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ohnogemini · 3 months

Text

Are You Sure?

Hello, the name is Gem ✧⭑๋

This is the first fic I have ever written, and I have been sitting on it for a few months entirely too nervous to post it. I know typically fics tend to be short but this one flew out of me and I could not stop. I would love to hear your feedback and thoughts however please be nice to me for I am but a ｡⋆୨soft baby୧⋆｡ I hope you enjoy my story that came to me after watching every video of Lee Minho going camping over and over again ��ᴗᵔ

✶ Word Count: 13k

★ Genre: !afab reader x Lee Minho

✹ Rating: Explicit 18+ Minors Do Not Enter

★ Comments: Tropes used: oops one bed; friends to lovers. Fluff and yearning. Slow to smut but it gets there. Felix and Seungmin make an appearance. M & F receiving oral ; unprotected consensual sex ; light spanking ; some cursing.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪.

You're sitting on your hands, with your feet hanging off the dock looking out onto the clear lake before you. The water is still enough that you can see your reflection when you look over the edge. You pull a hand from under you and absentmindedly put a strand of hair back behind your ear.

The air is warm, but the shade from the tree nearest to you is covering the top half of your body and you silently thank it for shielding your head from the beating sun. You feel the vibrations of movement on the deck before you hear the footsteps and you're immediately reminded of the knot in your stomach, the tension in the air that has been pulling at you for the last 20 hours.

You're aware that you've been sitting here by yourself for a while but cannot place how long that could have possibly been. The footsteps approach and stop next to you; glancing down to your right you see his sandaled feet and slowly trail up to see his half smile, left side of his lip curled and his eyes looking soft and half closed.

He's dressed differently now than when you parted with the guys and came to sit at the dock. Soft black shorts, a black shirt with the sleeves cut off, a baseball hat sits on his head barely revealing fading blond hair around the tips of his ears. He's holding a small wicker basket, though you can't see its contents.

"Hi, Minho" you say softly - as your eyes fall back to your lap, curling your hands around the hem of your shorts. He chuckles a little.

"Would you like one?" You hear him grab something and the sound of a glass clinking together. You look back up and see he's holding out a bottle of soju, your favorite flavor.

You pretend to read a watch on your wrist that you don't have - " I suppose now is as good a time as any. "

You try to shine a sincere smile up at him and hope he doesn't catch that your joke may have a double meaning. You grab the bottle from him; he moves a little bit forward and gracefully but forcefully plops himself down over the edge next to you, quickly realizing he has slips on and pulling them off and setting them down next to him, along with the basket. Minho grabs another bottle and two tiny clear cups and offers you one with a sly grin and kind eyes.

You shake your head, "Thank you, but I don't think I'll need that at the moment". Twisting the cap off your bottle, you hold it out to him for a cheers.

His smile softens a little, air blowing out of his nose like he's trying not to judge you and clinks your glasses together. You turn straight ahead again and pull a long swig from the bottle relishing in the sweet taste of strawberries. He opens his and takes a long swig too, opting to go the same route as you perhaps to ease the tension or maybe he needs it, too.

A silence falls around you and him. It's gentle but the quiet tension is still there from last night and this morning. He's sitting a little closer than you had expected him to. A flash from last night pings through your head and you wince at the thought.

It's been 5 months since you last saw him. Although you text quite often, and he calls you occasionally to check in, just like he always has since you met him 4 years ago- the distance has grown recently and become a little harder for you, even though you'd never admit it. Last time you spoke on the phone he invited you to this vacation.

You were a little nervous at the thought of tagging along with him and a few of his roommates on a camping trip, but you couldn't fight the need to be by his side again, so you accepted.

Every day, thoughts spin in your head about him. Each time the feelings become more vivid, more real, and precise. The corner of his lips when he smirks. How his entire face lights up, head tilts back and eyes crease when he laughs at one of your dumb jokes. No matter how desperately you try, the images and thoughts always fight their way to the surface.

"Neulbo..." His voice is incredibly soft and teasing, trailing the nickname out a little long but it snaps you out of the small trance you were in. You look over to him with a squint of pretend aggravation. He lets out a loud, quick couple of punctuated ‘hahas' and smacks his knee. He knows the nickname annoys you but not in a bad way. It’s true, you are lazy, but only because you like to enjoy the little things in life.

Just like this moment.

"Have you reconsidered my offer to go fishing tomorrow morning? I think you'll be good at it since it doesn't take any skill." He winks. "Plus, it’s a perfect relaxation moment for a little sloth like you. It’s just like what we’re doing right now but - with stinky bait and a pole."

He finishes the last sentence with a cheesy grin, his perfect bunny teeth showing, head tilted a little- like he knows his charms are working on you.

"If it also involves some of this, then I suppose it can't be too bad. But I'm still debating!" You hold up your drink and take another long swig as you look him in the eyes. He doesn't look away as it drops from your lips, and you clasp it in both hands. His face falls to a more serious look and the knot in your stomach swirls.

In your head you're repeating, please don't bring it up, please don't bring it up, please don't bring it up. But he does...

"I'm sorry about last night. Seungmin can be a little instigator and doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. And it certainly doesn't help that Yongbokie can sometimes be clueless. They mean well but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable during our time here. Only I am allowed to make you feel uncomfortable." He quickly reaches out and pinches your thigh and you let out a squeak.

He's always known how to break the tension in most situations- by making a funny face at you, saying something absolutely random that it catches everyone off guard, or simply screeching in the most ungodly way that everyone bursts out in laughter. This moment is no different.

The tension subsides except for the small pull in your stomach- you're not sure that will ever go away. He's not wrong about Felix either. You've been around him enough to know that his sunshine demeanor and kind soul is no facade. He would never intentionally make you feel awkward.

Seungmin on the other hand... He knew what he was doing. It was already determined during the group text when you guys were planning the trip that you and Minho would share one of the glamping tents while Felix and Seungmin shared the other. It made the most sense since you didn't know the others as well as him. What you didn't know, was that Seungmin had purposefully booked one with two small cots and another with one larger cot. That little shit. And since they got there before you and Minho, they had already picked the one with the two small cots.

After dramatically rubbing your thigh and making an exaggerated frown, you look back up at him,

"Felix is lucky he's so adorable. However, Seungmin is on my shit list."

He punches out a laugh with a fake shocked expression on his face. You continue, "I truly don't mind sharing a room with you, we've done it before. But hiding condoms under the pillow and loudly playing "Let's Get it On" from his phone pressed up against the side of our tent was him digging his own grave."

You smile and laugh a little, taking another sip as he falls back against the dock covering his face with his arm, his nose pressed into his elbow. He's really laughing now. It's pure and loud and makes you laugh harder. You turn your body towards him slightly, fold your right leg and put your elbow on your knee to look at him writhing in laughter.

It truly was funny what Seungmin did, but it did make you extremely aware that you would be sleeping very close to Minho all weekend. You continue to trail your eyes over him as he laughs. First to his perfectly toned arm laying over his face, down his chest that's bouncing softly with each laugh, falling to the slit that his shirt is making right over the top of his shorts giving you the tiniest, thrilling view of his tight stomach muscles, finally to his thighs... strong, thick muscles... perfect to sit on, or even bite...

The silence rings in your ear a moment and you are acutely aware that he has stopped laughing. Your eyes dart back to his face to see that he’s dropped his arm and was watching while you were very much staring down at his legs.

You see the smallest hint of a smirk across his lips - but you don't linger - and quickly bring your bottle up to slam the rest of your drink. He sighs softly and leans back up to a sitting position. With the way you turned to see him laughing, when he comes all the way upright, the closeness between you two is aggressively narrower than before.

Since this proximity is not new to either of you, you try not to move away so as not to seem startled by the sudden closeness, but your heart is beating rapidly; you hope he can't hear it or sense the tingles that run down your spine when his knee brushes yours. You remind yourself again that this is not abnormal, you've even rested your head on his shoulder a few times while watching a movie on the couch. But something in the air has felt different this weekend. Palpable.

"I suppose the guys will be back in the next half hour or so." He takes another sip of his drink and looks straight out across the lake.

You follow his eyes and take in the sight with him. The sun is just barely starting to fall slowly behind the mountains. This spot truly is serene. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his profile. Sharp but delicate. You turn ever so slightly to pretend you're looking at the oncoming sunset. His skin has become more honey-like since summer has started, and you hadn't noticed before, but he turned his hat backwards. Annoyingly attractive.

Although the lake sits still in front of you there is a faint sound of the river that flows behind the campsite and connects to the lake up above. You feel the heat rise slowly in your stomach but stop yourself. This is Lee Minho, your friend...

You shake out of your thoughts, smile and say, "I bet you 15,000 won Felix tripped and fell at some point."

He turns to you with a mischievous look "I bet you 15,000 more that Min tripped him"- Your hand raises to your lips with big eyes, and you can't help but giggle. His had bolts up and grabs the yours that was covering your mouth, "Let's go hide some of Min’s stuff!" He stands and pulls you up with him.

"I would love nothing more!" you say as you squeeze his hand.

You both remain for a second longer then would be normal with your hands lightly clasped, feeling an approaching heat flush up on your cheekbones, you pull your hand away to secure a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Also, you brought ALL of the soju for us?? Did you expect us to drink all of that just sitting out here?!" you look over his shoulder at the basket he brought. Sure enough, it had a bag at the bottom with ice and 6 bottles of soju sitting in it.

He turns around and points down at the basket "Firstly, that's not ALL the soju we have. But also, I wasn't quite sure how you were feeling. You opted out of the hike and then told us you'd wait by the lake. I figured maybe... if you didn't want to come back, we could sit here and drink heavily until we'd have to crawl to camp later for bed." He looks up with another sneaky half smile and a chuckle in the back of his throat.

His words were playful, but you can't help but notice that lying within those words was concern for you. Was it only concern? Or maybe he wanted to spend some alone time with you? You blink away the thoughts quickly.

"However fun that really does sound, I really want to mess with Minnie, and I am getting pretty hungry." You reach down to grab the basket, but he swats your hand away and wags his finger at you.

" Nuh uhh, my clumsy Neulbo."

You pull the towel tightly around your chest and tuck the top part in between your cleavage. The showers at the campsite are bleak but it got the job done. During your shower your mind continued to betray you. Your thoughts couldn't help wandering towards the way Minho's thighs looked flat against the dock, shivering at the thought of tracing your fingers over the defined muscles...

However, the cold water helped free your mind from the slight fog of the bottle of soju you inhaled while sitting with him at the dock, and your stomach was screaming at this point.

During the group text, Felix had brought up hot dogs for dinner and you were excited at the idea of having an American styled camping dinner. You missed your home but being in Korea for the past 5 years has been the kind of adventure and change your soul really needed. Besides, after meeting Minho a year into your time here everything really fell into place. It was an immediate connection. Both of you being on the more reserved side but still craving adventure, music and food. And damn did Minho know his food.

That's how you know that dinner isn't going to just be hot dogs. If anything, Minho has made at least 10 other side dishes, and you're not mad about that.

You quickly towel dry your hair and slip into your outfit. It’s still decently hot so you picked an oversized graphic tee with the collar and sleeves cut off, so it falls down one shoulder, your bandeau bra shows slightly on the sides, and jean shorts that are a little shorter than you remembered.

"Oh, wow Noona, you're absolutely glowing!" Felix says with a bright smile and a cute wave as you walk back into the opening of your campsite. You stick your tongue out to the side and wink as you pass him by to place your things inside your tent.

Minho had made the bed and even picked your jacket and purse off the ground and put them onto a hook at the back of the tent. You chuckle to yourself and throw your dirty clothes on top of your luggage in the corner, knowing he'll pester you later about your laziness. Right now, you're too hungry and ready for another drink to care.

"That's absolutely not how it works, and you have lost, just accept it." Seungmin is sitting back in a camping chair speaking to Felix who is dramatically waving his hands in the air.

"You can't only suggest word games with me and expect me to ever win a single round. If it was in English, I could win!" Felix stomps over to a large brown bag that they filled with games for the trip and pulls out Jenga. "We're switching to physical games, I'm too soft and tired for your mind games Min".

Pulling a bottle of soju out of the cooler you glance over to Minho who is working studiously over an open fire cooking. He's carefully turning over huge sausages on the grill and using a white towel here and there to wipe beads of sweat from his forehead.

You notice that the table next to him is just as you expect it to be, filled with small plates of Korean meats and side dishes. The man can never go without being extra when it comes to food. You bend back down to pick up another bottle of soju and a water bottle and mosey over to him.

"This looks like thirsty work." You outstretch your left hand that holds both a bottle of soju and water to him.

You can really see the sweat on his face and neck now. A single drip comes down from the corner of his forehead, slowly falling down his cheek to the swoop of his neck; he catches it with the towel pressing it down around his neck and onto the bit of chest that's showing from the top of his shirt.

His eyes blink at the drinks several times in serious thought and grabs both.

"At least someone appreciates my hard work out here." He gives you a small toothy smile and sets the soju down, twisting the water bottle cap off and chugging most of it in one go.

"I haven't seen that shirt in a while. I like what you've done with it." He points the water bottle at your shirt and goes back to drinking it.

