honestly i will never get over how extra shao is??? like this man really jumped like 5 feet in the air to kick someone in the chest ,,, like there was no reason for that my dude u could stayed on the ground but no u have to be out here flying and shit
So its my last day in Rome…I wish I could stay longer but I need to get back Vancouver to my hubby and Loki! 👦🐶💖 Before I fly out tomorrow I’m going to have to load up on some tunes! 🎶 I’ve got a looong flight ahead of me 🛫☺🎧🎶
She’s tucked up against Killian in their usual tangle of limbs, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. The house is quiet, without even the usual creaks and groans of the boards settling to distract her; outside, the faint breeze is barely enough to stir the branches of the trees she can see through the window. It should be peaceful- it is peaceful- but the ball of anxiety in her stomach only tightens, because what if-?
“Emma,” Killian says softly, his voice bringing her out of her reverie, “what is it?”
“I thought you were asleep.” Tipping her head up, she meets his gaze, unable to keep a smile from tugging at her lips as he smothers a yawn.
“If you were thinking any louder, the neighbors would be coming over to complain,” he says dryly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “What’s wrong?”
She sighs, toying with the neck of his shirt. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Out with it, Swan.”
“It’s…well.” Shifting slightly, she props her chin on his chest, letting her arm slide low around his waist. “It’s the wedding.”
Summary: Research leads to more between Sam and reader. Basically a little plot, a little poetry and some good old fashioned smut.
Word Count: 2313
Warning: Smut, language. Sorta rough sex.
As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Tags are at the bottom.
It’s a Thursday night and you are seated at an enormous table in a public library after hours. And no, you didn’t enter through the front door. The method of entry for you and Sam had been a window around back that Sam had managed to open with his pocket knife. Because that’s how hunters roll.
Sam is seated across from you. Books are stacked all around, piled high. Dean, the lucky bastard, is staking out the apartment where the suspect lives. You, however, drew the short end of the stick and are stuck doing research for the next ten billion hours. At least, that’s what it feels like.
The upside is that between paragraphs, you can sneak peaks at Sam Winchester. The way his eyebrows draw together as he concentrates, the way his hair falls down to cover his face as he reads, it does things to you. Fucking hell, it doesn’t’ help that he’s wearing his Fed getup. That white button down shirt? Jesus Christ. It makes your cheeks feel hot in a cool room, your stomach does somersaults. He always has this effect on you, he just doesn’t seem to realize it. Which only serves to make him more desirable.
Blowing out the lungful of air that you’ve been holding in, you force yourself to return to the centuries-old text in front of you. It smells comforting, old leather and musty pages. As much as you hate research, you have a fondness for books. Fiction is more your speed. When it comes to research, you’d prefer some wifi and Google. Ancient lore, unfortunately, isn’t usually found with a few keystrokes.
Okay, time to concentrate. Grabbing another book from the stack to your left, you quickly scan the table of contents. A chapter labeled ‘Kamadeva’ catches your eye. Flipping quickly to the right chapter, you read the text. Hmm, this sounds like it could be useful.
Summary: You find an unusual customer at your workplace, and end up getting more than you bargained for when you offer to take him to a back room Square Filled: Virginity Sam x Reader Rating: Explicit Warnings: NSFW, smut, loss of virginity, Priest!Sam, Stripper!Reader Words: 3,720 (now you know why it took so long Written for @spnkinkbingo
(in which I am once again a slut for modern day Elorcan. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while, so I hope it’s okay! )
Elide Lochan tapped her fingers impatiently against her jeans, her carry-on bag slung over one shoulder. Airports always made her antsy- part of her expected her uncle Vernon to just appear out of nowhere. He’s in jail, she reminded herself. If he ever gets out, it won’t be for another ten years at least.
The day she’d stood against her Uncle as a witness had been one of the hardest days of her life, but it had been worth it. He’d been charged with battery, assault, neglecting a child, fraud, and also dealing illegal substances for his boss’s company. She hadn’t known about that last one, but it had been a definite plus. Three years ago, that had happened.
