this demon blood in me.

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#;;nsfw;;#deadsetonsurvival

In high school { boys } were something to be avoided at all costs. They could easily become a distraction and Olivia could not AFFORD that. Three weeks into college and she had seen h i m for the first time. Ever since… well, it was just a journey, wasn’t it? He refused to call her. Didn’t find her around campus or converse with her. It was she who had to chase after him.

Too many times to count, she had lectured herself. But she couldn’t shake him off. No matter how hard she tried. So she caved in.

❝ Drunk is such a terrible word. And, in this case, INCORRECT. The term you’re looking for is ( tipsy ) ❞

Chocolate hues danced along his features, studying him while she released a quiet giggle. Definitely not drunk. If he saw her d r u n k … —– probably best that he did not.

God, he was beautiful.

He spoke and suddenly her mind was empty, only really paying attention to that which he said rather than what they meant.

❝ You refused to call. I get to assume the worst. ❞

It seemed to be her only defense, though she looked at him patiently, studied him rather SHAMELESSLY. Nothing like a majority of the boys she knew. It wasn’t his lack of interest that made the brunette p i n e for him. It was… just him.

❝ I have no filter most time. Don’t expect me to apologize for it. Just as I won’t apologize for my achievements.

Or my wanting you. ❞

Tipsy. Drunk. Either way, her mindset wasn’t clear and that was enough to have him cautious. People did some sadly stupid stuff when alcohol lubricated their abilities, dulled some of their logic. If not all of it.

“Tipsy, then.”

The guilt didn’t register. In all honesty, the attention she had given him was viewed as undeserved. He had wanted it. Any man with an attraction to women would have. But it was undeserved regardless.

“I didn’t entirely realize you were serious.”

But his eyes did flash, darken subtly at her confession. Hands that were light on her hips flexed slightly, those hardened hazel eyes holding a hint of flame.

“I don’t mind the lack of a filter. Or the others. But.. you’re still not fully in your right mind. As much as I enjoy this, um, situation..”

deadsetonsurvival:

Hunger. Oh how easy it was to associate with what he felt for her. So much easier than an alternate. So much easier than something that could end up destroying both of them. Should he have protested harder, refusing to let her come along? Should he have forgotten in the darkest parts of night how her lips curved and parted with word? The fervent dreams that kept haunting him?

“If you’re going to keep pushing it,” he growled, biting her bottom lip, “then I’m going to just have to prove myself, huh?” He wouldn’t mind. Who the fuck would mind fucking each other until furniture was broken? Honestly, that was the most idiotic rhetorical question, but he was far too occupied to dwell on it.

Which was better? Another rhetorical question, but he pondered it briefly. Which was better, having her squirm beneath him and looking like he had fucked her wild; how she moaned when he filled her slowly; the way she cried out when his thrust jolted the bed? All were magnificent beyond compare and Sam grunted when again he filled her just as roughly. She called his name and he matched the pace. Hard, fast, slowing only to fill her to his hilt and moaning helplessly. “Fuck..” he breathed against her breast and continued to pound deeply into her. The bed smacked against the wall. He surged up to kiss her hard, to taste her moans. “Cum,” he growled against her lips. “I won’t stop until you’re spent.” Evidenced by the ruthless, tirelessly surging of his hips. He grinned. “Unless you wanna fuck me? Will that make you scream my name more? That what you want?”

buriedbyfate

✢

deadsetonsurvival:

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deadsetonsurvival:

In high school { boys } were something to be avoided at all costs. They could easily become a distraction and Olivia could not AFFORD that. Three weeks into college and she had seen h i m for the first time. Ever since… well, it was just a journey, wasn’t it? He refused to call her. Didn’t find her around campus or converse with her. It was she who had to chase after him.

Too many times to count, she had lectured herself. But she couldn’t shake him off. No matter how hard she tried. So she caved in.

❝ Drunk is such a terrible word. And, in this case, INCORRECT. The term you’re looking for is ( tipsy ) ❞

Chocolate hues danced along his features, studying him while she released a quiet giggle. Definitely not drunk. If he saw her d r u n k … —– probably best that he did not.

God, he was beautiful.

He spoke and suddenly her mind was empty, only really paying attention to that which he said rather than what they meant.

❝ You refused to call. I get to assume the worst. ❞

It seemed to be her only defense, though she looked at him patiently, studied him rather SHAMELESSLY. Nothing like a majority of the boys she knew. It wasn’t his lack of interest that made the brunette p i n e for him. It was… just him.

❝ I have no filter most time. Don’t expect me to apologize for it. Just as I won’t apologize for my achievements.

Or my wanting you. ❞

There was a lot that had to be done. Lectures to attend. Homework to complete. A family he had to avoid. Maybe he talked to a few who did not bother him as much as others did. Maybe. But Sam was a studious, careful, deliberate man.

