch, and have idly been watching Rebels and The Clone Wars.

Did you have anywhere like A03 to post your fics?

Back in the Ancient Times, there was only Usenet. Then people started posting to e-Groups, Yahoo Groups, and Listserv. Public fanfic didn't really take off until people could make their own sites - think Geocities, Angelfire and so on. People made sites for their own fic, or started archives. Fanfiction.net came along in 1998 and was a HUGE development - anyone could post whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to do it! You didn't have to submit to an archive, didn't have to format the html. You just uploaded it!

There were a lot of copycats, especially after FF.net went after the porn, but Live Journal gave the authors a place to post fic themselves, and have a social media interaction. It was heaven - until it wasn't. Archive of Our Own grew out of Live Journal and the repeated crackdowns on smut and slash and launched in 2008. I've been there ever since.

Do you still have any connections from back in the early days?

I still have one friend and collaborator that I've known since early 2000's. We talk most nights and have been through a lot together.

Included in your history, I would be curious to know if you attended any comic-cons, gatherings, etc.

Cons and gatherings always required resources that I never had at the same time. If I ever had the time or the money at the same time, I'd go. I used to go to Comic-Con in Pasadena back when it was just a comic and collector's show.

Bonus: Is it true that in the early days, people used their real names?

It depended on the circumstances. Almost everyone online used a pseudonym. In the 'zine days, the circles were smaller and many people used their real names, unless it was smutty.

[brainrattlers]

Play It Cool - Tyson Jost (38/n)

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OFC (AJ)

Warnings: A little bit of language, some implied naked shenanigans, but honestly I think we're alright.

Word Count: 3525

Need Chapter 37? https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-37n/njuzxoktjxn8

Start from the beginning at https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-1n/p7no8u1hzuza

Author's Notes: I'm BACK! Decided to hit up a few of the closer Sabres games to me last week, catching both the Dallas and St. Louis games. I think I'm still trying to catch up on sleep... but it was so much fun. The Sabres fans I met at both games were a blast to cheer with. If you happened to see Waldo (of Where's Waldo fame) at the Buffalo/StL game, you found me ;) Thank you all for being patient while I took a little break from writing. And It's nearly 3am so I'm clearly back to my old self - any typos are mine and I'll probably fix them in the morning!

So where were we? Ahhh yes, Tyson and AJ found out the apartment they wanted was available... but he also has a roadie coming up. Will that throw a wrench in the plans to get moved out of the hotel and into a new home?

The next few days were a blur as Tyson was alternating between home and away games, while AJ was finalizing things for a potential move to the new apartment. She had taken the lead on getting things set up, wanting to make the transition as smooth as possible considering it was the middle of the season - moving anytime is stressful. AJ wasn’t connecting the dots though that this is the man that flies all over the continent to play hockey, waking up in different cities, different beds, wasn’t a huge deal. She was probably making it out to be more detrimental to him than it really was.

But more about the apartment, as soon as AJ took Tyson to see it, he knew that was the one. The property manager hadn’t even shown them past the first two rooms but the giddiness on AJ’s face was enough to tell him it was going to be home, at least for now. The master bedroom was huge, with an en suite bath, including both a shower and a bathtub. 

(“No more waiting for you to get out of the tub so I can shower, yeah?” 

“You’re just as guilty of soaking in a nice hot bath. Don’t think I didn’t notice the missing bath bomb from my basket.” 

“Can’t prove it was me.”

“Your legs and torso were slightly shimmery and you smelled of lavender, Jost.”

Tyson sheepishly grinned.)

There was a guest room in case friends or family came into town. Another room that AJ could set up her computer gear, and also work on some art projects. The two figured that a sofa would be super comfy in there as well, one that could turn into a bed for even more guests if necessary. The kitchen was more than large enough for the two of them to dance while doing dishes. 

AJ’s favorite part was how many windows lined the walls. She already could envision stands and shelves of plants flanking them, letting the leaves soak up the natural light that flooded the rooms through various hours of the day. To the west, Key Bank Arena and Lake Erie were visible in the distance.