And for four years now she’d been free of him. Four years since she had hunted down her God siblings Aelin and Aedion, four years since she had met Manon and the Thirteen and had her first friends since she was a child. Four years since she had vowed never to go back to Morath, and that was a promise she intended to keep. Her life was, if she was being honest, amazing. She owned her own bookstore in Perranth, the town she’d been raised in, and was perfectly content living above it in her cozy little apartment.
It had been almost two years since she’d had her last night terror.
She handed over her ticket to the clerk, smiling politely when it was scanned and handed back to her, and limped through the gate towards the plane. Usually, she’d never go directly from one place to another, but Manon had insisted she come for a few days to her home in the Wastes. It had been a damn long time since they’d seen each other, and it seemed her friends weren’t okay with waiting until Thanksgiving.
So that had been the last six days for her, but instead of going home to Perranth and her little bookstore, Anneith’s, named after the Greek Goddess of wisdom, she was going straight to her sister’s wedding. She’d been sure Lysandra was going to be the maid of honor, so when she had been bestowed it instead, she may have cried a little bit. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t afford traveling from one place to the next- not only did she have the steady income of the bookstore, but she had all the money her parents had left her. The money Vernon had hoarded from her for years.
She let a family of four pass her, not wanting to slow them down with her crippled leg, and then started going again, entering the plane. The stewardess smiled and asked if she needed any help after a glance at her ankle. Elide kindly refused- it was insulting, honestly, when people thought she needed help. She had escaped her Uncle, had navigated through bustling Orynth and found her family and friends with that ankle. It wasn’t, and never had been, an excuse for her to not be able to do something.
She shoved her carry-on into the compartment above her head and then slid into the first class seat, glancing out the window. Nothing but concrete and the grey skies of the Wastes awaited her. She wished Manon had been able to come with her to Aelin and Rowan’s wedding, but she had the last of her recently deceased grandmother’s paperwork to deal with, and she couldn’t get away. Her lover, Dorian, would be there to offer her congrats, at least.
There was a shifting, and Elide glanced over as a towering man slid into the remaining seat next to her, not even sparing her a glance. He was incredibly handsome, even with the scowl that seemed permanently sketched into his face, and if the designer jeans and jacket over his black Henley said anything, he had money. She allowed herself to appreciate the dark hair and eyes and the muscle of him for a second more before she turned back towards the window. When she felt the weight of his eyes finally fall on her, she didn’t look over.
They were quiet through everyone settling into their seats, and when the pilot announced that they’d be taking off soon and began to go through safety guidelines as they did through every flight, Elide blew out a breath, buckling up. The handsome stranger’s gaze was buried in his phone, and she moved to dig out her own phone. She texted Aelin quickly, saying she’d be landing on time in five hours, and then powered it off. Her purse carried almost nothing but books- Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Ana Karenina, and a new one she had just started reading, A Court of Mist and Fury. She dug the latter out and opened to the page she had dog eared.
She prayed she wouldn’t get freaked out this time- she’d been on plane rides plenty of times, but she had never seemed to get that fear out of her when they first took off, even if once they were in the air, it felt like she had been made for flying. The plane moved slowly at first, and she was feeling pretty confident that this was it, this was the time that she’d finally be okay for lift off. But then it sped up and her breath hitched, all thoughts of Feyre and Rhysand forgotten as the plane lurched upwards. She scrambled for anything to hold onto. And that ‘anything’ just so happened to be the handsome stranger’s muscled arm.
He turned slightly, raising an eyebrow, and she smiled sheepishly, retracting her grip. “Sorry,” she murmured, going to grip the arms of the chair instead and wincing as her ears popped.
"First time flying?“ He guessed in a smooth, deep voice.
"Twelfth, actually,” she replied, her own voice strained and small. She took a deep breath. “The flying part, I like. But I just can’t seem to get used to the taking off part.” He snorted, and she raised an eyebrow at him despite the fact he was a stranger. “I suppose you love flying?”
He gave her a dry smile. “I hate it, actually. The entire thing. But it comes with the work.”
"And the work is?“
"Ex military.” That would explain how muscled he was. When he chuckled, she realized, in horror, that she had said that out loud. Her cheeks went red, but he didn’t seem to mind, extending a hand. “I’m Lorcan.”
