Ho boy was this a challenge, I self-prompted myself to find caps of unrelated female characters interacting with each other without a male present in the frame and had to cheat twice (the dude in the background top right, and Castiel’s ear and Sam’s shoulder third right).
history has its eyes on you. when things finally seem to be slowing down, that’s when finn finally realizes how much everything has changed. ~2.1k [ao3]
It’s once he’s out of the medical bay that Finn notices the way that people watch him. For the first little while, he just sorta assumes that they’re all looking at Poe, the greatest pilot in the Resistance and the fighter who fired the shot that destroyed the Starkiller.
But then Poe had told him: “Keep your eyes up.” He gave Finn a little, reassuring nudge. And when Finn turned to look at him, a little taken back by the realization that, to this huge amount of people, he was more than just a number, Poe’s looking up at him, a crooked smile on his face. “They’re proud to know you. Don’t let it embarrass you.”
Love isn’t the matter here, intimacy aside. Most of the time both of them seem elsewhere, lost and wandering through each other. To each other. Few times do they ever truly focus. Cain can feel his own blood in Dean’s veins, knows that they are several hundred generations removed from one another, but are still family. He looms over the broad shoulders, the smooth skin, leans in and licks the mark on Dean’s arm. The one he put there.
Dean shivers beneath him, squeezing his cock and rocking against him. Cain smirks. “Needy whore.”
Another shiver, a whimpered breath. Love isn’t the matter here. It’s something far deeper for them.
to the anon: my best friend is also a dude creampuff!! he even came to the citf event with me and totally geeked out. of course you can be a guy and love carmilla, great content is great content for any gender <3
soft hands ; yours too. the only thing that seems to keep our trio grounded, through trauma and recovery, is the gentle hands and reassurances from one another. 6.1k [ao3] rey/finn/poe
Any sort of feeling of celebration rushes out of Poe Dameron pretty quick once he gets back onto D’Qar. The news that Finn had made it off of the Starkiller base, sure, but barely in one piece, hits him like a sucker punch to the stomach. He’s out of his X-Wing pretty quick, down on the tarmac and following the stretcher that gets wheeled off of the Millennium Falcon in a whirlwind. Tomorrow, he’ll probably wonder how the hell he even pushed his way into that fray, positioning himself right at the head of the stretcher, looking down at Finn, haplessly talking to him even though he knows he won’t talk back.
Nurses and medical droids bark orders at one another. It’s chaos, loud and unadulterated mayhem, but they all seem to know exactly where they should be and what they should be doing. They jostle around Poe, which he takes as a good sign; if it was serious, if they’d needed him gone, they wouldn’t have been afraid to tell him so.
“Finn?” he tries again as they all barrel through the doors into the medical bay. If it’s possible, it gets even louder. More nurses, droids, surround them. Others (the first responders) fall back and let their colleagues do their jobs. Poe stays right with Finn, one hand gripping the stretcher, the other holding onto Finn’s for dear life. “Finn.” This time, he doesn’t say it as a question, and he speaks louder, more definitive. And Poe swears he feels something: a small and weak returning gesture from Finn. He feels Finn squeeze his hand back. It’s soft enough that, later on, he might suspect that his mind had just been playing tricks on him, that he’d simply felt what he wanted to feel, but in that moment, there’s nothing he’s more sure of in the world.
Meg is part of the most feared warrior tribe and the leader of her people. Cas is her noble husband that she purchases and gifts with a horse. As is customary for the leader of her tribe, until he can prove himself worthy of being the sire to her children, he has to train with her warriors and learn to raid and lead armies. Meg introduces him to being pegged as she considers him hers… and he learns to enjoy it to his surprise because there’s something beautiful about being completely taken by his queen. Eventually he teaches her how nobles make love in his land and, maybe a bit putout at first, she eventually finds that she enjoys that side of things as well.
Even when Cas finds out how to properly use the dragons Deangon and Samai, he remains more loyal to her than he expected when she agrees to to help invade his stolen lands. Eventually she gets pregnant with future world ruler and Cas has to eat the horse’s heart to honour her… with his head on the line if he dishonours her by not finishing.
if you write some megaddon i'll give you my first born child
Abaddon does not wear dresses nor corsets. She does not speak softly when kings enter. Kings see themselves as above queens. Abaddon is not a queen. She is an empress, a Goddess. Royals take and take and take and then hold the power they’ve stolen as grand trophies for spectacle. One would not dare consider Abaddon lowly enough to practice such a thing.
The empires Abaddon holds are made of red cinder and black ash, bodies strewn about and memorialized in the fearful whispers of rival rulers with ripe land. Conquest is always of importance, but she is not a man and does not hold their values. Her conquest is found in their submission. She wears their armor, their trousers, their shirts. Her breasts are not hidden and bound by wire and silk. The buttons of her finery are undone as she wins, blood dripping down her skin as thick proof of victory. It slides from her nipples and stains the white cotton like the sheets of a virtuous wedding night. But it is not her virtue being given, no.
Meg is the queen here. She wears petticoats as dresses and flaunts herself half-naked upon her empress’ throne. Her legs spread wide, open invitation for the wildfire anointing Abaddon’s scalp to flow as the most powerful falls to her knees to lick the swollen seed of dripping pomegranate. The court watches with rapt attention and fascination, always attentive to their rulers.
Gold gilded hawk heads dig into the undersides of Meg’s thighs as she lays herself open like an enemy kingdom ready for the taking. She recalls how the empress, the Goddess first found her. Bound to the floor, covered in drying blood and hair mostly missing from the attempts to bleach it. She’d been hideous, but Abaddon smiled and kissed her split lips, promising the let her watch the world burn for all the pain it ever caused her.
Sam thinks Dean might know. His big brother’s been dropping hints for the past quarter and a half, making some really loaded jokes and not-so-offhand remarks. They never happen around anyone else, though, which Sam is thankful for. It’s one thing to have Dean saying it, it’s another entirely for the vice-principal to hear it.
He wonders if Dean disapproves, if that’s why he’s being so vocal.
In the back of the Impala, Sam is all gangly limbs and elbows and Meg thinks it's lucky she's so small as she climbs astride him, covers his mouth with her own and sinks down on his cock. Sam makes a needy little moaning noise into Meg's mouth that makes her shiver, and she chases the sound with her tongue. Her hands are braced on either side of Sam, and the windows fog up as she rides him, the air hot with panting and the squeak of worn vinyl seating and the smack of skin against skin.
"What the hell are you doing in this podunk town?" Meg asks when Dean Winchester walks in. Dean's smirk is crooked. "You know the drill. Saving people. Hunting things." his eyes skitter to the plate in front of Meg. "Is that pie?" "What, this?" Meg takes a deliberate bite of pie. Coconut cream clings to her lip; she licks it off. "It's pretty good." Dean's on Meg in a flash, hands cupping her face, mouth claiming hers. Meg wonders if she tastes sweet from the sugar. It would be a first for them.