You truly didn't think he'd remember giving you this shirt years ago. It was within the first year you guys became close. Being the clumsy person you are, when you were at his apartment you had spilled an entire glass of red wine on your new blouse; he demanded you take it off immediately so he could wash it in cold water and gave you one of his old t-shirts to wear. It was comfy and you liked the design. But you liked it especially because it was his.

"Oh," you chuckle nervously- "I hope you don't mind. You said I could keep it and it felt like the perfect shirt to make into a summer fit." You glance down at the cartoon cats high fiving on the front of the shirt and pull at the bottom hem a little.

"No, no. I don't mind. You somehow turned my old dusty shirt into a thing of fashion. Let's try not to ruin this one too, huh? I couldn't bear the thought of the kitties being thrown into the trash tonight. There is only so much heartache one can go through in life." His playful smirk is back on his lips again as he turns back to the fire to pull the food off the grill and place it on the table.

"Alright you animals, come eat before it gets cold and Lino gets angry!" He clanks the tongs together a few times towards Felix and Seungmin and they are up out of their seats headed to the table before he even finishes the sentence.

The food is outrageous. You can't help but wonder if it's because you're so hungry or purely because Minho can make anything delicious no matter where he is or what supplies he has. The sun had fully set, and you and Felix clicked on all the lamps during dinner. Conversation was fun and easy like it usually is between all of you. You, Felix and Seungmin played rock, paper, scissors to decide who had to take all the trash to the animal safe bins and by no surprise Felix lost.

The drinks flowed swiftly now. The remaining soju was finished, and everyone ripped into the case of beer Seungmin had brought. There was whining and groaning about fishing in the morning, but Minho held firm that everyone had to participate. As the night dwindled, the games became too much of a hassle and eyes grew sleepy, Felix and Seungmin waved half-hearted goodnights as they dragged their feet to their tent.

You were slightly bent over towards a small faucet coming from the ground, rinsing your hands free of some soap and the remnants of dinner and a Jello candy you had for dessert when you're caught off guard by a voice right behind you -

"Are you going to use all the water from the well?" Minho says just above a whisper- your heart jumps and you stumble forward catching the faucet on your hip falling a swift path to landing on your face.

As your stomach flips at the plummet, you feel yourself stop midair. His hand is holding tight to the top of the back of your shorts while the other quickly finds its way right below your belly button to stop your fall. The fear you had a moment ago all at once turns to relief as you dissolve into laughter.

"What the hell Lino, you scared me! How are you so quiet with all these damn twigs everywhere!" You're still giggling quite loudly as you try to straighten yourself up.

The hand holding your shorts lets go warily, but the one on your stomach holds firm helping you get your balance pulling you back up and closer to him. You did not realize you were still a little tipsy, but it is apparent now as you teeter backwards flat against his chest. Both your hands come up to meet his over your belly as it softens from the adrenaline-fueled laughter.

"Someone still seems a little affected by the drinks tonight." His laugh is low, but you can tell by the way it sounds that he has that mischievous smile on his lips again.

He still hasn't made an effort to let go of you and you're unsure if that's because he's nervous to let you go if you might fall or if he's happy to have the sensation of your body pressed up against his and your hands laid gently over his.

"Let's say we take a night stroll by the river. I promise I'll try my best not to push you in no matter how strong the urge is." He squeezes you a little tighter now before grabbing one of your wrists to turn you around and starts to lead the way, not looking back to witness the flush on your cheeks.

The walk to the river’s edge isn’t far. You stopped at the camp to grab another bottle of water before continuing. The short walk was quiet which was not uncommon with you and Minho. Silence never really bothered either of you when you were together. Usually filled with giggles at whatever anime or new movies you happily dived into. Or silent looks and gestures at food or scenery you enjoyed.

But tonight, you wanted him to talk. Even though he spoke plenty with you and the guys at dinner, it was different when it was just the two of you. His voice had this special edge, and his tone would lilt upwards unlike his more serious voice when around others.

"Thanks for making us hot dogs Lino. Even though they were most certainly sausages and not Ball Park Franks like I'd usually have at home." You skipped up next to him with your hands behind your back pushing playfully into his shoulder.

"I've never heard of them, but they sound unhealthy." He looks over at you one eyebrow raised blinking a few times, "I'm confident these were better." He chuckles softly and pushes back into your shoulder.

The sun had set hours ago but there was a clear view of the moon on the other side of the river giving you the perfect amount of light to see his feline eyes patrolling the ground for large rocks and pointing them out or guiding the both of you around them.

You scoff and turn your head up a little at his diss of your favorite guilty pleasure food, that is admittedly not that healthy.

"Not every meal has to be a perfect balance of nutrition you know. People are allowed to enjoy a little junk food once in a while!" You both laugh again, smiling at each other very well knowing you've made midnight runs to the corner store for ice cream plenty of times together.

"Thanks for bringing me on this trip too. I definitely was not expecting the invite." You say this part a little quieter than the last.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" His response is quick, his tone is matter of fact.

"I guess I just didn't anticipate it at all." You're looking down at your feet now. He looks over at you, but you don't look up.

"Well now you're sounding ridiculous." He says this one through a huff that could have been a laugh. But for some reason you can’t match it. You're not sure why, but you suspect it has something to do with the knot that's still in your stomach, keeping you tethered to some sort of unspeakable tension.

"Either way, I was surprised. I sort of started feeling like you'd forgotten about me." As soon as you said it you felt foolish. He stops dead in his tracks.

"What made you think that?" His voice sounds more serious now than when he was retorting your statements earlier, with a tone of concern as if he thinks he's done something wrong.

You stop too and turn towards him as your hands come up waving in front of your face with your head shaking back and forth. The bottle in your hand has a tiny bit of water left in it and is making a small sloshing sound as your vigorously waving. He reaches up and grabs it, sliding it into his back pocket; the action is done before you can realize it’s happening.

"I just meant that..." you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you calculate the right words to say how you've been feeling but not too acute that you sound crazy. He's looking at you more intently now as he watches you think. Patiently waiting for your response.

You meet his eyes- "Ever since the last time we hung out, when we went to that cafe, you've been sort of more reserved? I'm not sure if that's the right word or if I'm just imagining things."

Your face is flushed now but you're hoping the cover of night is making it hard to see. He squints his eyes slightly and now you can see the gears in his head turning.

His arms come forward and he crosses them in front of him for a moment; then they fall quickly to his sides, and he puts his hands into the front pockets of his sweats. It’s almost as if he found something particular he wanted to say but decided against it.

"If I'm being honest, I didn't realize I had been acting differently." He picks up his hat off his head, combs his hand through his hair, sets it back down on his head and sticks his hands back in his pockets.

You can see clearly now his brows are furrowed. You reach up and cover your eyes with one hand and rub them with your thumb and middle finger realizing now just how stupid it was for you to bring this up,

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to make you feel weird." Your hand drops down to see he has a grin back on his face. It's slight and his shoulders are pushed back into a more relaxed position now.

"Nonsense. I'm always weird." His grin widens, curled at the corners more with a small number of teeth showing. It softens when he continues. "But I'm glad you did bring it up because I suppose when I think of it, I have been a little distant and I'm happy to be more aware of it now."

You're not exactly sure what that means but you're too nervous to be direct and ask outright. Is he happy to be aware that he's been distant so he can try to not be? This is the first time in a while you've spoken about something so serious with him so you're unsure how to continue it.

You realize you've been silent for a little longer than anticipated as questions roll around in your head.

Instead of acknowledging his statement out loud you turn and point down the path. "There is a bench up ahead and it’s calling my name."

As you start moving ahead, you hear him chuckle and follow behind you. The air is slightly brisk now. But the heat over your body from the embarrassment of bringing that up makes you wish for a large cool breeze to wash over you.

You reach the bench quickly. It’s made from a log of wood, carved out with an L shape so you can sit and lean back against it. It’s quite small too. Just enough for two people to sit comfortably.

You sit on the farther end pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs as he tosses the water bottle into the trash and sits next to you, legs stretched out in front of him leaning back with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Ahhhhh" he sighs loudly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath inwards from his nose, his head tilted up at the sky. He looks stunning in this light. His sharp features are softer, more rounded in the low light of the moon. It’s almost as if you're in a black and white film. His eyes stay closed for a moment longer before they open to look at you, looking at him. Your lips press together, turning into a thin line of a barely visible smile.

He quirks one side of his lips up and pulls his hands out of his pockets to clasp them together and place them on his lap.

"So then, what made you decide to come? And don't tell me it was your excitement for fishing because I know that will be a lie," he says with a faux serious look on his face.

A loud laugh bursts from you "You're going to be so mad when I catch the biggest fish out of all of you tomorrow. I know I'm clumsy, but my luck is insurmountable."

You can tell he doesn't deny it by the shake of his head as he returns your laughter. But he doesn't respond, clearly waiting for your real answer. You drop your hands down to your sides and shuffle a bit in your position pulling your legs a little tighter inward towards your body. Thinking back to that initial invitation and the excitement he had when you accepted it, you realize that maybe it's not too serious of a thing to admit that you missed him...

"To be honest, it’s been a while since I had a really good laugh. If feels better when I get to laugh with you instead of at my phone." It's not the whole truth, but it's what you're willing to say at the moment.

"I'm glad I can bring you some relief." He raises his left arm and leans it back on the bench turning his body slightly towards yours. He gives you much more than just relief, but you're not sure how to tell him.

"Well, what made you want to invite me on this trip?" It's time for you to ask the questions.

You look over at him now, keeping your eyes as soft and clear as you can manage despite the craving in your chest to hear certain words come from him, trying desperately not to expect anything. He looks out across the river with a shy smile on his lips and then turns to look you right in the eyes and speaks softly -

"I missed you."

He said it. The thing you were too scared to say. Plain and simple. Your heart stutters a bit as you try not to make a face. Against your wishes your lips part as you take your next breath and then it turns into a smile. He can definitely see the red in your cheeks now because he stares more keenly.

A surge in your stomach flows through you at that moment. Something just clicked and became clear to you that you hadn't noticed before or even thought twice about. How come Seungmin did those things last night?

As far as you can remember, he has never done anything like that before when you we're over at their apartment. Even the times you drifted off to sleep on the couch after staying up too late watching something or talking with Minho. What was different this time?

His last words seem to embolden you for a moment as the next question slips past your lips quicker than you can vet them in your mind. "Did Seungmin do those things last night for a reason?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest now. You really didn't think you'd have the courage to ask that. You went from semi-innocent questions to one with a significant undertone. However he looks a little more nervous than you for a moment.

He chuckles anxiously but you're unsure if it’s at the awkwardness of your question, or at the surprise of what he wants to answer. His pause is drawn out a little longer -

"I told him not to do anything stupid, but you know how he is. When he gets an idea to mess with someone he rarely can be stopped. A while back, he may have figured out something even I wasn't fully conscious of yet."

The implications of his statement are not lost on you. While he's not outright saying what you believe he's thinking, you're quite used to the way he speaks. His eyes search yours; they are a bit darker now, piercing, and you fight desperately not to look away. The tension that has been here all weekend was not in your head.

He tilts his head to the side, still gazing at you like he knows you're lost for words. You've never been good with saying what you mean out loud and he knows this, but he's being patient with you.

"I...." You pause for a moment as you draw in a shaky breath. "Are you saying something has changed?".

Your hand comes up to your mouth as you fiddle with your bottom lip, a nervous habit of yours he knows well. He reaches up and grabs your hand to pull it away from your mouth and down between the two of you. He rubs a small circle over the top of your thumb as he's looking down at them gently clasped together -

"It doesn't have to if you don't want it to," he says in a low voice.

It feels as if your head is spinning. This must be why he was so distant lately. Fighting with his own thoughts on how to speak to you with this new knowledge in his head. You think back to December, when you realized he had started acting a little strange.

"Why did you wait so long to say anything to me?!" It comes as a surprise to you too as the words come out.

His head falls back as he laughs, eyes creasing in the way that reminds you just of how much you adore him. His hand releases yours and moves to grab your ankle pulling your right leg out and across his lap. He trails a hand up your shin and grabs your calf as his head falls back down to look at you.

"I may be incredibly smart and handsome, but I can be an idiot sometimes too." His smile is sly and mischievous again. His words are silly, but you're suddenly snapped back into reality at the feeling of his hand on your skin. A current runs up your leg and straight into the center of your stomach.

Before you let yourself chicken out, you move your other leg out and across his lap turning to face him completely, immediately craving more touch. His arm moves to let you, and finds its way around both your legs, resting his arm across and his hand placed delicately on your knee.

Your hands come down in your lap as you look down at them, twisting a ring around on your finger. Your legs feel heavy like they want to press completely against his strong thighs. Having the courage to move closer still didn't change your nervousness to look into his eyes. Hoping silently that perhaps your body language is answering better than your words can. You’ve thought about this moment a lot. You've danced the words around in your head while speaking with him face to face. But saying them, that was different.

After a long moment, you speak up quietly -

"I would like that."

You hope he knows you are answering his question earlier about things changing between you two. You peek your eyes up at him, slowly raising your head. "For things to change," you say, just in case to clarify.

His eyes are softer now but he's biting his lower lip. Then the corner of his lips sweeps up again,

"Are you sure?" He asks after a beat, like he's letting your words sink around him.

You can feel the tension snap inside of you, and the only way you know how to make him feel what your body has been screaming for, is by showing him.