"Marion,“ she replied before she could stop herself. It wasn’t like she’d ever see him again, and you could never be too cautious around strange men. He probably wouldn’t even remember the skimpy girl he’d met on a plane ride. Part of her wondered if she should get back to her book, if she was bothering him, but she asked anyways, "What brings you to Orynth?”
"A wedding,“ he said simply. "You?”
She laughed lightly. “I’m actually going to a wedding too.” Though she was sure it wasn’t the same one. Orynth was huge, and she was sure she would remember if Aelin or Rowan had mentioned a huge, muscled, grumpy wumpy guy. “You’re from the Wastes, then?”
"Doranelle, actually.“ His answer was short, clipped, and she assumed that meant the end of their conversation, but then he spoke again. "Is that where you’re from, then? The Wastes?”
She shook her head. “Perranth. I’m just going for the wedding before it’s time to go back home.” Aedion would drive her there, most likely. Her car was home anyways, and her ankle made it hard for her to drive long distances.
He gave her another one of his dry smiles, just a faint twitching of his lips. “You travel a lot, then?”
She shrugged. “When I feel like it.” The plane had leveled out, and she felt herself relaxing. She should dismiss him, should get back to her book. They’d passed through the 'polite small talk’ stage, and now were bordering on actually chatting. She had enough people in her life, and, frankly, the only men she trusted were Rowan and Aedion, possibly Dorian. But after this, she’d never see Lorcan again. And what was the harm in chatting up the hot stranger? So she asked him, “You said you were ex military. What do you do now?” He opened his mouth to speak, and the book stayed forgotten in her lap. -
They talked for almost half of the trip. Lorcan found it surprising- he’d only meant to say a few polite words, make sure she was okay. She was obviously young-early twenties, he later found out- and he, frankly, hadn’t wanted her to puke everywhere or something. But no, Marion just HAD to be interesting and intelligent, and instead of resting up to meet rutting Whitethorn and the bitch queen like he should have, he had talked to her.
They had kept the conversation light- Lorcan only mentioned Maeve, his ex boss (that he may have been in love with for a time) once, and she only briefly mentioned a crazy uncle. They didn’t talk about any family, either. Instead they spoke of her bookstore, of what they’d both been doing, of movie genres and that blue book in her lap, along with the others stuffed into her purse. They spoke of music-she liked classical and alternative, he was more of a classic rock and anything angry type of guy- and culture, any light conversation topics they could think of.
She fell asleep first, and he found himself studying her face, though he didn’t go any lower (even if her breasts were tempting.) It was obvious she was attractive and most definitely his type- dark hair and eyes, pale skin- but she didn’t seem the type for one night trysts, so he wouldn’t ask. He fell asleep soon after that, and woke up with a weight on his shoulder.
He tensed when he saw her nuzzled there, eyes still closed, inky hair spilled across his shoulder. The pilot announced they’d be landing soon and he tapped her awake gently. Her eyes opened and she practically jumped away from him. He gave her a look, to which she responded with another sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He looked down the aisle. “We’re landing soon.” She groaned. “Don’t like landing either?”
"It’s possibly worse.“ There was a lurch, and this time, when she gripped his arm, he let her. -
They walked off together, picking up a new conversation that she was more adamant about then him- cats or dogs. She insisted dogs were better- Manon, her best friend, had a pet Doberman named Abraxos and he was apparently the sweetest thing ever. He listened in amusement, but as soon as they both got out of the gate, they froze. Marion turned to him.
"So,” she said. “This is it, I guess.”
He nodded, stone faced. “Thanks for making the plane ride… less droll than it could have been.”
She snorted, tucked a piece of hair behind an ear. “You helped as well, I suppose,” she said, and he almost started in confusion. People tended not to tease him, but that seemed to be what she was doing.
He hesitated for a moment, studying her. Should he offer her his number? Should he ask for hers? Ridiculous- he was ridiculous. So he simply said, “Have fun at the wedding,” and turned. He didn’t look back to see if she watched him go.