Hearing of her plans, he couldn’t say no. On top of it making AJ happy, it was a short drive to both the practice rink and the arena. It was a trendy, renovated part of town that was busy with restaurants and things to see and do. They’d be up high enough on the twelfth floor to not be bothered with the street noise. It all just felt right.

Needless to say, they signed a lease that day, and would be able to move in within weeks. This posed a small issue for AJ, but she wasn’t going to make mention of it. At least this time around, Tyson insisted on hiring movers to bring all their stuff up, especially with it being on such a high floor. AJ would just have to direct traffic and then unpack boxes, with all the heavy stuff being put into place already. She wasn’t about to argue about that this time around.

With a loss at home against Florida, the team hit the road for Chicago, losing in OT to one of the league’s worst teams. The next two games were at home, against the Islanders and Ducks. The first game was a win, with Tyson netting himself an assist. The next day found Tyson at practice, and AJ helping the movers get furniture put into place, and boxes all loaded up into various rooms. The remaining items at the hotel were starting to dwindle as AJ moved most of their belongings over.

Coming back from practice, Tyson found the hotel room missing AJ as she was in the process of moving some stuff the few blocks over to the new building. He sighed, looking at the garland and lights that still lined the ceiling of their room. Gently he pulled the hooks from the walls, looping the lights and shiny garland neatly and placing it in one of the empty bins. He honestly was going to miss it at the new place, even though that very same new place was home. 

Even when AJ came back to pick up more stuff, the lack of twinkling lights reflecting against the walls made the place feel empty.

With most everything moved over, the last few things in the room were just pillows, a few sets of clothes, and the last few items needed in the bathroom. AJ had made mention it was going to take a while to get some stuff unpacked, and with Tyson going on the road here in a few days, that maybe they could officially “move in” once he returned. Her outward intent was to get most everything unpacked while he was gone, but that was going to be a little difficult as she actually had some plans already in the works for something else.

The two slept hard that night in the hotel, after moving and unpacking a few boxes, as well as rearranging some furniture. The next morning, AJ was back at it, while Tyson had morning skate before the Anaheim game. Taking some time off, she snagged a ticket and made her way to the arena to cheer on the Sabres with a 6-3 victory. Tyson had a pretty good night, another assist and some pretty good numbers in the box score.

One final night together in the hotel… AJ had issues keeping Tyson focused on getting packed up for the four game roadie, which would send him to Dallas, St. Louis, Winnipeg, and ending in St. Paul. Tyson’s interests were more about some late night shenanigans to literally go out with a bang before officially moving into the new apartment. While getting his backpack filled and his suit laid out for the trip, AJ was trying to secretly pack her own backpack, giving the reason of “oh this is my last bag of stuff to go over.”

Little did Tyson know that, while technically true, that bag was going to be making some of the same stops on the roadie.

That Sunday morning, Tyson had morning practice before heading to the airport. In the same time frame, AJ go the last of their stuff moved from the hotel, and she herself headed to the airport, boarding a different plane. She felt awful for what she was about to do.

AJ: Hey babe, I’m pretty exhausted and am going to crash for a bit. Text me when you land?

She wasn’t lying. The motion sickness pills she downed as she got to the airport were kicking in and she likely was going to sleep on the plane. But all the same, AJ felt a little dirty about it.

Right before takeoff, AJ’s phone, which was supposed to be in airplane mode (seriously, who actually puts their phone in airplane mode when flying?), buzzed in her hand.

Tyson: Sleep well babe, only a few more sleeps until we’re both back in our bed. Heading to the airport here in a bit. Ily

A smile hit AJ’s face, thinking about having a space that was truly theirs, with their own things, and room to move around, and could set up everything the way they wanted. As the plane took off, she fidgeted with the engagement ring on her finger, focusing on it, rather than the upward movement of the plane that made her dizzy. Once at cruising altitude, AJ indeed fell asleep to one of Tyson’s house mixes. It took the passenger next to her tapping her on the shoulder to wake her up as they were landing at DFW - what felt like minutes later, but really was hours.