Your hands come up to his cheeks as you close your eyes and press a soft kiss to his lips, holding there for a moment. His lips are so soft, and you've wanted to kiss them for years. You feel his right hand slide up from your knee to the side of your thigh and squeeze lightly as his other comes up and lands on the back of your neck.

The nerves in your body light on fire. His hand on your neck guides your head to tilt a little and deepen the kiss. Pressing together a few more times, still gently. It feels surreal. You can smell his skin better now; a deep woodsy smell mixed with salt and some of his shampoo from his shower earlier. It's intoxicating and you want to inhale him completely. The mix of his hands on you and the closeness of your bodies kicks off a need in you.

He pulls away and you make a sharp inhale. Your eyes open to see his trained on yours. They are dark and lustful, ones you have never seen before. The look in his eyes feels almost as if he had to pull away and look at you like he needed to check and make sure you were real.

The next kiss is hungrier than the last. He shifts his body over on the bench to get closer to yours, his firm legs now pressing up against the bottom of your thighs closing the gap as far as he can.

He lets out a low "mmmm" at the back of his throat as your lips start moving faster, parting just enough to pull his lip into your mouth and suck softly. Dragging your teeth against his skin, drawing another noise from him.

The sound jolts your body and sends a spark straight down, deep in your center where everything is swirling, moving too fast for your mind to focus on. Your hands release from his face and slide down to his shoulders, running over his defined muscles, stopping to feel them, then wrapping around his neck and locking him in.

You can feel the vulnerable apprehension of your kisses as the speed continues to pick up. You want to taste him more. It feels like you should have been doing this forever. His hands let go of your face and neck, then are instantly at your hips. Clutching tightly. You shiver and your lips disconnect again.

"Come here." He says through a soft grin as he pulls you up and over him easily. Your legs spread over him until your knees are on either side and your ass is resting perfectly on his lap. It's very apparent now that he's starting to harden in his sweats. You press down against him, rolling your hips cautiously so you can feel him more, straddling his perfect frame.

His hands find your hips again as he grabs you, holding you down against him as his head falls back and lets out an excited sigh. You can't help but smile and delight in the way he looks crazed already.

"Why did it take so long for me to tell you?" He laughs as he leans back in to kiss you. This time, he dips his tongue out of his mouth and into yours. You moan as he swirls the muscle around in your mouth and you reciprocate. Languidly, taking your time to taste him.

You pull away after a minute, breathless and filled with desire- "I'm not sure, but I don't want to wait anymore."

He looks up at you and presses a hand to your cheek as he watches your eyes, hazy, filled with lust and staring at his lips. His thumb rubs back and forth on your cheek, "Should we go back to the tent?" He looks carefully at you waiting until your eyes meet his.

"Please." And you nod a few times. It's all the confirmation he needs before he stands up, holding you, wrapping your legs around him and starting to walk back the way you came.

His steps back start very fast. His hands grabbing your thighs tightly as they're wrapped around his waist. Your kisses had only just begun, and you don’t want to stop now. Your arms locked around his neck, pressing your lips to his over and over trying your best to line them up despite the awkward angle.

His right arm wraps itself around your back as his left holds you up by your ass. His steps slow as he pulls his head back and chuckles, "Despite not wanting to let go of you, If I don't put you down, I will likely trip and we will both go into the water."

He stops completely, attempting to let you down. Your legs tighten around him as you tilt his head back for another kiss; you finally have the right angle, passionate, pushing your tongue past his lips to taste him again.

Your tongues dance around each other, testing movements and finding a perfect rhythm. He moans as you pull on his bottom lip again, giving you confirmation that he likes it as much as you like doing it; there’s a small popping noise as you pull away.

"That's fair. Only because I know I'd have to rescue you, and I'm not sure I am strong enough." You giggle as you release your legs and connect your lips to his again. Not letting go from the kiss even as your feet are planted on the ground.

You step back and sigh, a little breathless from how hungry you were feeling in the moment. Everything is moving so fast your mind hasn't really taken a second to think about anything other than him. It all felt so natural, like it was meant to happen. Alone in nature, with your favorite person, mixing both your needs and wants together in a swirl of excitement.

He turns you around and gently but firmly slaps your ass to get you moving.

"I've spent years staring at your perfect ass. I need to see it without clothes on soon or I might die". He walks up next to you and puts his arm around your waist fiddling with the hem of your shirt, sending small shivers up your spine, guiding you quicker towards the camp.

Years?

"How long have you known?" You ask as you glance over at him.

"It's always been there." He's looking forward in contemplation.

"Well you said something changed. I guess... what was it?"

He takes a deep breath as he arranges his thoughts. His hand moving around your lower back in small circles as if he's grounding himself to you.

"I'm not sure anything changed really. I think it just became clearer." His hand moves again and closes around the base of your neck, possessively. You shudder a bit at how soft but strong his hands are, trying not to show how much that simple act turned you on.

"I started realizing things like how your voice made me feel. Like how it calms me when I'm feeling stressed- or how you match my energy when I'm excited about something. My thoughts became deeper, and it just clicked. I was nervous for a while, to mess things up between us, but I knew I didn't want you as 'just a friend' anymore."

Your belly whirls in warmth as you hear the words. You pull them apart in your mind. Embedding them into your memory. Then, your feelings quickly build in a vortex of restlessness seeing the path open to your campsite. You've had enough talking and you need him. Now.

He lowers his arm and strides in front of you a little bit to get to the tent, pulling the Velcro apart slowly, trying not to be too loud. You register quite quickly that his roommate’s tent isn't exactly next to yours, but still close enough that they could potentially hear you. You make a mental note of that as he holds a side open for you to step into your tent.

Hear you? Oh god, is this really happening?

His smile is playful, and his eyes are following you as you kick your sandals off and move past him through the opening.

The second you make it to the middle of the tent it becomes all too real what's about to happen. What you desperately want to happen. Your stomach tightens and your breath quickens as a panic fills your body mixed with anticipation.

But before the feeling takes over, you feel him pressed up behind you again, one hand is on your stomach and the other runs from one side of your collarbones to the other, then slowly up your neck, to your chin, guiding your head to the side to kiss him over your shoulder.

Your breath trembles but your body relaxes against his, immediately settling into his touch- bringing all those feelings down your body, tingling in your fingertips and building in your core. He held you like this earlier, but this time it was different.

Your lips move together as his hand leaves your chin, back down your neck to your chest where it slips beneath the top of your shirt and over your shoulder, the inner corner of his elbow around your neck.

You instinctively reach up to grab his arm feeling completely encompassed by him, running your fingers over his toned muscles. A short high-pitched whine escapes your mouth as his other hand slips under the bottom of your shirt placing his firm hand on your bare stomach.

"Your skin is so soft... I want to taste every inch of it..." He breathes out between you.

A chill runs down your spine at his low voice- as his lips come away from yours and smooth against your neck. Your head falls back onto his shoulder giving him better access as you moan quietly from the sensation.

Your back arches and your ass grinds back into his cock where you can feel it straining against his sweats. He moves his lips back and forth, teasing the skin, giving you goosebumps, then starts taking small bites and placing kisses anywhere his mouth can reach.

He leads the two of you forward, lips not leaving your neck, taking small steps towards the bottom end of the bed. As you reach it, his hands come back down to your waist and slowly turns you around.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you're face to face with him, his eyes are filled with desire, almost closed, with his mouth open slightly breathing deeply.

"You can," you reach out and put your hands on his chest, kissing him again. " You can taste it... you can have all of it..." Your words are whispers as you kiss him deeply. Making sure he feels your words, tastes the ache your body has for him.

You assume he receives it because his hands are pulling at your shirt now, asking to lift it up over your arms. You stick them up as you let him pull his old t-shirt up and over your head and onto a pillow on the bed. Your bra is still there, hiding what you know he wants to see. You feel a little shy for a moment, then pull it up and off, revealing your round full breasts for him.

"Fuck..." he says under his breath; then almost as if he senses your shyness at being topless in front of him, he yanks his shirt off over his head and presses your bodies together wrapping one arm around your back, leaning forward, pushing you slowly back onto the bed to lay on top of you.

He kisses you delicately now, like he's savoring the moment, lips coming together for soft pecks. Then moves to your cheek, down your neck, stopping first at the soft spot just below your jaw, shifting his body to start going lower. The way he's laying on you, fitting between your open legs so perfectly, you can't help but wrap them around him. You know he can feel the heat coming from your lower half.

He continues down your chest, kissing softly and tracing his hands down your sides. He takes his time with his mouth on each breast, starting on one, kissing the peak of your now very hard nipples, then swirling his tongue around and finally pulling them into his mouth- eyes closed, like he's truly relishing the taste of your skin. Your mouth parts and faint moans fall from you- shuddering every time he gently bites your nipples.

You've never felt your heartbeat so fast before, feeling like you may not even make it out of this alive at the rate your body reacts to his every touch. His hands come up and graze over your arms that lie flat against the bed as he continues his path of kisses down onto your stomach. Then they’re quickly at your waist pulling your body down, positioning your ass is at the edge of the bed. You gasp at the sudden movement, realizing what he wants to do.

"Lino..." your voice comes out in a whine as your eyes pinch shut for a second, body racing at just the thought of him between your legs.

"Hrmmm?" he hums out, his eyes not leaving your frame, hands tracing over every part of open skin he can come in contact with. You can’t form words to answer back, instead just squirming under his touch.

"May I take these off?" His hands cusp around the top of your jean shorts, one of his thumbs playing with the button as he looks up at you for confirmation. You lock eyes for the first time in a few minutes; he looks crazed but calm. You nod your head and lift from the bed slightly so he can unbutton and pull them off easier, down your legs and he tosses them towards your luggage.

You giggle a little as your shorts hit the pile - "So you can do that, but I can't?" Your voice is teasing but low.

He huffs and waves a hand "We'll talk about that later, right now I need you to do something for me."

You sit up on your elbows looking at him confused, his brows are bunched up and he licks his lips -

"I really need you to turn over so I can see your ass in these lace panties before I rip them off."

Your head tilts back as you laugh at how incredibly serious his face is with that statement, but quickly comply and roll over onto your stomach so he can get a clear view. You've always been proud of the shape and size of your ass. Never skipping squats when working out but never going too far so it stays soft and plump.

You hear him suck in a breath, hissing between his teeth as his hands come down to caress your cheeks. His thumbs go under the creases as he kneads into your soft skin getting as much of a handful his hands can allow. He pushes up with his palms and spreads your cheeks getting a clear view of how much you've soaked through your panties. Another sound escapes him, like he was holding his breath and blows the air out slowly.

You smirk at his intensity and wiggle your ass back and forth a little. A quick smack comes down on your right cheek that punches out a breath from you.

"mmmm...ohmygod" you purr out.

His hand quickly soothes over where he made the connection. "I had a feeling you'd like that." You can tell in his voice he's saying this through a smile.

Both of his hands slide up your back, then down to your ass, sliding flat up under your panties pulling them tight against your pussy, grabbing firmly now on your soft flesh. You're surprised by the cool, yet warm sensation of his lips followed immediately by a bite. You yelp quietly but intuitively push yourself into him more. He continues licking and biting each cheek, letting out soft grunting noises like he's a man starved who hasn't eaten in weeks.

His movements slow, lips trail down to where your panties are pulled tight against you, stopping right as he gets to the center. His hands push your legs apart slightly and lets out a breath, so warm against your aching skin. Your brain short circuits when you feel the first contact of his lips pressing a soft unrushed kiss on the fabric right over your clit leaving himself there for a moment. He pulls away and kisses again, with more pressure.

"Lino, please," you whine, your voice cracking a little.

*smack*

Another swift slap comes down, this time on your other cheek. Leaving no time for you to react he's yanking your panties down your legs and off you, before effortlessly turning you over. You're laying breathless for a moment, gathering yourself.

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to do this," his lips meet your right thigh, trailing kisses up towards your center and propping your leg over his shoulder. "There will be no rushing through this."

He pushes your left leg out, opening you further for him and you're instantly aware that you are lying completely naked, spread out, in front of the man you've longed for all these years.

He takes his time tracing lines on your left thigh with his fingers while kissing your right until he's planting them right around exactly where you need him to be. You can hear his breath deepen for a moment, then licks a stripe from the bottom of your pussy up to the top and pulls your clit between his plush lips and sucks.

The moan that escapes you is loud. Your hands grip the blanket as your body is already crumbling from his mouth. His tongue drags along you again dipping into your center to taste all the wetness he's created from this antagonizing slow pace he's controlling. He hums in appreciation and starts to circle around your clit with his tongue with the most perfect amount of pressure.

He's always been pretty in tune with you from the get-go. But the way he seems to know what to do, what your body wants, is thrilling to you. You squirm and push against him, vying for some sort of control as you feel yourself getting hazy.

He carries on his work, expertly lapping at you and pulling you into his mouth to suck and swirl his tongue around. You prop yourself up on your elbows not wanting to miss the sight of him between your legs. His eyes are closed, seemingly peaceful, despite the ravening way his mouth and head are moving to do exactly what he said he wanted and taste all of you.