Anon: Hey can you do one where the reader is Lucifer’s little sister , the youngest archangel and she and Lucifer are constantly fighting for Sam’s attention , she likes Sam and Lucifer wants to just already use Sam as a vessel . Anon: Can u write a fanfic about Lucifer’s little sister , she has a crush on Sam and she ain’t afraid to show it , she is very sarcastic and has an enormous amount of sass like her brother , and she and Lucifer are always fighting for Sam’s attention . Can u make it funny
So, I got two anon asks for basically the same thing, so I did them both in the same story. I hope you guys like it! Like always, feel free to message/ask me with critiques and comments!
Summary: You, the archangel sister of Lucifer with a similar attitude, has a crush on Sam Winchester. You decide to visit during the aftermath of the Cage (Season 7)
“Oh, sure,” you mutter for the upteenth time in eternity. “You get all the fun stuff of messing around with Sam’s head and what do I get?”
“Here we go again…” Lucifer rolls his eyes.
You gesture to your surrounding environment with both arms. “The Cage! Full of wonderful attractions galore! And over in this corner we have a giant piece of metal connected to another piece of metal! And in the other corner, more metal, trapping me with the biggest idiot of a brother for all eternity!” Some days weren’t that bad in Hell, but most of the time, you’d go off on sarcastic rants for hours. It wasn’t the worst boredom coping strategy, but it drove your archangel brother insane.
“Would you let it go already?”
“NO! I’m not letting this go! YOU’RE the main reason that we’re stuck here in the first place!! You just had to go and possess the one person who had even a chance of resisting you! Never mind that you had a perfectly good vessel you were already using-”
“Who was burning to death-”
“Who wouldn’t have tossed us in here!”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. This is just like back at the wack-house.”
You raise your eyebrows. “You wanna go there? Really?”
“I’m not the one who kept trying to get Sam to play spin the bottle.”
You try to keep your face from turning red in your shared prison. “Oh, like you were any better. Streamers and pinatas?”
You stroll up into the pale mental hospital room to the bedside of your favorite human: Sam Winchester. Sure, you were a pretty pissy archangel like your brother, but something about the Winchester boy made you feel more than indifference towards a vessel.
“Hey, Sam. Wake up,” you whisper. He stirs in his restless sleep a little. You glance around the room. “Lucifer’s on his way. I don’t know how long until he’ll come, but be prepared. There’s some serious crap he’s throwing your way today.”
“And you know this…how?” Sam mumbles tiredly.
You scoff. “Because both of us are in your head, dingbat. Now, do yourself a favor and hide the chair!”
“Why do I like you?” you mutter not really under your breath. “Yes, you hulking mess of hotness, the chair! Unless you want to deal with-”
“GOOOOOOOOOOOOD MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORNINGGGGGGGGG!!!” Your warning is cut off. You bite your tongue and close your eyes as your annoying celestial brother appears from nowhere. Sam covers his head with the bed’s pillow, trying to drown out the brutal singing of the archangel.
“Rise and shine campers! And don’t forget your booties because it’s cold out there!”
“You quote the Bill Murray movie one more time and I swear I’ll-”
“Don’t swear sis, you’re an angel!”
You roll your eyes bitterly before you survey the new level of insanity your brother has reached. “What in the unholy mother of Metatron are you wearing??”
Lucifer is decked out in party hats, streamers, confetti glued to his face, balloons, those weird kazoo-paper-shooty-things that almost never work…it’s like a demented birthday package exploded on his person. He shrugs. “It’s my birthday.”
“No it’s not!”
“Uh,” he scoffs, “it is now. Because I say it is. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”
Sam is doing his best to ignore the new appearance of the world’s most hated figure in history, but he’s failing miserably. It would take a sloth on morphine to not notice the absolute absurdity of your brother. He sighs and rubs his eyes.
“Just…both of you…”
“Not today, smokestack. I need your help right now.” Luci whips out a classic pinata from nowhere. The multi-colored paper rustles gently as he shakes it up and down. “No party’s complete without one of these babies. But, unfortunately, I grudgingly admit I don’t have the height to hang this up from the ceiling. So, you gonna help a brother out or what?”
“We are not brothers.” Sam hardens his gaze at Lucifer. “If you ever call me that again, I will rip you limb from limb and roast your bones.”