This woman made him nervous. Like he was something wanted. Something c r a v e d.

How was he supposed to react to that?

“You look close enough to the former.”

Was his lack of attention to her cruel? Should he confess how nervous she made him feel? Probably. But he did not. He did not confess that he almost could convince himself that it was okay how she looked at him, how it made him feel important. Wanted. Craved like he hadn’t been before.

“How can I make it up to you?”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Oh. “Never said you have to apologize for that.”

deadsetonsurvival:

6′4… an entire foot taller than her, blood boiling with anger, most of which was clearly directed towards her and yet the girl foolishly insisted on chasing after him when most sensible people would at least let him cool off. But when had they ever done that? The few times they had fought in the past, they settled their differences in bed. That was no longer an option, but like hell if she was just going to stop arguing with him. “It’s about the only thing that hasn’t changed,” she hissed, all but too aware that her tongue could hardly ever be kept under control.

Graceful as she was, Olivia could have run after him. She would just rather not. Her posture was corrected as she stood facing him, still significantly shorter than him despite her heels. She regretted not collecting her coat because now she stood in nothing but a short bandage dress, surrounding by the chilly night breeze of New York. If she was surprised to hear of Dean’s death, she chose not to show. It took restraint, of course, but she merely forced her facial muscles to remain as they were: blank. It made sense now, his anger, rage. Everything summed up: her shutting him out, Dean dying… “Have you been doing drugs?” she asked and stepped closer to check his eyes. Maybe just alcohol then. “New York won’t help you get what you want. Just get what you need from here and leave, Sam. Trust me on this one. There’s nothing for you here.” Oh, but there was. If he knew about Catalina… it would distract him momentarily and then he would only want Dean back that much more. In the process he might have himself killed and then both Olivia and her daughter would have to mourn him. “Leave as soon as you can.”

Violence. It shimmered beneath the surface, tensing all that he was as he glared down at her. Others who passed by, they paused in wariness. Would he hurt her? Was there any need to call the police? When Sam deliberately stepped back from her, forcing his fisted hands to relax and be covered by his jacket, the pausing receded. Paces resumed. But Sam still glared at her.

“Don’t.” He stepped back from her, uninterested in her touch. In her concern. Oh, he was still very angry with her. That much was painfully obvious. “Do not placate me. You lost that right.” Now he was being deliberately cruel. “Go back to your gathering,” he instructed coldly and couldn’t hide the misery starting to creep in and numb him from the anger. “I have to fix this.” But someone bumped into him and his back pocket was lighter suddenly. Right until the thief’s shirt was grabbed and he was yanked back just hard enough. Startled, the man began to put up a fight. Sam’s wallet was snatched back, the man shoved away. He ran. Sam debated on a chase. “Good-bye,” he said to Olivia and walked in the opposite direction.

You ?!

#;;end;;#deadsetonsurvival

deadsetonsurvival:

He was tense, but that was now the life of Sam Winchester. Searching for answers he couldn’t seem to find. Calling in favors that lead to dead ends. Selling his possessions just to get more favors. Nearly dying so many times in the attempts. He needed his brother back. So far? He was doing a damn bang-up job about failing. But wasn’t that his role in the family? The failure, the freak.

“Thanks,” he answered in a near-curt tone. It wasn’t entirely her fault, his being this way. Yeah, she’d been the triggering start of his newly hellish life, but had she been the one who killed him? Had she been the one who prompted Dean to sell his soul? No. She’d just been the one who broke his heart and helped him into the downward spiral of too much anger and a nasty vengeance streak.

Her question was a good one. If he didn’t have a target in mind, if a source hadn’t pointed very blatantly to the bustling metropolis, Sam would have happily avoided the Big Apple. He knew she was still in the city, had known the chances of running into her were very slim. But looking at her now, he regretted everything about following this lead. “My job,” he answered simply enough and looked over, took a small sigh when a man exited the.. well, he guessed it was a lounge for the rich. Made his skin crawl. Without excusing himself to his former flame, Sam approached the man and knew he was recognized almost immediately. “Jonas. Can we talk?”

She had really done it this time. He was so angry, so fucked off… Olivia had never triggered this side of his in the past. Sure, she had hurt him, was well aware of that. Perhaps she had even humiliated him. But this… no, this was new. Terrifying and heartbreaking, but new.