Your eyes flutter as a familiar sensation builds up in your body, but you force them to stay open looking down at the insane sight of the most beautiful man enjoying you. His eyes open as he hears your breath quicken. You lock eyes with his and your head spins, the muscles in your legs tightening. His eyes crease as he steadies to slowly trail his tongue up and down you again.

For a moment you're confused, your brows furrow and a whine escapes you. He giggles, then moves his right hand up to your face, bringing his middle and pointer finger together, touching your lips softly, staring intently at them. His tongue doesn't stop moving as he pushes his fingers past your lips, and you dutifully take them in your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around.

"Mmmm," you hum around his fingers, aware that you've been receiving so much pleasure from him and haven't even started giving him any.

He pulls his head up a little farther to better see your mouth around his fingers. His lips part slowly as he watches you - eyes closed giving his fingers all you can to show him how ready you are for your turn.

His mouth connects to your clit again with more fervor as he brings his now slick fingers down to your entrance. His eyes trained on you, he slowly teases you with the tips of his fingers watching your body and your face as you writhe on the bed. Then before you can get used to the idea of his fingers being down there, he slides them in.

Your head rolls back, and a long breathy moan leaves you followed by a quick breath in. If you were close earlier, you’re quite literally on the edge now.

He feels you clenching around him, your body reacting strongly to every one of his licks, sucks, the curls of his fingers and touches of his other hand on your body, gripping the flesh on your thigh.

"God, you look so beautiful," he says breathy while continuing his work.

Your moans are louder now and for a moment, with his words in your ears, you don't care. But as he continues to put more pressure on a particular spot within you, your whine almost becomes a yell, you quickly bring your hand up to cover your mouth as your start to fall from the edge. He's still staring at you but with soft eyes now, like he really means what he said.

The feeling crashes over you, rippling through your body fast as his fingers and mouth keep pace to help you through it, lips not leaving you once. It undulates through you, taking all the burning from your shoulders, down through your spine, exploding down your center all the way to the tip of your toes leaving a trail, hot in its place. Your arms give out and you fall back on the bed. He slows his movements, letting you ride it out, then sensing your sensitivity, presses slow soft kisses around and on your center removing his fingers.

"Fuck..." you say under your breath as your try to regulate the speed of your heaving chest, ripples still making their way through your body. Legs twitching as he soothes circles on your thighs.

He chuckles and stands up over you between your still open legs, leaning down on his hands to watch you gasp for air. His eyes are squinted, and his lips are curled up into a satisfied grin watching you with what looks like amusement on his face.

He leans in and whispers in your ear, "I'd gladly do that every day if you'd let me."

Your eyes finally fix on his and you can't help but giggle a bit at your euphoric feeling. His legs start to move forward, pressing into your thighs, pushing your legs and body up farther on the bed. Before he settles down on his knees reaching down for a kiss, you put your hands up to his chest stopping him.

He tilts his head inquisitively and it’s your turn to smirk. You lift yourself up on the bed to sit upright, legs still spread around him, pushing him down on his heels between you and taking his mouth in another heated kiss.

His lips are soft and slick and feel puffy from all his hard work. You kiss them gently as your hands trail down his chest to his stomach right to the hem of his grey sweats.

His hands come up to trace your sides and then find their place on the side of your breasts thumbing your nipples softly and palming at the smooth skin. A moan hits the back of your throat between your kisses, and you pull back to look up at him, tugging on his sweats for permission to pull them down.

You've spent a lot of time looking at Minho since you've known him. You've seen him without a shirt on before once or twice, albeit briefly. But never in this context - and the way he looks now, in the low lamp light from the corner of the room, looking down at you with a blaze in his eyes and his chest rising and falling in anticipation. You're certain he is the most stunning creature to walk this planet.

He must have seen the reverence in your eyes because he reaches out to push a piece of hair behind your ear and smiles sweetly at you. You have to remind yourself of the task at hand before you get lost appreciating him. You trail your eyes back down to the now extremely noticeable bulge in his pants.

You lick your lips, "May I?" As you go back to tugging on his sweats, mimicking what he asked you earlier.

He laughs, "You may."

You pull them down along with his boxers, freeing his cock from its strain. It bounces heavily right in front of your face, and you swallow eagerly. It shouldn't be a shock to you how pretty it is. The skin looks like velvet, soft pink and perfectly adorned with a few veins tracing the sides creating perfect patterns for you to touch. His length perfect, his thickness mirroring his thighs. You wrap your hand around the base and squeeze.

His body tenses and he sucks in a hiss as you lick his tip, savoring his flavor with your eyes closed, rolling your tongue around in your mouth. You look up at him with big eyes as you wrap your lips around him embracing his warmth on your tongue.

You start slow just as he did with you. Bobbing your head on his tip, whirling your tongue around - appreciating the feeling of his now fully hard cock in your hand. His head falls back for a moment when you take him further then quickly snaps back to watch you. Your eyes crease as you see the haze in his eyes as his hand comes forward to find its rightful place at the back of your neck.

Your stomach flutters at the feeling which drives you to relax your throat and take him as far as you can, only stopping when your breathing is cut off, but you stay and swallow a few times eliciting a deep groan from him. A sound you're sure you've never heard before but crave to hear again.

Pulling back, you take another deep breath, using the slick you've created on him to twist your hand up and down his length, following with your mouth moving your head side to side.

After a while of creating a pace and soaking in all the beautiful moans and gasps coming from his lips, you break it suddenly, thrusting him down your throat to the base again and stopping to look up at him. His lips are almost in a snarl, his teeth gritted, chest heaving. For the first time all night he says your name; not the cute nickname you pretend to hate but fold inwards on yourself every time he speaks it. Your real name, coming out in the most lustful moan.

He pulls your head back with his strong grip on your neck, slowing his breathing, and relaxing his face, looking at you with fire in his eyes.

"You have no idea how crazy you make me feel," he lets out a long shuddering sigh.

"If you don't stop now, I'm not going to last."

Your hand grips his base a little tighter while still holding his gaze, he shakes his head and lets out a weak laugh with a smile on his lips.

"Then you better push me back on this bed, because I don't want to stop," you stick your tongue out and quickly swipe his tip.

You can see his vision go blurry for a second then his attention snaps back, reaching his hands down to your thighs gripping them and pulling them off the bed, your arms instinctively wrap around his neck to steady yourself, as he hoists you up towards the pillow in a flash.

You land on your back surprised but with a smile adorning your face. He steps off the bed and lets his sweats fall to the floor stepping out of them, powerful legs on full display for you. He drops his hand and lazily strokes himself while looking at you on the bed, his eyes all over your body, like he's making a map of it in his mind. Committing every detail to memory.

A mischievous look comes over his face again as he slowly takes a few steps over towards his bag, where you know he slipped the box of condoms in from last night.

"Wait," you squeak out, fast but quiet.

He turns to you with questioning eyes.

"If you don't mind... we can go without. I'm clean." Your eyes fall down a little. "I really want to feel you..." You take a breath and glance back up at him through your eyelashes.

His eyes are soft but serious, and you can see a hint of thrill in them.

"Are you sure?" He asks raising an eyebrow.

Your eyes roll back softly, still with a smile on your face as you sigh, mildly annoyed at his competence in always making sure things are above water and safe. You raise your arm and tap your bicep a few times hoping he gets what that means,

"For fucks sake Lee Minho, yes, I'm sure. Please get over here before I scream," and you flop back against the pillow.

He chuckles softly but wastes no time, practically jumping on the bed between your thighs, plastering himself against the front of your body. Your lips meet again, and he cages you in with his forearms on both sides of your head. You share a few giggles between kisses as you shake off your declaration becoming aware of his weight pouring over you.

He's leaning over you, pressed against you so fiercely, you can feel his cock throbbing against you and your attention quickly pulls to your core. Your heart begins thumping in your chest again and you shudder when he does a tentative roll of his hips, sliding his cock along your wetness. Your lips fall from his as you suck in air. Breathing deep in the stillness of the moment.

He lets his lips trace your jaw, up to your ear and hums before nibbling right below it, still rolling his hip leisurely.

"I've watched your body from afar for so long." He licks your neck raising goosebumps over your arms.

"The way your hair falls delicately on your shoulders." He kisses you there earning a soft moan from you.

"How you always wear the most perfect fitting jeans to show off your curves." He bites into your lower neck sending a ripple through you.

"Your perfect lips saying my name." He kisses you so delicately on your lips that you think you might cry.

"And now your here, under me, and I never want to lose this." He kisses you with more heat and you have never felt more whole, more alive, with sparks coursing through your body, his words filling every crack and fiber of your being.

"Minho..." His name is a whisper between your kisses, and you feel him reach down a hand. He softly rubs the tip of his cock from the bottom up, spreading your wetness around and massaging your clit. Your breath hitches in your throat in anticipation as he captures your mouth in another kiss. Drowning your thoughts.

He pulls away from the kiss and settles his piercing gaze, looking into your eyes as he lines up with your entrance and slowly pushes in. Nothing could have prepared you for how good it feels. His tip pressing in slowly, filling your warmth and stretching you out so perfectly. The intimacy of the moment and his words still lingering in your ears makes your eyes shut, mouth parting as your arms wrap around his waist.

He bottoms out and stays there. All you can hear is both of your breath, lingering in the space between you. Soaking in the feeling of the moment. It feels like pure bliss. But you need more. You clench around him and his breathing stutters for a moment. You open your eyes to see him looking at you with a beautiful half smile on his face.

You smile back and kiss him, gripping his waist urging him to move. He starts to roll his hips in slow drawn-out circles, hitting every space, every inch within you. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly the knot in your stomach tightens, as he finds a steady rhythm, angling his thrust to hit the right spot. Those damn dancers’ hips.

You've been dreaming of this for so long. And now he's here, in your arms, between your legs and inside of you and everything feels right for the first time in forever. You want to take your time, but your body is a traitor and desperate for more. Moving your hips now to meet his thrust, he leans over on one elbow, using his free hand to roam over your body, grabbing at any and all of your skin, picking up his pace.

It seems as though he senses your impatience, because he readjusts, sitting up on his knees more while his hands come down to your hips to pin you to the bed. You had been cautious of your volume for so long now but the sound that escapes you in that moment is inevitable. You reach up to cover your mouth hoping to quell any more sounds, but he quickly pulls it away and pushes it up above your head.

"No, don't be quiet. I need to hear your every sound. Whoever else hears it, had it coming." His concentration is fierce as he says those words to you, making your stomach coil in heat, head rushing, and whimpers fall from your lips.

You’re certain you’ll be slightly embarrassed tomorrow, but your mind quickly pushes those thoughts aside as your need to give him what he wants overpowers everything else. Your moans grow louder, and your repeating his name through choked out breaths. Your hand that's not secured under his tight grip, finds its way to his arm that's now caressing your thigh to trace his skin.

He looks devastatingly elegant yet rugged above you. Chest heaving, eyes trained down towards where you meet in the middle. Where he’s driving into you, straight towards absolute pleasure. He looks up at you eyeing him, licks his lips, and a sly smile paints his features. As if it were even possible, he pushes up closer against you, using his arm to hook under your knee angling your body even more to hit the most perfect spot over and over again.

A wildfire courses through your veins as your eyes roll back, clenching around him again, quickly approaching your release. You can hear his breathing becoming a little more erratic as his hips stutter a few times giving you the knowledge that he’s not far behind. You use your free hand to grab his arm that's holding yours down and pry it away licking and sucking on his fingers quickly before guiding them down between your bodies.

"Touch me," you ask softly.

You can see the wild excitement in his eyes as he starts rubbing your clit in perfect circles with determination. It doesn’t take long before you’re gripping the sheets tightly beside you, arching your back, ready for the wave to crash over you. He sucks in a deep breath hearing you let out a sinful moan as you’re shaking under him and your second ripple of pleasure streaks down your body.

Your legs try to move and tighten him in a vice grip once the over sensitiveness snakes through your thighs, but his hands are quick to act. He slides both his hands up the back of your legs landing in the crook of your knees and pushing them forward towards your chest. Your breath is pushed out of you once his weight is pressed firmly against your front with forearms flat on the bed, caging you in.

His eyes have never looked more powerful, almost as if he's looking straight into the most secret, venerable part of yourself that you didn't even know existed. His mouth parts and his hot breath only feeds your desire to have him closer, stomach still fluttering in the aftershock. Wiggling your arms free you reach out and caress his face, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb before pulling it into your mouth, humming at his delicious sounds and taste.

"Fuck, I'm..." he mumbles into your mouth, but you don't give him a chance to finish his sentence.

"I know. I want it. I want it so bad, please." You lick into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck- feeding your fingers through his hair, gripping him as close as you can. You feel his body tense and eyes go wide at your statement and he's gone. Hissing through his teeth, he picks up pace; his head buried in your neck, teeth latching on for a moment followed by the deepest groan that vibrates through your body.

His warmth radiates through you, pushing himself as deep as he can with each slowing pump, hips flush with your ass as he softly trembles through his release. You slip your hands down his back rubbing soft circles and scratching ever so gently as he pants in your ear.

His hands find your legs again as he guides them down and secures them around his waist, still seated deep within you. Your breathing and heartbeats are still settling together as he turns his head to look at you -

"That was, " he huffs out a few low laughs as a smile forms on his lips, and he kisses your jaw, "I don't think words can describe it." He kisses the side of your lips and neck a few more times as he leans up on one elbow, placing a hand on your waist.

