Ok guys, major nerd-out post here regarding Shiro's arm!
As a student in their 4th year of undergrad for a degree in prosthetics, I’m absolutely SMITTEN with Shiro’s bionic arm (and the guy it’s attached to, obviously). But as much as I adore all the art and fics, there are a few things that are driving me nuts that I’d like to share in a few points here, just for reference if anyone wants it. I’ve seen very few fanworks with a proper presentation of artificial limbs, so here goes!
#1. Under NO circumstances does anyone sleep with their prosthetic limb on.
You read that right: under NO circumstances! This also goes for taking a shower. It might look sexy until you get shocked with however many volts he’s got in that thing, But even if it’s waterproof, what is the purpose?? of having it in the shower? when your supposed to be washing the residual limb as well??
“But Wait!” I hear someone say. “Isn’t it implied that Shiro’s arm is permanently attached somehow, and he can’t or doesn’t know how to take it off?”
To answer your question, yes, it is implied. And I’m here to tell you how that is ABSOLUTELY NOT POSSIBLE.
I hope you can see the shape that I’m in when he’s touching your skin
Jealousy. It’s in his veins. It’s selfish, he knows, but he doesn’t want to see her with anyone other than him. They’re just dancing, it should be innocent, but she’s staring at him. She’s staring at him with that gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her blood red lips, she knows what she’s doing to him and she’s enjoying it. He craves her. her touch being the only thing that could cool his burning skin right now, the kind of touch that breaks voids of silence, but she’s not touching him she’s touching that stranger. Her pretty hands touching a man who doesn’t even know her name, a man who asked her to dance whilst Harry was standing right there. He’s got the image of her over the shoulder smile she sent him as she walk away with a man that wasn’t him. She can see he’s mad, whether it’s at her or the guy touching her she doesn’t know but she can see his hand gripping his drink as hard as he grips her neck and it makes her ache…
Tempted, you know
Temptation. The cruellest of all mistresses. He’d ruin her, he wants to ruin her. He wants to hurt her so good she bites the inside of her cheek to suppress her whimpers when she thinks of him. He wants to do everything that man who’s got his hands on her could never do because he doesn’t know her body the way Harry does. It’s driving him insane, she’s driving him insane and the longer she stares at him, the more she bites that goddamn lip of hers, the more he can’t resist the temptation of watching her, watching him. If she could stop being so fucking pretty; he could stop losing himself over her. He would never make a scene, that wasn’t him, he doesn’t need to. He knows what she wants and he’s more than happy to oblige. She wants the sparks between them to leave carpet burns on her knees, she wants him to confess his sins with his tongue in the church beneath her skirt, she wants him to destroy her and fuck he wants that too. When the song ends, that mans hands drop from her waist and she saunters over to him with a sway in her hips and that smirk still playing on her lips. It’s got his arm reaching towards her and his hand in her hair, pulling it back as he whispers “you’re going to regret that” into her ear in that voice that leaves her breathless. She doesn’t say anything; she’s too focused on how his rough hand is so gentle on the small of her back as he leads her outside and into the back of a taxi.
You flower, you feast
She’s the prettiest sin he’s ever touched. Her black dress a mess on the floor by the door; discarded so he can leave fingerprint bruises on her skin. She’s gasping and they’re not even at the bedroom yet but when they get there, oh god when they get there, he’s everywhere all at once and she’s overwhelmed. She’s so soft and he’s going to break her. He’s got her under his thumb and she’s squirming, she’s writhing, every move he makes is so intense and she can’t breathe. She blossoms at his touch, his touch, the only one who should be touching her like this; at all. His fingers are in her and it’s just not enough. She needs him, all of him, whimpers of “please” and “need you” being all she can get out has him falling apart. She’s his weakness and that desperate look in her eyes is going to kill him.
Every essence of him is in her, his body is all electricity when he’s one with her. His hands are all over her, like leaving any part of her skin untouched would be a crime punishable by death, she’s red with hand prints and bite marks and she’s never loved her body more. She’s his and now no one would be able to ignore that, no unnamed man at a bar had anything on Harry. No man could make her feel like he does, she’s ruined for anyone else and he loves it. Her back is arched and his lips are between her collarbones, one of her hands in his hair and the other over her mouth and she’s there. His encouraging whispers in her ear of “good girl” and “that’s it baby” aren’t helping her come down from this state of bliss. She’s silent, too in awe of this feeling to make a sound, it’s never quite felt like this before and he can tell because she’s so impossibly tight. He’s falling apart, her mouth-open-eyes-squeezed-shut face pushing him so far off the edge he’s in disbelief. He’s gripping at her, almost as though he thinks she’ll disappear, he’s got his head buried in the crook of her neck and he’s groaning. His husky voice sounding more like a growl as he loses himself inside of her and fuck it’s music to her ears. When he’s done he collapses, still inside of her, face still in the crook of her neck and they’re quiet. The aftermath to their euphoria being comfortable silence. Him on top of a body so beautiful to him, painted in marks from him.