The job… good. Then he would be gone soon. Where was her escort? Her father insisted on constant bodyguards since her incident of three years ago, but it didn’t make it any more easier for her. Specially when she knew they stood no chance again anything supernatural, much less a demon. Should one ever target her again. But her guards were portrayed as dates. And that should have Sam leaving. Apparently, it was not necessary, as he soon left, greeting and speaking to another man. Jonas… did she even know him? Did it even matter? He was here on a job, would soon be gone and she could resume her life. And that of her daughter’s. “Goodbye to you too,” she mumbled quietly, rolling her eyes before she walked away and entered the waiting car. She had mourned their past, what they had had before everything… fell apart. Olivia was done crying. And this man… it wasn’t the man she had loved. Just wasn’t.

[ e n d ]

deadsetonsurvival:

thisdiseasepumpingthroughmyveins

Olivia was beyond e x h a u s t e d. Exams always wrecked her. Since she had passed - and due to her very insistent friend, the brunette had agreed to attend the lame, FORMAL event. And her clothing was anything but.

After accepting that the party would not be improving, she decided to return back to campus. These kids had nothing on New York.

She wasn’t sure why she went to the library rather than her apartment. Well, she knew she wanted to see him but…. Maybe if she hadn’t had those four mimosas… Needless to say, she wasn’t surprised to find him there.

❝ Do you sleep here? Do you even have a dorm? When was the last time you went outside? ❞

Her purse was placed on top of the table. A seat was taken, brown hues studying him. She seemingly did not care that she was interrupting his studies. Or that he hadn’t called her, even though she had both f l i r t e d with him and given him her card. Maybe she would give a damn if she weren’t—

—- tipsy

❝ I really like you. But I know what you see when look at me: spoiled, rich girl from the Upper East Side, should have gone to Yale like planned instead of settling for Standford and acting like she’s doing everyone a favour by gracing us with her presence; studies too hard, parties even harder, too stubborn, too impulsive, has too much money for her own good, can’t shut up for 20 consecutive seconds. Am I CLOSE? ❞

He could hear the click of her heels before even seeing her. She had a strange habit of always finding him here. Buried in his books, notebooks spread around, his hair a mess and mood easily capable of turning into grouchy.

Wasn’t her fault, really. Just shit timing.

Truth be told, he almost liked the attention. Just wasn’t too very fond of someone so.. -- -- out of his league.

Was he a game to her?

“You’re drunk.”

He’d meant to compliment her but being blunt was a by- product of notebook #7 being filled with notes on a case and the application for an internship nearly filled-out to the way he thought was the absolute best.

She sat and he instinctively tucked in his long legs. Figures, he thought, her going to the formal. The dress did her plenty of justice and bared enough skin that he kept his attention on the law book and his nearly-completed notes. But he listened.

She was very wrong.

“No.”

Maybe if he told her, she’d.. well, he didn’t know what.

“I think you’re beautiful. A hard worker who enjoys letting off steam. Your background isn’t important. If you have money, good for you. But you do talk too much. That I agree with.”

You ?! | buriedby fate

deadsetonsurvival:

When her body first began to hint the pregnancy, Liv was foolish enough to assume they were mere symptoms of the demon abuse; wreckage caused by the beast from hell. Of course, by the time she finally came to her senses, there was a swelling in her belly. When Sam came around banging on her door, she would have failed to hide it from him, so she did everything she possibly could to avoid sharing the same space as him. And now… well, now any evidence that she had given birth had washed away. Perks of being a young mother.

He had changed. He lacked that gentleness in his gaze whenever it landed on her, everything about him appeared to have hardened. Incluiding his muscles. “You look like shit,” she stated boldly, hoping that one simple sentence might lighten the atmosphere, that they would easily slip back into old habits, even though she knew Sam could not stay.

Almost was such an ugly word. She almost allowed that brief moment of concern to show, almost cupped his face with hands that had grown softer over time. Loving and caring for an infant had that consequence. She had almost asked, she had almost thrown caution to wind and kissed him… Had his kiss changed too? She had been warned about raging hormones following childbirth, but in six months it had never been an issue. Until he stepped back into her life. Fucking hunter appeal. “What are you doing in New York, Sam?”

He was tense, but that was now the life of Sam Winchester. Searching for answers he couldn’t seem to find. Calling in favors that lead to dead ends. Selling his possessions just to get more favors. Nearly dying so many times in the attempts. He needed his brother back. So far? He was doing a damn bang-up job about failing. But wasn’t that his role in the family? The failure, the freak.

“Thanks,” he answered in a near-curt tone. It wasn’t entirely her fault, his being this way. Yeah, she’d been the triggering start of his newly hellish life, but had she been the one who killed him? Had she been the one who prompted Dean to sell his soul? No. She’d just been the one who broke his heart and helped him into the downward spiral of too much anger and a nasty vengeance streak.