A sense of shyness briefly floods you as you turn your head to the side and cover your lips with the tips of your fingers, blushing slightly. He reaches up and pulls your fingers from your mouth, kissing them lightly. You can see adoration in his eyes as he takes in the pink that has flushed over your cheeks and chest.

"That was long overdue." Your smile is relaxed. Your eyes soft on his. You take your fingers locked with his back towards your mouth and repay the soft kisses.

He looks down between the two of you. Wrapped together, sticking sweetly at the skin touching, and slowly starts to pull his body from yours. As he disconnects from you, a shiver runs down your spine at the lack of contact and he rubs your legs while getting up from the bed.

Once again, you're amazed at his silhouette gracefully making his way over to the wooden shelf, grabbing some wipes and a towel.

Your body lays still for him as he delicately cleans you; tracing your finger tip up and down from your navel to your collarbones, eyes closed, basking in the sweet afterglow of the moment. An hours ago, your thoughts were racing, so many uncertainties in the air. Skin prickling anxiety at unsaid feelings and questions floating behind your eyes. But now that comfortable silence sits in the air between you again.

"Scootch," he giggles, as he jostles you to the side with his knee; he pulls the covers out from under you, climbs in and settles them up over the two of you. He reaches out and nestles you in close, your arms pushed up between your chests, face pressed to the column of his neck. You take a deep breath of him, feeling the sudden weight of sleep and the day settle over your skin.

"Don't keep things from me anymore, ok?" Your mouth is in a straight line, slightly pouted, but your eyes are round and playful as you look up at him.

His face is soft, and you can see a hint of mischief behind his eyes before he closes them, kisses your nose and speaks low but just loud enough for you to hear -

"You're stuck with me now. I'm never letting go."

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #kpop fanfic #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee know x female reader #lee know fanfic #lee minho fanfic #stray kids fanfic

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gothgoblinbabe · 1 month

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Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You

(chapter 1/2)

(Logan Howlett x afab reader)

A/N: Yeah, the brain rot has reached a maximum and I've completely disregarded the consequences of a digital footprint! there's a couple descriptions of style of clothing/jewelry but you can imagine that as you please, also absolutely based off of "Babe Im Gonna Leave You" by Led Zeppelin bc idk somewhere in my delusions I think Logans a Zeppelin kinda guy and its what I've been listening to. For the sake of the plot, stick with me, you've got an imaginary ex bf and his random name I picked is gonna be Danny and he suuuucks real hard okay? okay and I need you to pretend dear lovely reader that you like led zeppelin if you don't 💔[holding your face ever so gently and smooching ur forehead] and I've seen only xmen origins, x-men, X2, and Deadpool x wolverine so pls pls forgive me if some stuff doesn't canonically fit. This is kind of cringe but I wrote too much of it to get rid of it just bare with me I beg of u and it was so long I had to split it into two parts

Summary: Meeting the infamous Wolverine got you roped into a liiiitle more than what you bargained for

Warnings: swearing, you have telekinesis and telepathy (cause that's cool, c'mon), mild angst, suggestive stuff kinda, mentions of cheating (Logan does not cheat on u I pinkie promise), Logan calls you kid but you're not actually a child lol, you're a good bit younger than him but also so is anyone else who isn't borderline immortal

Word Count: 4K

Pt 2!

[credit for text post dividers here and here]

There had been muttering here and there between the students at the academy that Wolverine was coming back after a few years on his own, confirmed when Marie recognized the motorcycle now parked in the driveway of the mansion.

"Logan!"

He was immediately wrapped into a hug by Marie at the door, dropping his bags to the floor.

"Hey, kid, miss me?"

"Maybe," she smiled sweetly, tucking the white strands of hair behind her ears.

"Long time no see, huh?" Ororo's voice interrupted from behind her, earning a hug from Logan.

"Any one else around?" he questioned, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder again.

"Scott and Jean are around here somewhere, Charles as well. Oh, and there's a couple new faces you haven't met," she responded, smiling at the way Marie's eyes lit up at the chance to mention what she had been meaning to tell Logan.

Marie gasped and said your name, grabbing Logan's arm in excitement, "you have got to meet her. She joined us a couple of months ago, I think you'll really like her. She's kind of been like...our you, when you've been gone."

He quirked an eyebrow at that, looking between the both of them for an explanation as to what that was supposed to mean.

"You'll see," Ororo chuckled lightly, "oh, you will see."

"She's here now, I think, you should go introduce yourself to her!"

Logan had swiftly caught onto Marie's adorable attempt to play cupid and gave her a nod, "maybe when I settle in, okay, kid?"

She nodded in agreement and both her and Ororo watched him walk off further down the corridor.

"How do you think it will go when they meet?" the later of the two asked earnestly once he was out of sight.

"Well," Marie paused for a moment, thinking, "they'll be inseparable or absolutely hate each other."

Ororo nodded in agreement almost immediately, holding in a small laugh.

Much later in the evening, Logan had been beckoned into the study along with Ororo, Marie, Bobby, you, Jean and Scott by Charles.

He had been the last to enter, eyes immediately settling on your unfamiliar frame stood next to Marie with your back against the wall. You had plenty of rings adorning your fingers and necklaces dangling in front of your chest in the same kind of fashion he'd seen in those magazines with the Harley biker girls. You looked a little like one of them too, in well fitting jeans adorned with a belt, a band shirt and some chunky boots, except you were very much real and not on glossy paper.

"Oh! Logan!" Marie exclaimed upon noticing his arrival, beckoning him over with her hand. That turned your attention to him and he felt like the wind may have been knocked out of him when your eyes met his. You were far prettier than any of the girls he'd seen in any magazine.

"This is her," Marie whispered to Logan when he approached and nudged his arm, referring to when she had told him about you earlier.

"This is Logan," Marie said to you, gesturing towards him and leaning a little closer to you to whisper something he wouldn't catch, "and he's single, by the way."

A grin was plastered on her face when she pulled away and you rolled your eyes, "Marie - "

"I know, I know, too soon, but I just thought that was very good information for you to know," she raised her hands and stepped away a little, still intent on watching how the two of you interact for the first time.

Logan extended a hand for you to shake and you did the same. Your hands were small in his and your skin soft to the touch. It was almost hard for him to drop your grip when he did, nervous that he'd hold it even a second too long.

Nervous. Women had rarely ever made him nervous in the hundred - something years he'd been alive, and yet he could feel his heart pounding in his ears when you ran your hands through your hair to push it out of your face.

"Nice to meet you," he finally spoke, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

This may have been a good opportunity to try out your powers a little, concentrate hard enough on the handsome stranger's face to know what exactly was playing out behind his staring gaze, but you resisted the urge to do what you considered a tad bit violating.

"Same here," you responded at last, averting your gaze for just a moment to avoid inadvertently doing exactly what you had just decided you wouldn't.

Marie and Ororo had studied the small interaction between the two of you - of course - waiting for something more to happen, only to be disappointed when the both of you nodded courtly and turned away from each other.

"Well, that's not good. He'd be on her like a dog already - " Ororo started under her breath.

"No, no, I just think..." Marie interrupted, narrowing her eyes between the two of you, "I think they just need to get to know each other."

"Honey..."

"I'm telling you, I just feel like they'd be good together, they just need a chance to get to know each other!"

"Do you really think she's ready to get with another guy?" Ororo nodded her head in your direction, lowering her voice, "after all that stuff Danny pulled?"

Marie grimaced at the mention of one of the professors names, shaking her head in mild disgust, "have you seen him lately? always coming up to her in the halls and stuff, it's sad - for him, I mean."

Before either of them could further debate the topic, Charles gained everyone's attention to discuss a series of tasks he'd assigned to you all. As he spoke, you only tuned in once you heard your name.

"You are the one I'd like to send out to complete that with Daniel."

"Could, uh, can I do it with someone else? or have him do it alone, or something?"

Logan caught the confused look Jean shot your way, tilting her head before she spoke, "You don't want to go with Danny? What happened, I thought the two of you -"

You cut her off with a sharp shake of your head, scowling, "uh-uh. Hell no. He...uh, I'll tell you about it later."

You had realized the sudden vulnerability you'd found yourself experiencing in a room full of eyes on you and cleared your throat, attempting to change the subject.

"I can hang back and keep an eye on the kids, I don't mind."

"They do love you," Ororo chimed in, "and we need someone to stay back to watch them anyway."

"They only like her so much because she allows them to break the rules," Scott remarked, earning a nudge in the arm from Jean.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, "Scott, the thing with the kids in your room was one time and it was an accident - "

"Was it? Because one of them wrote 'asshole' on my bathroom mirror with sharpie."

"They're kids, they do that kind of stuff!"

"was that really one of the kids?"

You tucked your lower lip under your teeth in an attempt to smother a laugh. Logan almost immediately did the same when you darted your eyes around the room in a guilty attempt to avoid eye contact.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me - " Scott started but Charles interrupted, holding up a hand.

"Alright, the both of you - enough. You," he continued, gesturing towards you, "may stay back with the children. Please do not allow them into anyone's personal quarters and I would advise you to hide the permanent markers for the time being, away from the children and perhaps yourself."

You nodded and hung your head low to hide the reappearing smile across your face. Logan stared inadvertently from then on, watching you twist your rings around your fingers and focusing on you intently when you spoke every now and then. When you were all dismissed by Charles and filed out of the room, you and Marie walked ahead of most of the group, almost out of ear shot.

Logan heard Jean's hushed voice behind him as she leaned into Scott, "so...what do you think happened? With Danny?"

"Who the hell is this Danny guy?" he finally asked, turning over his shoulder to interrogate the two of them.

"Well," Jean whispered your name, looking ahead to be sure you hadn't caught their conversation, "it's her boyfriend. Or was, I guess. They had a thing for awhile but they stopped hanging around each other all the sudden and she can't even stand to hear his name - she hasn't told me what it's about yet."

Logan simply hummed in acknowledgment, turning back ahead and finding his gaze caught on the sway of your hips as you walked.

"Oh no," he heard Ororo huff beside him, almost immediately following her gaze to see a guy he didn't recognize slip behind you and put an arm around your waist. Too far out of ear shot to hear the context, he watched you squirm out of the young mans grip and shake your head as you kept walking.

"Is it bad I want to get closer to hear what they're saying?" Ororo muttered, looking to the other three in her proximity.

"It's not our business," Jean reminded her.

"So, that's him?" Logan asked, gesturing to the guy still on your heels like a puppy.

"uh - huh," Ororo answered, frowning as she watched Danny make another pathetic attempt to put his arm around you.

When the two of you stopped at the far end of the hall and you told Marie it was okay to leave you, Logan, Ororo, Scott and Jean all turned the corner to the closest hallway.

"Oh, I know It's bad but I have got to know what lame excuse he's got this time," Ororo shook her head, stopping just around the corner to eavesdrop.

"Ororo - " Jean sighed, placing a gentle hand on her friend's arm, "come on."

"They're in the hallway! it's not like I'm standing outside a door," she reasoned, hushing them after so that the only voices hard were yours and Danny's.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm sorry - "

"Danny, many times do I have to tell you I don't care? Why won't you just leave me be?"

You sounded exasperated, your voice slightly muffled when you rubbed your face with your hands.

"What do you think he did?" Scott chimed in in a hushed town, now fully invested in the dialogue.

Logan was still stood there, though he wasn't too sure why. He could have and should have kept walking - let the three of them do their weird detective work - but instead found himself leaned against the wall with the rest of them.

"I love you, you know that, sweetheart, I - "

"ugh, don't call me that. You gross me the hell out, you know that?"

Both Jean and Ororo made almost the same shocked expression.

"oh, it has to be bad," Jean hissed, frowning at the venom in your tone.

"Tell me you're not still in love with me, you know you can't, we - " Danny's voice began again and yours cut him short with a sense of finality in your tone.

"Danny. I stopped being in love with you the day I walked in on you fucking another other girl."

Jean's hands flew to her mouth to muffle a shocked gasp. Scott stood with his arms crossed, his face in a grimace.

"ooh, that is bad," Ororo whispered just as a door slammed.

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, following everyone else as they continued their path down the hall again. This Danny kid had to be a real idiot.

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Weeks had passed and you shared small talk with Logan every now and then, sometimes making snarky comments here and there - though more often than not together and at Scott's expense. Funnily enough, the ability to piss Scott off so much made Logan like you even more. Maybe Marie was right, you kind of are like him.

You walked alongside him down the corridor one afternoon, intending to fulfill Ororo's request for the both of you to check in on some of the newer students.

"So, do you always do your hair like that?" you raised your eyebrows up at him, eyeing the peaks in his hair.

"Yeah. What, you don't like it?" He grinned, expecting you to make some smart remark about it.

"No, not that," you giggled, "it's like lil' cat ears, it's cute."

He looked down at you quizzically, stopping in his tracks.

"cat ears?"

"mm-hm. You're like a big kitty."

You bit down another giggle, reaching up boldly to touch his hair.

He gently swatted your hand away, still with a small grin on his face.

"Don't call me that."

"Big kitty?"

"Yes."

"Okay, kitty meow - meow."

He narrowed his eyes as you turned to continue walking in an attempt to hide the huge smile plastered on your cheeks that threatened to transform into a rather loud laugh.