Collecting her bag and trekking through the airport, AJ found her way to the Orange Line, and took the train into Dallas. It was a quiet day on the train, considering it was not a weekday. Watching out the windows, she took in views she’d never seen before. Hopping off at Victory Station, which spit her out right by the arena, leaving the rest of the way to her hotel as about a half mile walk. Checking in, she made her way to the third floor and faceplanted on the bed.

Tyson: On the ground in Dallas. Miss you already. How’s unpacking?

AJ looked around and saw her bag sitting on the ottoman in her room.

AJ: Honestly haven’t really unpacked much. Kind of relaxing at the moment honestly.

Tyson: Understand completely, no big rush. I think we’re going out for dinner. Talk more later?

AJ: Of course. Have fun! (heart emoji)

Looking at her watch, AJ was trying to figure out what to do with her evening. She didn’t want to chance somehow bumping into Tyson going out for dinner, but at the same time, everything nearby was stupidly pricey in her eyes. In a last minute decision, she put in an order online for Shake Shack, and walked to Crescent Court to pick it up. Thankfully, unlike the last time AJ was at Crescent Court with Jess the year before, there were no team buses or players around. With food in tow, she arrived back at her hotel, sprawling out on the sofa to enjoy dinner and a movie. 

It was driving her nuts though knowing Tyson was maybe a mile away, but she’d see him soon enough.

With a few texts, both insisted they were needing sleep, and that they’d talk more Monday.

Snagging breakfast at the hotel, AJ contemplated what to do before the game that evening. Checking out what was nearby, she walked to the Dallas Museum of Art, taking in a wide variety of pieces by famous artists. At the same time Tyson was a half mile away getting ready for morning skate, with a strange feeling. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but something definitely felt odd.

Tyson missed AJ, but it wasn’t the same as other roadies. He had butterflies in his stomach for some reason.

After finishing up at the museum, AJ got in a nap before getting cleaned up and heading to the arena. There were a surprising number of Sabres fans at American Airlines Center. Getting down to the glass on the Sabres’ warmup side, AJ knew where Tyson would be warming up. She had a tiny sign that would fit in her backpack she traveled with.

The fans congregated together, chatting about where everyone was from and who everyone’s favorite players were. While she agreed that Thompson and Dahlin were great players, AJ made mention that Tyson Jost was her favorite. The guy with the kid next to her looked at her weird, but another person piped up, commenting on what a great pickup he was for the Sabres. It made her heart happy.

Looking around the end of the ice, there were a number of other signs for players, including a couple more for Tyson. Impatiently waiting until the 16:00 mark was tough for AJ, but the team took to the ice tossing pucks at Anderson playing in his 700th game. Her eyes followed Tyson around, where they did their initial drills. Tyson went to the other side of the glass, reading a poster another fan had, offering a choice of candy, probably for a puck. He skated back to the bench with something and tossed it to the equipment manager before grabbing a puck and starting his own stickhandling drill.

Not even paying attention, he drilled the puck into the boards directly under AJ’s feet and caught the rebound on his stick. Looking up, he saw a small poster, and then looked up even further to see who was holding it. The smile on his face couldn’t be contained as he skated closer, mouthing “Hey you!” as AJ gave a tiny wave. Leaning down, he got a puck on his stick and sent it over the glass to the kid directly next to her, fist bumping him through the glass. The butterflies in Tyson’s stomach from earlier now made sense.

The guy who previously looked at AJ weird for saying Jost was her favorite tapped her on the shoulder.

“What was that?”

“We’ve known each other since he played for Colorado. Thought I’d surprise him at the game.” AJ chuckled.

With warmups complete, and in fact, Buffalo stayed on the ice longer than the warmup clock lasted just to get under the skin of the Stars, AJ found her seat behind the Sabres’ bench. Luckily it was filled with other Sabres fans and she made some new friends that night. The game started off not so great with the Stars scoring within the first two minutes, but the Sabres fired back later in the first. The game went silent in the 2nd, but in the third period, the Sabres scored early to have a 2-1 lead. Later in the period, the Stars tied it up. Throughout the game, Tyson glanced back finding AJ cheering for the team in white and blue.

