la la la jared is a giant

[unamaga]

• Truly, I have never before watched a show where all the caps are so compromising. Supernatural is a rare gem, and Jensen's face is just priceless. Caps by 22by7.
  
  
  Ajowajghwaojfjawfj. Also? Jigjwofj. And maybe a gwjioefjwf for good measure.
  
  
  Ahhh, run away, it's Samzilla!! Hahah, oh what a perfect camera angle. Really captures how freaking massive Jared is. And also, he is standing in a really strange (read: gay) way. Like, he has his thighs pressed together and his torso a little bent to the side? I love heem. Seriously, show me some other incredible caps, I know they're out there.



• So this little ficlet is sort of a companion piece to an AU chickypooh and I play around in for fun. Stands completely on its own, so no worries, but I still blame Sofie. Thanks to my lurvely talilov for the speedy, fabulous beta. All things that you think suck? My fault.
  
  

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  Under the Waning Moon [R] ~400 words
  Sam/Dean - "slow, heavy making out in the back seat"
  
  
  The car is dark, the motor off and the keys tossed carelessly into the passenger seat. The only light for the two of them to see by is the occasional flash of moonlight through the branches above them, and Sam can barely make out the outline of his own hand on Dean’s waist. Not that he’s really looking.
  
  “Sam,” Dean whispers, smoky and hot against Sam’s bruised lips.
  
  Sam doesn’t know what Dean wants, and he doesn’t think Dean does either. He feels like they’ve been suspended here, at the edge of a movement, for hours: Dean’s knee pressed between his thighs on the leather seat, Dean’s mouth on his hard enough to split Sam’s lip open, Dean’s hands, Dean’s fingers, Dean, Dean.
  
  His cock is hard in his jeans, harder than he thinks it’s ever been before, but he's detached from the feel of it, like it’s not as important as the slick, slippery drag of Dean’s tongue over his own. Distantly, he wonders if his father is trying to figure out where he’s gone, but then Dean’s suckling on his tongue and he can’t think anything. His mind is cloudy, hazy, like he’s been drugged.
  
  Dean pulls off, and a branch moves in the wind. Sam sees the way Dean’s pupils are swallowing the rest of his eye up, and his mind conjures up an image of a shark.
  
  Dean’s quicksilver smile is just as sharp when he bends over and licks his way from one side of Sam’s neck to the other. Blindly, Sam curls his fingers in the short hairs at the base of Dean’s neck and holds on for all he’s worth.
  
  He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. The air is thick and spicy, like curry powder stuck to the back of Sam’s throat, and he just can’t seem to swallow around the yellow taste of it. Dean’s shark-sharp teeth graze the lobe of his ear, and he moans with the little air he has left.
  
  Dean makes an answering sound deep in his chest, and then, “Sam,” again, just as breathless as Sam feels. He tugs Dean up for another kiss and welcomes the dark taste of his own skin on Dean’s tongue. It tastes – it tastes like sin.

Comments

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

The mouth on that boy, oh my god. He's, like, fifty shades of illegal.