"Uh-huh, whatever. You better not let anyone else hear you call me that," he huffed as he caught up to you rather easily.

As you were about to make another retort, your smile dropped at the sight of a familiar and unfriendly face that had come from around a corner.

"Christ," you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration, rubbing your forehead at the sight of your ex-boyfriend.

"Hey," Logan leaned down a little, nudging you gently, "I'm here, you're good. You're fine, don't worry about him. It's just us, alright? Walk past him like you don't even see him."

Though he'd be embarrassed to admit and absolutely deny it if anyone asked, he'd unfortunately (for himself) harbored a crush on you that only took a couple weeks to develop. He hadn't even really gotten the chance to know you yet, though that was precisely why he was glad about moments like these. He wanted to, even if he felt like a school kid with a playground crush.

You had simply nodded at his words, allowing him to place a gentle hand on your upper back to guide you down the hall with him. Even through the layer of a jacket and t-shirt, you could feel the warmth of his hand on you.

Logan remembered that moment in the hall on the first day you'd met, but never pestered you for details about what the hell went on before he got back. He figured when and if you wanted to tell him, that was up to you.

Keeping your eyes straight ahead, it took what felt like years to pass your ex-boyfriend. When you finally did, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, until his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"That's my shirt."

You whipped your head around, feeling Logan slip his arm a little further around you as a protective reflex.

"What?" you furrowed your eyebrows, looking down at your attire. The shirt, a tad oversized and well worn, was so familiar that you had completely forgotten it once did belong to him.

"I want it back," he spoke again, crossing his arms.

"Do you really want it back?"

You were beyond fed up with his pestering at this point, already having decided what may make the message clear.

"Yes."

"Okay. Fine."

You pulled away from Logan and slipped off your jacket, turning around to hand it to him. He gave you a confused look, hesitantly taking it out of your hands. In a matter of seconds, you turned back around and tugged the t-shirt up and over your head, tossing it directly at Danny's chest. You turned back and took your jacket from Logan's hands, zipping it far enough to cover your bra. In the few seconds you had stood facing him, he had done his best to keep his eyes away from your body and failed miserably, looking up after to see the asshole a few feet away already glaring at him.

"What, you're just gonna walk around like that? And what are you doing hanging out with him anyway, don't you know he - "

You groaned at the sound of Danny's voice again, gently tugging Logan by the hand in the opposite direction as you began to walk away, "yap, yap, yap - just shut the fuck up."

Logan couldn't help the smirk plastered across his face as you continued to walk, finally turning a corner. Before you could apologize to him for having to awkwardly stand witness to that, Scott's voice echoed from the stairway above you.

"Hey, Charles is looking for you two. He says he has something he needs you to take care of, he didn't say what."

"Thanks for the specifics, Scott," you replied sarcastically, "but we're supposed to check on - "

"I know," he interrupted, "I got Marie and Bobby to cover you. You're welcome, by the way."

You rolled your eyes and looked back to Logan, dreading what exactly it was Charles wanted from you.

That landed you where you were the next morning, heaving your bags into the back of Logan's truck.

"If we have to take the truck like two states over, can I at least drive?"

The plane being needed for another assignment that Jean, Scott and Ororo were assigned left the two of you with Logan's truck. You'd been asked to retrieve a rare mechanical piece needed for the construction of some new device; you'd only been half-listening when Charles started to explain the details, lost in thought after he'd mentioned it would require the two of you to sleep out overnight.

Man, that had made your chest feel tight. It had been almost physically painful trying to swallow down every tell that you really liked him for the past few weeks and now you had no choice than to be each others only company for nearly 2 days.

"Yeah, in your dreams, kid," Logan scoffed playfully and brought you back to reality, dangling the keys in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at the keyring he began to spin around his finger. In a split second, the jangle of the metal could be heard as you snatched them from his hand with only a focused thought.

You caught them in your raised palm and tilted your head, a terribly smug smile across your cheeks.

"Looks like my dreams came true, huh?" you teased, walking past a still mildly distraught Logan to get into the drivers side.

"If you dent it, I'll kill ya," he warned as he finally slid into the passenger seat, watching your every move as you started the engine and carefully reversed out of the garage.

"Uh-huh, sure," you retorted sarcastically, "I'm terrified of the kitty claws."

"What did I say about calling me that?"

"Calling you what?" you feigned ignorance, fumbling with the knob on the stereo to change the station as your eyes stayed glued to the road.

"And don't mess with everything, kid, you'll end up breaking something. She's on old girl, you gotta - "

"Dude," you interrupted, simultaneously cranking down your window and fishing a pair of sunglasses out of his center console, "I know how to drive, chill out."

"Dude," he mocked, "this truck is probably almost as old as you, you gotta be careful."

You rolled your eyes under the shades of the worn aviators you had slipped onto your nose, simply nodding and continuing to flip through stations.

"Pick one and stick with it, will you?"

"Ooh, is someone mad I got the keys?"

Before he could say something in response, you gasped at sound of the song playing on the station you had just switched to, twisting the knob almost as far as it could go.

Logan recognized the familiar thump of "babe I'm gonna leave you" by Led Zeppelin, furrowing his eyebrows when you began to nod your head and sing along.

"You like Led Zeppelin?" he nearly had to shout over the music, leaning in to you a little further.

"Yeah," you responded, reaching over to turn the music down just enough for you to hear each other and glancing at him momentarily, "How come you're looking at me like that?"

He unfurrowed his eyebrows and shrugged, keeping his gaze on the road ahead as he spoke, " just never pegged you for a Zeppelin kind of girl, I guess."

"No? What's that supposed to mean?"

You were smiling again and it was excruciatingly difficult for him not to stare when you looked so good in the spot he usually sat with his old sunglasses on.

"Didn't think you had good taste in music."

That made you giggle and you shook your head, turning the stereo back up to a booming volume.

He watched you tap your fingers on the steering wheel to the drums as you continued to drive, occasionally moving to push your windswept hair out of your face. The morning sun shining through your open window highlighted your features perfectly and Logan sighed without a thought, unheard over the music. Jesus, he had it bad.

You could feel his stare in your peripheral vision every time he looked to you and it felt far warmer than the sun beating down on you from the opposite direction. You truly rarely ever used your developing skill of telepathy, feeling it was only justified when absolutely necessary to obtain information, but his burning gaze nearly had you veering off the road at times and his prior answer to the question of why he was looking at you that way wasn't too convincing.

With a deep breath, already wondering if it was a mistake, you kept your eyes focused to the road but gradually concentrated on the man beside you. Sometimes people's thoughts would appear as inner dialogue, other times as imagined scenarios, daydreams or visuals. You were confused, then, when you only saw an image of yourself as you were now. If you concentrated too hard, your own thoughts would transfer to Logan's mind and it would be humiliatingly obvious that you had been poking around in his consciousness and so you tried to clear your mind and try again, assuming your own mind was too preoccupied with yourself to concentrate properly.

Still, you could only see the image of yourself driving from the perspective of the passengers seat, one hand on the wheel and the other in your hair as you propped your elbow on the door. This time, though, you could hear the accompanying echo of Logan's voice over the hum of the music you had tuned out.

Is her hair always like that? I like it that way. Pretty.

You swallowed hard, fidgeting with the hair that was between your fingers. It's a compliment - innocent enough, and undeniably kind of sweet. You felt guilty then for probing his thoughts and nearly shook yourself out of it, only to realize the image in Logan's mind was no longer of just your profile. He was thinking about your legs, thighs squished against the seat of the truck.

Fuck

You nearly choked on your own saliva, clearing your throat at the echo of his voice again and immediately withdrawing yourself from his mind.

"You okay?" Logan spoke aloud, putting a gentle hand on your upper arm.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you lied, trying with every fiber of your being to just keep all focus on the road. You knew you shouldn't have done that. It was just a thought, though, nothing said aloud to change anything between the two of you, and so you pretended the best you could that you hadn't heard or seen a thing.

About eight hours, a handful of dad rock albums and a stop to switch seats later, you finally pulled into the parking lot of the nearest motel you had found didn't have a highlighted "no vacancy" sign.

"If there's fucking bed bugs in here, I will never let you hear the end of it," you warned from the passenger seat.

"I think you'd talk my ear off till the day I die anyway," he scoffed, shifting the truck into park and pulling the keys from the ignition.

"You won't die for another hundred-something years."

"Exactly my point, honey."

You rolled your eyes and slipped out of the truck as he did, pretending the nickname hadn't made your face burn. You both grabbed your belongings and once inside you looked around the small lobby as Logan checked you in, impressed with how surprisingly clean the place seemed to be.

"Hey, is that okay?"

Logan's voice took your attention from the painting on the wall you'd been inspecting and you raised your eyebrows.

"Huh?

"Uh, there's a room left but it's only got one bed."

Your face dropped and you looked between him and the poor kid behind the counter who already looked nervous as all hell.

"You're kidding."

"We can keep driving, but we've already been on the road all day and I don't think there's another place around here for a good few miles."

He was much more calm than you expected him to be and you exhaled, thinking of the literal pain in the ass caused by sitting in the car for so many hours.

"Ugh, fine."

A/N: I had to split this in two because it was so long but If anyone likes this at all I will post da other part cause I like spewing my brain rot on the internet <3

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #hugh jackman #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic

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hannieween · 1 month

Text

lover | heartbreaker drabble | c.sc

You and Seungcheol finally get a chance to get away from finals, homework and your parents.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: fluff, smut (18+) ✧ aus: boyfriend seungcheol, uni student cheol, flashback drabble ✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ warnings under the cut!

✧ warnings: this drabble is connected to my heartbreaker series, so smut with plot, pussy whipped cheol, unprotected sex, pull out method [don't do this i do not recommend], big dick seungcheol, edging, cumming on skin, a little 🤏🏻 bit of breeding kink. pet names: angel, baby (hers) babe, baby, (his)

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

✧ author's note: this kind of came out of nowhere so please excuse the grammar and spelling errors lmao

four years before

Going on a mini trip together for a weekend was exciting. To you, it implied lying to your parents to get out of town, forgetting about finals, about restless nights of studying but above all, being with your boyfriend, Choi Seungcheol.

You told your parents you were staying with your friends for a sleepover, which somehow worked. But in reality, you were going camping with your boyfriend, whom they still have some reserved opinions about.

Seungcheol and you had been dating for six months at this point. And everything felt like a dream to you. Granted, your parents do not like him, despite their lack of comments about him. But you were young, and you were in love.

He is closer to graduating, so he seems more relaxed about university than you. The idea of going camping was his, seeing that you were about to reach a breaking point due to stress and sleepless nights. His power to convince you to drop everything and go was more efficient than you thought.

The windows were rolled down, letting the hot spring summer air sweep inside. Your boyfriend kept one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was busy grabbing your hand, playing with your fingers. And occasionally, he would slide it on your bare thigh, inching his fingers up and then down.

You were hot on the face and neck, eager to jump on him. You were still exploring a lot about intimacy with him, but God, you wanted him. You wanted him so bad it was nearly embarrassing.

So, when you got to the campsite, it was nearly impossible to yank your gaze from his thick body. The way his biceps flex as he worked setting the tent up. He had refused to let you help him to do the heavy work. But every now and then, he would just point at something and say, "Would you pass me that, baby?" partly because he knew what you were thinking.

It was as though he could read your mind.

The sun set; you had a nice afternoon with him. So, when it is time to get inside the tent, you felt so fucking nervous to be spending the night in the same bed, or sleeping bag, with him.

Few were the nights you both had had the chance to sleep with him. Mostly just naps. But the first time you slept together was some five months ago, when you had your first time with him.

So now, your body was so close to his, to his warmth. You shared the same sleeping bag that could fit the both of you. Arm to arm with him, your knee brushing his. He shifted positions, lying on his side next to you.

"Do you have to sleep shirtless?"

Seungcheol cocked one eyebrow at the sound of your question. "I always sleep shirtless," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips, making its corners twitch. "I sleep with even less, actually," he chuckled, propping his head on his fist to look at your face fully. "Why, baby, do you want me to put something on?"

"No," you mumble quietly, starting to feel hot on the face and this time, it is not because of the hot weather. "It's just distracting," you said with an airy tone, you sighed.

But the reality is, this is your boyfriend, you just have to endure the weight of being so unbearably and embarrassingly attracted to him.

He finds your awkwardness cute. Granted, everything you do is cute to him. So, a smile breaks free on his face, almost knocking the air out of your lungs over his striking beauty. "Distracting, huh?" he mumbled, his eyes scanning the features of your face, as if trying to memorize the way that they look whenever you are flustered.

You only gave him a nod with your head, feeling shy. But you lifted a finger nonetheless, and started tracing a line over his collarbone. "I like you," you whispered, though that much was obvious. You have already told him you were in love with him.

"I know," he chuckled, trying not to shiver under your light touch that was now trailing down the middle of his chest, between his pecs. "I like you too," he said, his voice beginning to strain over the tension he was feeling in his body.

"I know," you said too, breathing out a giggle and the sound of it appeared to have an effect on him.

His gaze went soft and he could no longer try to hide the way your touch made him feel. So he leaned over, placing a hand on your cheek, making your sweet gaze lock with his before slotting his lips between your own.