The Sabres held on to take it to OT.

“I’m standing up,” Dan, AJ’s new friend sitting next to her, stated. “With our top lines out there 3-on-3, this isn’t going to last long. We’re standing up.”

Everyone stood up behind the bench, which pissed off the row behind them, but it was well worth it. Power scored fifty-six seconds into the overtime period, giving the Sabres the win. The Sabres fans cheered, while the Stars fans were left sulking as they walked the stairs to the concourse of the arena. The team piled into the dressing room, and headed for the airport as they were to play St. Louis the next day.

Tyson: EGGO you’re crazy for flying out here! I love you for it though, made my night.

AJ: Crazy about YOU! Fun game. Wish I were flying with you tonight.

Tyson: Me too. When do you fly out?

AJ had to word this very carefully.

AJ: My flight is at 11:15. Figured I could at least score some breakfast before I leave (lol emoji)

Tyson: Text me when you land? We’re taking off.

AJ: You know it babe. Safe travels, love you!

AJ was asleep when the next text hit her phone, of Tyson landing in St. Louis. He was glad she seemingly slept through it. As much as he still loved getting to say “text you when I land” and then doing so, he always felt a little pang of guilt if she’d text back at 3am wherever she was in comparison. At the same time he did enjoy some of her sleepy text typos, and imagining her bleary-eyed in bed texting him back.

What did wake AJ up was her alarm so she would make it downstairs to, yes, get breakfast, pack up, and take the train back to DFW. Not thinking fully about the weather when she packed, as soon as she took a few steps onto the sidewalk of Harry Hines Blvd, it started raining, and she did not pack her umbrella. Walking under overhangs as much as she could, which was tough around the arena because there aren’t any, AJ was becoming more and more soggy as she reached the train stop. Thankfully she made it just in time for the Orange line back, and sat back as it poured down rain the whole way to the airport. Once through security, she sat next to a window with a mint hot chocolate from Dunkin watching the rain.

A quick text was sent as she boarded the plane, and was finally in the air. A bit later, she was on the ground again. AJ’s Lyft driver was awesome, the two chatted the whole way from the airport to her destination. However, that text she said she’d send was a little delayed.

AJ: Hey, on the ground. How was your flight?

Tyson: It was alright, got in around 1am like you saw. Yours?

AJ: Not bad. Hoped I’d get some sleep but didn’t. Oh damn it’s almost time for you to get ready to play, isn’t it? Kick some ass tonight, Jost. (heart emoji)

Tyson: Only because you said so. Going to miss you in the stands, last night spoiled me.

AJ: You’ll see me soon enough. I’ll be watching the game, cheering you on!

Tyson stared at the last message, getting that odd feeling he had in Dallas again.

“Surely she isn’t here… no… she went back home, right?” 

A few of the guys in the dressing room noticed how antsy Tyson was to get out onto the ice for warmups. Kyle was giving him shit for the fact AJ was in Dallas to surprise him the night before, and how he was acting like his kids do when they are excited to be going out for ice cream. The feeling in Tyson’s stomach wasn’t subsiding. He was fidgeting with the tape on his stick waiting for the moment they could take the ice. 

Keeping his normal focus was difficult as warmups began, and he started scanning the glass. There were a number of fans, both for the Sabres and Blues already lined up. With a deep breath he went back to doing drills, trying to push the butterflies down. Okie skated up along the boards and stopped, looking back and winking at the person behind him.

As the team drills wound down, Tyson went back toward the center line doing some stretches, when someone caught his eye. Squinting, suddenly his eyes went wide as he continued warming up his legs. Hopping up, he grabbed a puck to do his drills between the blue line and the faceoff circle. 

Finishing up, he attempted to get the puck to hop onto his stick blade, but he missed not once, but twice. Looking up, his face was a little flushed as he smiled at AJ, still fumbling around. Reaching down, trying to just simply pick up the puck with his gloves, Tyson still was struggling. Finally with the puck in his hands, and his face now full on blushing, he got the puck over to the kids slapping the glass next to her. With a look back and wink at AJ, he felt like the luckiest man on Earth that his fiancee was at the game again, even if she weren’t behind the bench this time around.