Her question was a good one. If he didn’t have a target in mind, if a source hadn’t pointed very blatantly to the bustling metropolis, Sam would have happily avoided the Big Apple. He knew she was still in the city, had known the chances of running into her were very slim. But looking at her now, he regretted everything about following this lead. “My job,” he answered simply enough and looked over, took a small sigh when a man exited the.. well, he guessed it was a lounge for the rich. Made his skin crawl. Without excusing himself to his former flame, Sam approached the man and knew he was recognized almost immediately. “Jonas. Can we talk?”

deadsetonsurvival:

The brunette had almost expected him to flinch, glare, maybe glance at her with a blank face and pained eyes. None happened. She could not feel guilty when he appeared to be so… indifferent. The girl attempted to remind herself that this was a result of her former actions, the pushing him away time and time again had led to this. And if she let him go again, he might disappear for good. But he was there, wasn’t he? So how effective had her methods truly been?

A quick exchange of words, a white lie to excuse her absence and she followed the Winchester, almost jogging to keep up with his long strides. “If you don’t slow down, I’ll ruin these and you’re getting me new ones. FYI, Prada never goes for less than 2 grand so you might want to re-think this fleeing the scene thing.” Not her best opening line, but it should have been enough to make him stop, if only to tell her to shove her heels- “Why are you in New York?” It was becoming a repetitive question. “If it were a job, Dean would be here. And I’m sure he wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to hiss a couple of words at me, so you must have asked him not to come. Which rules out the job. He wouldn’t miss out on that either,” she reasoned, crossing her arms defensively. “So why are you still here?” And with some red haired bimbo.

The jacket shrugged into, tab paid, and the night air welcomed. Yeah, it stank of the city, of body odor and sewage, not to mention fumes of vehicles, but it was better than the cold, perfumed air surrounded the rich and his bitterness. His hands flexed and someone walking by made a point to walk around. A big man, looking angry and embittered, just seemed like a good person to avoid overall. Sam either didn’t notice or didn’t care enough to comment.

“I forgot how much you talk,” he muttered and ignored the threat of shelling out two grand for footwear. But he slowed, just enough that she didn’t have to run to keep up and if she fell, it’d be out of her own clumsiness, not because of him. He recalled her being pretty graceful, though, and secretly regretted the bitter thoughts. But he did come to a full stop and faced her. In that instant, in a flash of seconds, it was there. The full force of his anger, even though he didn’t even step closer to her, make any threatening moves. “Dean is dead,” he snapped. “I’m here because he got dragged into hell, I’m trying to bring him back.”

buriedbyfate

✢

deadsetonsurvival:

A silent understanding, but an understanding all the same. That was which they shared, which they seemed to be bound by. And it was enough. For now.

To claim she was unaware of the reasons behind the contact of their skins, would be a straight out lie. Olivia knew, just as she craved to be touched by the hunter, he desired to touch her. Evidence of such was their current position. His grasp, while far from bruising, was certainly not limp; simply gentle. Truthfully, she was foreign to being touched with such delicacy, but it was something she realized she could learn to grow familiar with.

“Mnm.” The hum was quickly converted to a heartfelt moan, her head finally tilting while watching, with heavy lids, the zipper reach the bottom of the jacket. One light shrug of her shoulders - careful as to not push Sam - and his favourite jacket was dropped to the ground. “I’m sure I can be.” Not to the black eyed demons; no, she would slaughter them all before she became a vessel again. But if weakness was whimpering and crying his name… she could be that.

The hand pressed to his was guided south, so much slower than she would have truly desired. “Most people would probably think laying in bed, making myself cum time and time again, moaning someone’s name when I could just be with them to be weak.”

He had to swallow the lump in his throat. Not that it came from nerves but something much more dangerous: desire. The heated, pulsating, recklessly powerful kind. Something he had worked so hard to control.

But he wanted her. Hungrily, if the dark gleam in his eyes said anything. Dangerously, if the heat in his blood gave warning. Completely, as his hold to her wrist wasn’t bruising in the slightest. He wanted to hear that moan she gave when he kissed her lips, when he laid her down and tasted her flesh with his mouth. Ached, in fact, to hear her gasp his name when he found the secrets that brought pure pleasure flooding in.

Sam watched with those dangerous eyes as his hand was guided lower, as he stepped closer to her. “I’m not most people,” he warned gruffly and released her, stopped his guided hand at the band of the borrowed boxers. Closer still, well aware that he was very much clothed and she far from it. Right until he began to lower himself, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t have any intention of laying you down in a bed until you’re not able to stand.” Husky words rasped against her flesh as his lips trailed from her shoulder to the valley between her breasts, going to his knees as the boxers pooled at her ankles and were tossed aside. Lips dallied at her hips, teeth scraping as he looked up at her. “So I suggest you hold on,” he murmured before kissing her intimate center, skilled tongue caressing her folds.

deadsetonsurvival:

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