"I love you," he emphasized, the emotions fluttering inside him making his voice a mere shaky whisper. It is the need he felt for you, to feel you whole and close to him, to make you his.

Seungcheol had never been in love. Not like this. Everything you did, made him a little crazy. "I love you," you mumbled back, the sweetness of your voice was what egged him on.

He dived for another kiss, this time a deeper one, his lips captured yours, moaning in your mouth when you parted your mouth slightly, giving him access to his tongue.

"Baby," you breathed, breaking the kiss only for a second because his lips are pressing on yours repeatedly. His hands slid from your cheek, his fingers now tangled in your hair. "Cheol," you called breathily.

"Yes?" he hummed, peeling away from your lips so he could see your face.

"Did you..." you start your question, but then, "Nevermind," you shook your head lightly.

But Seungcheol is not content with that, obviously. "What?" he mumbled. "Tell me," he insisted when you just shook your head in reply.

You know if there is something that drives him up the wall, is to wind him up and then leave him hanging.

"Tell me," he laughs lightly and your heart jumps at the sound. Then, he climbed on top of you, trying to tickle the answer out of you. "You bratty little thing," he gritted when you tried to fight his hands off.

But he continued poking at your ribs with his fingers, enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter and your squeals.

"Stop, stop," you wheezed, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye.

Seungcheol decided to let his joyful attack die. He placed a hand next to your head, leaning over to trap your lips with his own, giving you a chaste and quick kiss.

He was just about to slump back on his spot next to you when your hand sneaked on his nape, bringing him into a hot, rushed kiss.

Defenseless, he grunted in your mouth, his arm gave in, so his body fell on top of yours with a crash. "Baby," he chuckled, trying to lift his bodyweight off you.

His protests were quickly muddled by your needy lips, kissing him fervently. He was moaning into the kiss already, swept away quickly by the warmth radiating from your body. And when eased the lower half of his body on top of you, you could feel just how hard he had gotten with just teasing you.

Oh god. You thought. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Babe," you muttered, emboldened by the fact that he had given up to the make out session amply. And you know that it was very difficult to him to stop once he had started. "Did you bring condoms?" you blurt.

It was as though a bulb ignited over his head. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?" he breathed on your mouth.

"Did you?" you pressed, his chest was squeezing yours.

And you were convinced now that he could feel the frantic beating of your heart.

"No," he admitted, cursing himself silently because that was at the top of the list of things he did not want to forget.

"Baby," you reproached.

"I forgot," he chuckled, continuing to kiss you.

But you could tell that the fiery need is dissipating with each kiss. He kissed you slowly, but then he broke away, and was just about to roll over when, "Please, just a little bit longer?" you asked, holding his bicep to stop him from peeling away from you completely.

He placed his elbows next to your shoulders, so his forearms are framing your head. "You know how this goes, angel," he said softly, his fingers brushing away the hair from your face when you stay silent, so he kept going. "We kiss, we want more..." he sighed heavily, but out of the tight pressure gripping his heart.

You knew the idea was crazy, but goddamn, you want him. And you were unbearably horny. "You could pull out," you suggested, the anxiousness fluttering inside you making your tone waver.

Seungcheol stiffened for a second, and then let out an airy chuckle, thinking you were joking. But when you remained looking at him, nervous, his smile dropped. "Baby, are you serious?"

"I am," you reply, warmth tingling on your cheeks, your eyebrows knitted. "Please? Please, babe. I want to feel you."

Seungcheol scanned your face with his eyes, over and over again and that is how you knew, his mind was reeling.

He leaned over, placing soft and sweet kisses on the corners of your lips. "I could get you pregnant," he muttered gently. "What if pulling out doesn't work?"

"I don't care," you blurt, feeling an ecstatic shudder invade you.

"You don't care if I get you pregnant?" he laughed, amused by the thought that you were so needy that you were starting to be reckless. "Wanna have my babies?" he mused, his voice low again, raspy, and so dangerously sexy.

"Yes" you whispered shakily. "I want you."

And that is everything he needed.

He went all in, truth be told, he used to consider himself strong-willed. But that was before he met you, and fell on his knees for you, basically.

In seconds, he worked on you to tear your clothes off. You were so horny that the cool air of the night did not get to you. He ripped your clothes off, like a mad man about to ravage you whole.

He kissed every single inch of your body, loving the way you called out his name, the sounds of your moans. But it was the way you looked at him that drove him absolutely crazy.

Seungcheol made a trail of kisses from your lips, to your chest, kissing your nipples, cupping your breasts with his large hands while he teased your nipples with his tongue, making you moan salaciously.

Good thing you were in the middle of nowhere and chances were, completely and absolutely alone, you thought.

He laughed breathily against your skin, sneaking a look at your face before continuing to kiss your tummy, trailing down. Then kissed your belly button, making you flinch at the feeling of his wet lips against a very sensitive spot.

His hands gripped your thigh from the upper-front area, so you got a glimpse of his fingertips digging on the plush of your skin before lapping up the juices from your pussy.

You thrashed, crying out in pleasure as his tongue laves at the taste of you. Seungcheol moaned with you in delight, giving your folds broad strokes with his tongue.

In the months you have been his girlfriend, you have had few opportunities to do this, so everything is so very new to you. Every feeling, every touch feels electrifying.

Seungcheol loved it. He loved that you were discovering this world with him. He was your first everything, and he was so eager to explore his deepest, darkest fantasies with you. And he knew that you were eager to do too.

He loved the sound of your voice, the taste of your skin, your pussy. He loved eating you out so fucking much he wanted to do that for hours, to give you orgasm after orgasm. And one day, he would.

"Cheol," you call out breathily, tensing and shaking beneath him. He had started to tease your swollen clit with his tongue pointed against it, swirling around it.

That unfamiliar but needed burning sensation was pooling inside your belly, and Seungcheol knew it was closer because of the sounds of your moans, airy, so very lewd.

You succumbed to your orgasm fast, enjoying the sweet, sweet pleasure consume you in shockwaves. You thrashed, crying out his name loudly, fingers curling in his black, unruly hair.

Seungcheol wasted no time, getting to his knees as you pushed his sweats and boxers down to his mid-thigh, he leaned on top of your body, slotting himself between your shaky thighs.

You could not help it. Your eyes wandered down his frame. Seungcheol has a thick body. Thick thighs, thigh biceps, thick neck. You swallowed hard, spotting his cock, fully hard, his cockhead glossy with precum.

He saw the needy look in your eyes, you want more, he realized. But he decided to stop and tease you a little, grabbing his thick, veiny cock, gliding the tip between your folds, nudging your engorged clit.

You winced and moaned, your hands flying to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

"Look at me, baby," he muttered, his voice raw in need.

And you do. You looked at his eyes, he pressed his chest against yours before pushing his cock inside you. The warmth and wetness made him moan at once, his mouth parting and you saw his self-control dissipating as he started thrusting his cock inside you.

But he rolled his hips tortuously at a slow, calculated pace. Still looking in your eyes, enjoying the way your body trembled beneath him.

"Cheol," you called out breathily.

Seungcheol was going insane, he knows there is no way he could last long like this. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps.

"Seungcheol." you insisted, your teary eyes searching his face. "I think–I'm going to come," you gasped, closing your eyes and stirred on the sleeping bag, trying to resist the fiery waves rippling through your body.

Seungcheol moaned, unable to look away as you came on his cock. Your orgasm came fast, and hard. But he kept going, pushing into you desperately now.

"God, fuck," he gasped, dropping his head on your shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck!" he gritted, pulling out of you in a split-second.

You were both breathing hard against each other, but Seungcheol is shaking, rigid, trying with all of his might to not come. He decided to force himself to get you to your high at least one more time.

You waited, still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt almost embarrassed for coming five seconds after he went inside you.

But he recuperated quickly, positioning himself between your legs again, determined to keep fucking you raw. He was driven insane by the sounds of your moans, by the way you trembled and looked at him.

He edged himself two more times, overstimming himself. What did it was to think that one day, he might just keep fucking you full of his cum, and get you pregnant. He could no longer contain himself, pulling out of you to pump his throbbing cock with his fist, groaning loudly as spurts of warm cum land on your tummy.

He breathed slowly, trying to get his heart rate down. He looked at the mess on your tummy, the beads of white, sticky cum on your lower abdomen. Then, he looked at your face, thinking of apologizing.

But instead, he spotted the fascination plastered on your face, you were wide eyed, lips glossy, skin dewy in sweat. You like this, he realized. And that might have sent him into a frenzy.

"So," he begins, his breathing still ragged. "You wanna have my babies?" he smiled.

✧ author's note: this is not proofread i'm sorry. if there are some fluctuations between verb tenses, that is because i typed this in a mad state at @cvntrlseecvntrlvee who is the sole culprit of my seungcheol brain rot.

anyway,

✧ STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 5 ✧ JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●)

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santaasi · 2 months

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moth to a flame

pairing: james potter x black!reader

summary: what could be more forbidden than loving your brother's best friend?

warnings: mdni, 18+, smut with plot (fingering), reader is sirius’s twin sister, james smokes, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i'm alive! and now i have bachelor degree! it was a hard few month but i survived and decided to try smth new. i've never posted smut before… sooo idk if it good or not but bc it was in my drafts for a long time now, and i wanted to post smth for u guys… now it's here. not my best work i think but nevertheless i hope you will like it. have a good time reading <з

"JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

The Gryffindor dorm was a whirlwind of noise and energy, laughter bouncing off the walls. You lay sprawled on your bed, desperately trying to wriggle free from his bear-like grip. You never understood where James got so much power from. He was an animagus deer, not a bear, damn you. You twisted and kicked in every direction, but his nimble fingers danced over your bare skin, tickling mercilessly and making you shriek with laughter. Time seemed to blur as your best friend’s relentless tickling pulled you away from your herbology test preparations. Your stomach muscles ached from laughing, and your cheeks felt sore from the constant smile etched on your face.

“Jamie, please stop. I'm going to die now," you mumbled without stopping laughing. “Sirius will come soon and there'll be hell to pay”

After these words, James grinned, loosened his grip, and rolled onto the other half of the bed. His warm brown eyes followed your every move, a gentle intensity in his gaze. He left a light kiss on your cheek before getting out of bed, and you breathed deeply, trying to steady your erratic breaths. You watched as James crossed the room in a few swift strides, heading to the desk and opening the window. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you felt the cool wind slide through the chiffon curtains, a refreshing contrast to your heated skin.

James's fingers, which had been caressing your skin moments ago, moved with deliberate slowness as he took a cigarette from the pack. He clamped it between his teeth, the flame from his lighter casting a brief, warm glow as he lit it. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His disheveled curls and rumpled white shirt, with its first few buttons teasingly undone, drew your gaze to his collarbones. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins on his forearms, each one accentuated in the dim light. That familiar, mischievous grin played on his lips, making you believe that James Potter did it all on purpose.

That grin shone on his face as if he had already won the Quidditch Cup against Slytherin. It made your breathing falter again, sending a whole crazy swarm of butterflies dancing in your stomach. You loved that James Potter grin, the playful twinkle in his eyes, and the way he slightly raised his head to exhale cigarette smoke out the window, where the sun was setting. Yeah, you liked everything about James Potter to the point of a stomach ache and an incredibly fast heartbeat in your chest.

You were the biggest fan of your brother's best friend. Sometimes, it seemed you literally couldn't live without James—without his jokes, his light touches, his gentle whispers in your ear, and those sparkling eyes like two precious stones. However, James probably didn't even know it, thinking of you only as his best friend's little sister.

“Hey you, don't touch my stuff!” you were indignant, watching him run his fingers over the photo that stood on your desk. You saw James roll his eyes, not paying any attention to your words, and take the frame in both hands, studying it carefully.

“It seems you fit in well with our shabby group,” the guy said quietly and looked around. "Everyone likes you, even Mr. Grumpy Peter”

In his hands was a white frame, its edges adorned with delicate gold filigree, cradling a photo captured just a few weeks earlier. In the picture, you and the Marauders are all there, faces lit with joy—Lily’s laughter bright, Marlene’s mischievous grin, and Dorcas’s warm smile. The scene is set in the cozy common room, where you had all gathered around, lost in the delight of silly Muggle games Lily had introduced. The simple pleasure of those games, so different from the usual weight of family troubles, offered a rare warmth and comfort. You hold this photo close, a cherished relic of laughter and friendship, its presence a bittersweet reminder of how much you missed Sirius when he left you and the rest of the family behind.

You were profoundly grateful to the entire gang for the chance to be reunited with your twin brother. It was a rare gift to once again be enveloped in his care and protection, to bask in his unwavering love. Your bond with Sirius had always been a delicate thread, frayed by circumstance. The divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor had severed your Hogwarts communication, yet at home, he remained your cherished brother. Though he could be infuriating at times, he was always a steadfast presence, an integral part of your very being.

But the rift deepened when his conflicts with your parents escalated, leaving you unwillingly caught in the crossfire. Sirius's bitterness led him to view you and Regulus as traitors, and then, when he departed, the bond between you was irrevocably severed. It felt as if a piece of your soul had been torn away with him, leaving life in the cold, shadowy manor utterly unbearable.