There were definitely less Sabres fans at this game in St. Louis than in Dallas, but AJ made the best of it with her #LETSGOBUFFALO sign as she sat behind the Sabres Attack Twice goal. What made it even better was the 5-3 win over the Blues… especially with AJ’s history with games in St. Louis. 

What made the night less stellar was that St. Louis was under a winter storm warning until noon the next day, and AJ’s flight was leaving the next morning at 5:40AM, with her Lyft coming at 3:10AM. She was terrified of one of three things happening:

She was going to oversleep, the original plan was actually to stay awake until her ride arrived.

Her ride was going to cancel and she would have no way to get to the airport on time.

The airport was going to shut down due to the weather.

Thankfully none of these happened, and she did in fact make it to the airport in time. After getting through security (being harassed by a rather rude TSA agent that thought she had something on her ankle, which, surprise, there was nothing but her ankle there), she made her way to Starbucks to snag a drink and prepare for the first of two flights. The snow was really starting to come down though and made her worried.

Just like Tyson’s gut was telling him something the previous few days, her’s was now talking to her.

Tyson and the team had flown out of St. Louis after the game thankfully, and he was safe on the ground in Winnipeg.

Knowing he was asleep, AJ just sent a quick note that she was at the airport, indeed going back to Buffalo, as much as she wanted to continue the roadie with him. She was nervous about the weather, hoping to make her connection as she was already delayed 40 minutes. The plus side, the flight wasn’t full and she ended up getting her own row on that flight.

On the ground in Dallas again, she was stressing hardcore about the connection, it was in a completely different terminal. But the flight deities smiled upon AJ that day and somehow getting out of the jetway and down the hallway, she found herself in Terminal B, right near her gate that had not yet started boarding.

AJ: Made my connection, heading home to Buffalo. (heart emoji)

Tyson looked sleepily at his phone screen with one eye, then put it back on the nightstand next to him. A warm feeling filled his chest upon seeing AJ call Buffalo “home.”

[perexcri]

7, 8, 15, and 79 for spotify ask game:)))

If you don’t want to do all of them, 7 is my fav.

❤️fannon:)!

ahhh hello fannon!! thanks for stopping by :D you also happened to pick songs that all relate to fics i worked on this year, which either means you have a scary amount of premonition or my writing dictated the majority of my music listening this year lol

7.) brielle by sky sailing!! this one's on my playlist for a flower that resembles you actually heheheh

favorite lyrics:

She was still wearing white and robin's egg blue Her grandmother's dress When I left early this year how I won't appear Is anyone's guess

When the new sites grow old and I start to feel cold I'll sail home again

8.) blue hour by txt!! i wrote a little one shot for this earlier in the summer :D

it is a kpop song, so i'll have to defer to the official genius translation for lyrics, but:

In the gap between the two worlds I want to leave a trace of you and me I wanna stay here (Can you feel the rush? Can you feel the rush?) At the hour between dog and wolf I wanna be trapped in magic

15.) a little less sixteen candles, a little more touch me by fall out boy!! this is definitely this high because of how much i listened to my to hell and back again playlist while i was writing it

my favorite lyrics (and the ones that i thought most applied to my fic):

I'm sleeping on your folk's porch again, dreaming She said, she said, she said, "Why don't you just drop dead?"

I don't blame you for being you But you can't blame me for hating it So say, what are you waiting for? Kiss her, kiss her I set my clocks early cause I know I'm always late

79.) come in with the rain by taylor swift!! i must confess: i'm not actually the biggest fan of this song?? it's on here because it's on my playlist for a flower that resembles you, and while i'm definitely using it for some inspiration in that fic, i haven't really listened to it that much outside of that context :/

the chorus is the main part that i felt fit with that fic, so i'll just put that down as my favorite:

I'll leave my window open 'Cause I'm too tired tonight for all these games Just know I'm right here hoping That you'll come in with the rain

thanks for the ask fannon!! it was quite fun to respond to :] 💜

[maleyanderecafe]

*Pokes* I think you're cool and I really enjoy looking at your art >U< ahhh! I'm a big fan! Question: What was your thought process when creating your characters? Specifically Thella and Email? Oh oh and is Thella short for something, or is it just Thella? I really like her name cx

Man, these asks make me too happy, haha.