I bet when Harry cums, as he’s jerking himself in his hotel room to the thought of you, he has his lip pulled between his teeth, head cocked back, and thighs tensed. His toes keep scrunching, and when his grip tightens against his cock, his lips buckle and he releases his lip and a small moan escapes his lips, almost like a much held in breath. His eyes are tightly closed as he holds his balls with his free hand, a shiver running down his spine and through every nerve, the heat in his stomach welling up, but it’s too soon for a release. He makes himself work for it, because you wouldn’t just let him cum after five minutes, would you? He slows his pace, paying more attention to his tip and how you’d suck at it, letting your tongue flick over the very end, taking all of his precum into your mouth, even letting a moan fall from your the back of your throat.
He has pictures and videos stashed away for times like this, but he’s already too far gone to stop now, but his memory doesn’t fail him as he reminisces on past sessions where you pull off and gently - so gently that he doesn’t feel any pain, but a shock releases into his system - as you scrape your teeth against his shaft, just to get a reaction. The hairs on his thighs stand up, his knees buckle; he can’t stop now as his grip tightens and he’s pumping just as you would.
His lips fall open, eyes scrunched tight, and a breathy moan falls from his mouth, and then one much louder, as the coil in his abdomen finally releases, and every muscle in his body tenses, a feeling unlike any other burns through every nerve, and for a second all he can hear his white noise as his release covers his hand and stomach.
He lays there for a minute afterwards, taking in the aftermath of his orgasm, his fingers and toes warm and fuzzy, and a tiny hint of a smile lingering on his face.
The title really has nothing to do with the story but I was listening to it when I got this idea and also while writing it so enjoy xxx (ALSO I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE SO I DID MY BEST IN EDITING IT BUT TELL ME IF YOU SEE ANY ERRORS
I don’t wanna be your friend. I wanna fall asleep feeling the heat of your body and kiss you until your lips burn like hell. I want you to hug me tight when I’m mad and talk about every thing that has ever happened in our lives at 3am.
In the East Hall, the Gentry are called Takers-And-Givers. Marie had her best 2B pencil stolen only to find three packs of pencils - different hardnesses, sizes, colours - in her room that evening. Charley’s bottles of milk were stolen in the first week of term but now their whole flat gets weekly deliveries of dairy far better than any bought at the local shops. Sanjeet’s flowers were decimated a week before Valentines, but now they’re the best and brightest blooming flowers on campus.
First they Take and then, later, they Give, something of equal or more value. No one seems to know how or why, it just is, until the new kid arrives in halls - a late transfer, some incident at their last uni dogging her steps, giving her haunted eyes and probably-nightmares and arms clutched close around her chest whenever someone looms too close.
When people ask, she says to call her Ravenna. That that’s not her name, but her actual name isn’t one she trusts anymore, that it makes her feel unsafe in her own skin. So everyone in the Hall calls her Ravenna, or, sometimes, Blackbird if they know her well enough, and give her space.
She hates beyond hate to be touched.
Marie sees her one day, within touching distance of one of the Takers-and-Givers often seen around East Hall. They go by Darling - an odd moniker for a six foot creature with a greenish cast to their skin and a bird’s nest of hair, but no one would ever dare say anything to them. They stand just within arms-reach of Ravenna, watching down at the short girl with half-narrowed eyes.
“I don’t want to be afraid,” Ravenna is saying. “I'm sick of it. They say you can help with that, that you can take something away and give something in return. Can you take away my fear?”
Marie almost bolts down the hall to Ravenna, almost warns her against making a deal with the Takers-And-Givers, almost warns her against even mentioning the distance they are from normal but Darling only smiles gently, politely, not the predatory way they had when Marcus from Sumner’s Hall had tried to strike a bargain.
“No one can take your fear,” Darling says. “It’s yours. But if you give me a taste of it then I will give you protection when you are fearing.”
Marie starts backing down the hall, back towards her room, but she still sees Ravenna pause, nod, and go completely rigid as Darling bends their head to gently kiss her.
A wind blows down the hall, smelling of chickens and straw and Michaelmas daisies and Darling is vanished.
Pairing: Dean x sister!reader, Sam x sister!reader
Summary: The Reader gets drunk after a bad hunt
Word Count: about 1.600
Warnings: Underage drinking
A/N: Shoutout to the amazing @nickiwinchester97 because I would have never posted this without her support and encouragement. I love you!!!
Also, this is my first fic, so feedback of all kind is greatly appreciated!
you need help patching something up?” Sam asked as he threw his duffel on one
of the tables in the library. You shook your head no and went to your room,
grabbing a random bottle of liquor from the kitchen as well as a small towel.
You didn’t get hurt bad, just a gash on your thigh, you’d be able to fix that
you came into your room, you let yourself fall onto the bed. For a few seconds
your eyes were closed and it was dead silent, just a small sigh and your
breathing filled the room. You were exhausted. It took you days to track those
vampires down and when you finally found their nest, they were quicker than you
or your brothers and killed the teenagers they’d kidnapped. It was useless.
hand ran over your face as you sat up and sighed once more. Okay, you had to
admit that the gash on your leg was probably bigger than you had thought. It
hurt a lot to get out of your blood covered jeans and you knew that it would
hurt even more to disinfect it with the liquor. You took a closer look at it –
Whiskey. Jack Daniels to be more precise.