You sigh dreamily. You love it when the Winchester boy talks murderously. So…sanguinary. Mmm. Just makes your heart flap around in your chest.
Lucifer shrugs. “So, does that mean if I break it, I get the candy?”
“You’ll be fighting me for it. C’mon.” Yes, you hated your brother, but candy filled pinatas? Million-year old grudges could be put on hold for sugar. You start to climb on top of Lucifer’s shoulders.
“Watch the head.”
“Oh, like I’m damaging precious cargo.” You string up the rainbow donkey. “I got dibs on first whack!”
“Ah, ah, ah. Age before beauty, little sister.”
You whip out a human femur bone from somewhere. “Not if I’ve got the bat.” You point to a disgusted looking Sam with the body part.
“You want up?” Sam closes his eyes and lies on the bed. You shrug. “Your loss then.”
You pull back the femur bone, ready to knock the crap out of the flimsy donkey when-
“Hey!” You protest as a blindfold is placed over your eyes.
“You may be the queen of cheating, but that has no place in the head of Sam Winchester.”
“Can it, Sassifer and let me swing before I think you’re full of candy for me to beat open. Oh wait…”
“Sassifer. I like that.” you hear Lucifer muse. “I’ve been needing a new name. Thanks, Sis. What do you think Sam?”
Sam is silent again. Trying to ignore everything you guess. Sam…my poor, sweet, selfless Sam…
“You know what? We should totally play spin the bottle after this!”
You feel your face heat up as you crack down the femur bone on where Lucifer’s voice came from. The bone shatters in your hands.
You smirk and take the blindfold off your face. “All talk and no brains. It’s like I’m speaking to a walking mouth.”
Lucifer suddenly tackles you and the two of you begin wrestling, glitter flying, balloons popping. Sam looks over at the chaos you two are causing.
“Guys…you’re gonna break something unless you…you know what? Neither of you are real, so never mind.”
“Not real?” you choke out in a strangled voice; Lucifer has an arm around your neck before you flip him onto the floor and break free. You race over to Sam and kiss his cheek, feeling redder than before. “Does that feel ‘not real’ to you?”
“Hey! Paws off my buddy, sis! I still want an untainted vessel someday!”
“Oh, go find a cliff to jump off of.”
“Aw, now you don’t mean that.”
“You know what? If you wanted the best way to kill yourself, jump from your ego and land on your IQ”
Sam snorts in the background; you feel your heart flutter with his approval. Lucifer is stunned speechless. You smile. “Well, as much as I love these conversations, I really should be going. Sam, good luck dealing with this psycho. Save a spin-the-bottle round for me!” You blow a kiss in his general direction and disappear.
Neal receives an unexpected morning visitor—his six-year-old brother, Gideon—landing him smack in the middle of a family drama.
Rating: G Word Count: 5,775 A/N: For my Missy, @beliza-fryler. Happy birthday! Written for @a-monthly-rumbelling: icee, pixie, doctor. This takes place about seven years after the events of Passing Inspection, which DOES NOT need to be read first. Rumple never dies and neither does Neal. Gideon is born and a few years later, their sister Isabelle (Missy) comes along. It’s basically giant Floof Family feels. You’re welcome.
The whispering, coupled with the insistent tapping on the
bedroom window, disturbed his pleasant dream. He heard his name whispered
again, and snorted himself awake, blinking up at the ceiling fan.
Still the whispering continued, getting louder and more demanding.
A flash of red entered his peripheral vision, and he became aware of a small
yet powerful presence hovering outside the master bedroom window.
“Gid?” Neal squinted at the dreamcatcher through the sun-streaked
glass. “Kiddo, is that you?”
Grumbling under his breath, Neal threw back the covers and
rose to open the window. His little brother scaled the siding and hopped over
the windowsill with the exuberant grace of youth.
“It’s five o’clock in the morning and all decent people are
sleeping,” Neal said around a yawn. “What are you doing?”
Gideon peered over his shoulder at the smooth, empty side of
the bed and ignored the question. “Where’s Aunt Emma?”
“On her back in a field of wildflowers, till you woke me up,”