Actually, I made First Impressions because I really wanted to make a comic for my birthday (I always want to do something big on my birthday) and then I ended up continuing it because my friends liked it, haha.

First Impressions is very heavily based on a couple of manga, specifically Liar Satsuki Can See Death (which is really good and you all should read it). Basically, it's about a girl named Satsuki who can see the ghosts/figments of corpses before a person dies. Whenever she tries to warn/protect that person, they don't believe her because who would believe that they would suddenly die? She does a lot of things to prevent the person from dying, like jumping off roofs to get their attention or breaking windows to prevent gas from killing them, however, despite the fact that she's able to save them, the person she saves is never grateful because they never believed they would die in the first place (and she can't prove that they will die). There's also the class president who has a similar power but views their power differently. Already, you can kind of see the similarities between Thella and Satsuki since both of them are trying to save people despite the fact that everyone misunderstands her intentions and the fact that they both have very strong resolves (Satsuki refuses to lie and Thella refuses to let people get hurt because of Emil). Satsuki gets into darker topics like suicide and abusive families which is probably not something my comic will get into too heavily, but it is a very good manga and you can see where I got inspiration lol. Modokidomo is another inspiration for Thella and Emil's friends but that is another story.

The theme of "First Impressions" is probably going to be something I use a lot in the comic since I really do like characters that are the complete opposite to what you initially expect from them (as is the case with Thella and Emil- with Thella seemingly the scary one and Emil seemingly the nice one which is... wrong lol). So this will likely extend to most characters, like Thella and Emil's friends and even Thella and Emil's parents.

As for names... uh, to be honest I was like super brain dead at work and I needed names for my comic so I was like "You know, Othello and Emilia are cool names" but because I'm me, I wanted to gender swap them so I was like "Thella... Emil..." So no thought was put into that... though now that I think of it they actually do fit a lot because originally Othello is the first African American general who is mostly shunned by his peers and has a strong moral compass and Emilia is pretty cynical and keeps up appearances so.... I guess it works? Kat and Viktor's names where thought up when I was typing the text lol, but I'll probably name other important characters after Shakespearian characters because I already ran with that theme.

Thella is probably short for Othella, but Thella probably thinks that the shortened version is cooler, haha.

Anyways that was a very long ask;; I'm about 8 pages in so I'm getting there with the new chapter.

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[flabby-flattie-fatties]

Ooh, being able to go with both of you sounds so lovely! We'll make it a wonderful gals day out! We can hit the crepe shop then the cake shop in the underground mall, maybe even see what desserts they have in a few other spots!

Eh, it's probably just some dumb rumors. I'm sure Ann can handle them just fine with some easy posts, honestly! I swear, what the tabloids do for clicks and views.

Alright, alright, I can bring them tomorrow. I was just gonna leave them here for you to get to when you were ready for them~

"Ahhh, leaving us with some parting gifts so we remember you? What a classy girl, we don't have a lot of fans like you, right Rise?"

"No, and it is such a refreshing sight. Most of our fans are just creeps who try to spy us through the window. Besides, you're really -uuuurp- cute... Maybe going out all three isn't such a bad idea. If we do though, you have to tell us, who do you like more, Ann or me” Rise said as she tried to strike a pose, making her poor belly ache a bit, although part of the bloating was already starting to go away.

“Ah, good question Rise, yeah, which of us is your favorite? I mean, you seem to know us pretty well, you even know my obsession with crepes. Soooo, you must like one of us more~ as for these, well, if they are for later, there's no harm in keeping them close, it's not like they will be gone by tomorrow morning” Ann said a she rubbed her belly, giving you a little wink as she put her hand on her hefty hip.