Then Lily’s intervention restored a semblance of normality. Sirius’s familiar gesture—ruffling your hair in the hallway, calling you "pearl," and flashing that familiar, mischievous smile—was a balm to your wounded heart. Even though a part of you grappled with guilt over maintaining your connection with Sirius while feeling disloyal to Regulus, you couldn't bear to be without your twin. And now, life seemed also incomplete without his cheeky Quidditch captain friend, James Potter, who had become an unexpected but welcome fixture in your world.

“What ‘bout you?”

The words came out of your mouth before you could think them through. You nervously bit your lower lip, your gaze fixated on James as he methodically extinguished his cigarette, leaving the window ajar. His movements were slow and deliberate as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets and made his way towards the bed. Each step seemed to draw him closer to you, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight as he settled next to your feet.

You shifted uneasily, trying to maintain some distance, but James’s presence was undeniable. Your heart raced with every inch he came nearer. When he finally reached out, his hand gently caressed your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The faint, lingering scent of smoke began to weave its way into your senses, adding to the tension that filled the room.

“What ‘bout me, lovely?” He said softly.

His hot breath scorched your neck as James tilted his head slightly to the side. Your eyelashes fluttered and a soft sigh escaped your lips. You could feel the blush rising up your neck and stopping on your cheeks. You've never considered yourself the one who could melt at the sight of a guy… You have always been sure that you are a tough nut to crack and the path to your heart is not easy and thorny. But as soon as James Potter came into your life, sat so close to you and looked at you with his big chocolate eyes, you became a puddle in his hands and there was nothing you could do about it.

It was unbearable to have feelings for James Potter, the school’s shining star, who was constantly surrounded by a throng of admirers vying for his attention. But the situation was even more agonizing knowing that James was your brother's closest friend, the one who had rescued him from the chaos of your family, the brother Sirius had chosen as family.

Despite the unbreakable bond you shared with Sirius, and the way you two were as inseparable as a single machine, you never broached this subject with him. Why? Because you had seen and heard countless stories from friends and acquaintances whose relationships with their siblings’ best friends ended in resentment and discord. You understood the underlying issue all too well: no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire of a breakup between a family member and a closest friend.

For Sirius, the situation would be even more complex. You couldn’t imagine being forced to choose between your twin brother—who was half of you—and your closest friend. It was a choice you knew you could never make, and that realization only deepened the anguish of your feelings for James.

That’s why you remained silent, burying your feelings deep within yourself. Whenever you spent time together, you made a conscious effort to keep your distance from James, but it never seemed to work. With every encounter, your feelings for the Quidditch captain grew stronger, more consuming. Lately, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep everything bottled up. Listening to stories about his snogs was tormenting. Watching him flirt and interact with others was a growing source of anguish. You felt yourself unraveling under the weight of it all.

You licked your dry lips, drawing in a shaky breath, and cast your eyes downward before murmuring, barely audible.

"I-uh... do you like me?"

Your voice trembled, faltering until, by the end, your words dissolved into nothing more than a breathy whisper, a stream of air that barely formed a coherent sentence. And you would have died of shame on the spot if it hadn't been for James's thumb stroking your hot cheek soothingly. His gaze slid over your face, carefully, as if under a microscope, studying every detail that seemed to have already learned everything during these couple of months of your close communication. You were so beautiful with those confused eyes, and halting breathing, and that scar showing above your eyebrow when you frowned. You were divine.

James, having endured relentless teasing from his friends about his feelings for Lily, believed he was as transparent as an open book. He thought that all his innocent touches, lingering glances, and heartfelt compliments had not gone unnoticed by you, and that you were fully aware of how he felt. He was almost certain of it. But now, as he gazed into your wide, bewildered eyes—eyes that looked at him with a mix of adoration and anxiety—he realized he might not have been as obvious as he’d thought.

You nervously bit your lip and fidgeted with the rings on your fingers, and James couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking his head. His gaze briefly lingered on your lips, and he was consumed by a longing to taste them. When he looked back up, he stared straight into the depths of your soul, searching for the truth that lay hidden within.

“I thought you knew the answer.… Everyone knows…”

You blinked a few times, nervously swallowing the lump that was beginning to tighten in your throat. James Potter was far too close, encroaching on your personal space in a way that made your heart race and your breath catch. You slowly raised your eyes, trying to come up with some clever answer or make a joke of everything, just not to feel this shame and misunderstanding, just to stop this war in your head. But before you could make a sound, you were on your back again. A surprised sigh escaped your lips when you saw James's smiling face looming over you. His palm rested on your waist, gently squeezing the soft flesh exposed under your shirt.

"Do you want to know the answer, angel?" James asked slowly, bending forward slightly and stretching out each word. His voice was soft and sweet like honey, making goosebumps cover your body.

"Only if I... like it," you whispered softly to him in response, blinking your eyes in surprise, feeling your eyelashes tickle your cheeks.

You felt the ghostly brush of his lips against your temple, then your cheekbone, your cheek, and finally the corner of your lips. James Potter's teasing touch was driving you wild. Your hands instinctively clenched the fabric of his shirt in tight fists as you closed your eyes, a soft whimper escaping your lips. His kiss lingered on your chin before trailing down to your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“James...” you exhaled, parting your lips as a shiver of impatience rippled through your body. Your fists tightened on his shirt, pulling him closer, desperately craving the contact you longed for. James's laugh came out in a low, throaty sound, and you pouted, frustrated by his playful teasing. But before you could voice your discontent, his lips met yours, pulling you into a tender, sweet kiss that made all your frustrations melt away.

Kissing James Potter was as enchanting as you’d imagined, if not more so. His lips, softened by your cherry balm, carried a lingering taste of cherries, mingling with hints of cigarettes, fresh herbs, and even chocolate—the same chocolates you’d savored just moments before, before James had playfully wrested the last one from you. Where had it gone now?

Your hands gently released his shirt, moving up to his shoulders, fingers threading through his tousled curls and drawing him nearer. You felt a delightful shiver on your lips as James exhaled a satisfied sigh and nibbled on your lower lip. You giggled softly, your fingers tangling further in his hair, pulling him even closer, savoring every second of the sweet, intoxicating kiss. James squeezed your waist a little tighter before reaching under your shirt. His fingers closed around your chest and you moaned softly into his lips, arching your back to meet him.

James slipped his knee between your legs, and you gently moved your hips, feeling the already wet fabric of your panties slide over the stiff material of his pants. James's lips moved lower, covering your neck with kisses, giving you time to catch your breath.

“Jamie... James... don't,” you whispered breathlessly with pleasure. His lips touched your sweet spot behind your ear and you moaned softly. James Potter will be the end of you.

“Yeah,” James said confidently in the area of your collarbone, quickly unbuttoning the buttons of your white dress shirt. James looked up at you for a second and you frowned slightly, not understanding what he was talking about. “Yes,” he repeated, looking you straight in the eye. “Yes, I like you, angel. Ever since you blew up our amortentia at potions,” you felt the vibration of his laughter on your neck when he left another kiss.

“But... but that was in the third year...” you whispered, not believing him. James liked Lily at that time, and probably still does. Sirius and Peter often joke that…

“Hmm...” James mumbled in agreement, moving lower, leaving light kisses on both of your breasts. "I couldn't confess ‘cause Sirius is my friend... you're his lil’ sister... and I was a fuckin’ thirteen-year-old loser who was afraid to even look in your direction."

You laughed softly, sliding your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching the skin of his head. James's hot breath burned your skin as his lips moved lower and lower down your body. Every new kiss is a new place. The cleavage. The ribs. Belly. Bellybutton.

"And then Lily brought you to us... and I couldn't just watch anymore... when you were so close... so beautiful... gentle... sweet..." James's lips touched the bottom of your stomach, and his fingers gently slipped under the elastic band of your skirt. But before he could pull it down your trembling legs, you grabbed his face with both hands, lifting it higher, connecting your lips. James Potter could resist anything, but not you. He could never resist you.

Kissing James Potter was like soaring through the sky, a rush of air that caressed your skin with a tantalizing chill. It was like the first warm summer rain, gently gliding through your hair, or the sun's rays breaking through after a long, cold winter, warming the earth with their tender touch. His kisses were like the living water from fairy tales—revitalizing and magical, making you breathe deeply and revel in the pure joy of the moment.

“As much as I would like to continue, but James...” you kissed his lips again, looking into his frowning eyes. Your hands gently stroked his cheeks, feeling a slight tingle from his growing stubble. "Sirius is coming soon and I... I don't want him to find us in such a-... such a compromising position." You blushed fiercely, your cheeks turning as red as a ripe tomato, and James’s laughter rang out once more. He leaned in to kiss you savoringly on the cheek, his touch both tender and playful.

His hand was gently stroking your stomach, and his knee was still moving slowly between your legs. You exhaled noisily, throwing your head back on the pillow, breathing heavily. Hips involuntarily moved to meet him and you squeezed his biceps with your hand. You whimpered when the pleasure became almost unbearable, when you wanted to feel something more.

“I think you're enjoying yourself too much, angel,” James whispered next to your ear, nibbling on your neck. You felt his hand slip through the elastic of your skirt, barely touching your pelvis. “Who am I to deprive you of this pleasure, pretty girl?”

You squeezed your eyes shut when James's fingers slid into your panties, gently tracing between your folds, smearing your arousal.

“Merlin... Jamie,” you muttered in a trembling voice, moving your hips towards his hands. You heard James chuckle, leaving kisses on your neck and collarbone. You were one hundred percent sure that his marks would remain in these places. And you would have objected if it weren't for the feelings that made you forget about everything. You moaned when his finger slipped inside your dripping hole. Your eyes opened and you met his brown ones, James left a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Yeah, look at me, angel,” James said hoarsely. “I want to see how good I make you feel”

You meowed and nodded, unable to say anything to him. His finger slowly slid inside your gummy walls, hitting that very spot, making you roll your eyes in pleasure. But you kept looking at him.

"Jamie... more," you said faintly, and he laughed, adding another finger, twitching an eyebrow, asking, "Is that better?"

You nodded your head, feeling a surge of euphoria. You've never felt anything like this before. Your fingers have never been so skillful and long to reach the cherished place that they make your whole gut cry with desire. James gradually increased the pace, making you moan softly, clinging to his shirt. You looked into his eyes, feeling them devour and memorize every emotion that slipped across your face. Enjoying your pleasure. His thumb slid over your clit in soft circular movements, and your body arched towards him with pleasure. You could feel the knot of pleasure tightening within you, on the verge of breaking free. Your eyes fluttered rapidly, and your lips parted in silent wonder. You tried to form words, but only soft, breathless moans escaped, betraying the intensity of the sensation.

“I know angel... just let go,” James whispered in your ear, and it snapped the last thread that was holding you back. You closed your eyes, moaning louder than before, feeling like you were coming. James was whispering something in your ear, continuing to pump his fingers through your orgasm, but you were over the moon with pleasure to attach any importance to it.

And a moment after it you felt empty. Breathing heavily, you turned your closed eyes to the guy who was grinning at you, licking your release off his fingers. You ran your hand tenderly over his cheek, trailing down to his neck, gently guiding him closer. Your body felt almost unresponsive, but your need to kiss him was overwhelming. You wanted to feel him, to lose yourself in the connection. As his lips met yours, you relaxed into the kiss, parting your lips lazily and letting James take the lead, savoring every moment. You could still feel the sweet taste of your juice on his lips and it made your heart flutter faster, giving reality to what was happening.

Your hand slowly slid from his shoulder lower to his chest, then to his torso and slightly lower, gently touching the buckle of his belt, but before you could even make an attempt to undo it, James grabbed your hands in his and pulled them away, shaking his head. You frowned, not understanding why he doesn't want you to bring him the same pleasure as he gives you. You wanted to please him. You wanted to do it for him.

“Not today, angel.” He kissed your knuckles, kneeling next to you. You sat up in front of him, your lower lip trembling as his hands began to button your shirt. You sniffed, not understanding what was going on. He wanted it as much as you did, didn't he?

Seeing your expression, James immediately cupped your cheeks in his hands and shook his head.

“I want you, beauty. Merlin, lovely... more than anything in this world, I want to take you right here and now.” James laughed hoarsely, shaking his head. “But like you said, I don't want Sirius or anyone else to get in the way, do I?” you were still pouting, blinking your eyes. James kissed you and joined your foreheads, looking into your eyes. "I promise I'll make it up to you, but later, ‘kay?"

“Okay,” you nodded, reaching for his lips once more. Having tasted James Potter, you felt an insatiable craving for more. With a playful smile, he pulled you closer, and you shifted to straddle him on the bed. His laughter rang out as he placed his hands on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. Your hands wandered slowly over his chest, savoring the moment.

“So, there will be a next time?” you asked, playfully biting your lip. Before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him, cutting off any potential answer.

You didn’t need a reply. In his eyes, you saw the same fiery intensity that drew you in like a moth to a flame. Now, James was the moth flying straight into your blaze. After tonight, there would be no turning back for either of you—both consumed by a fire that would burn without end.

thankx for reading <3

for all my lovelies who are waiting for james fluff i’m currently working on some fluffy stuff, so stay tuned!

and as always, you can share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

#– santi 🪐#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter blurb #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x black!reader #bbf!james potter #james potter smut

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stxrvel · 3 months

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the one where i said fuck you and you cried (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

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You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

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lalal-99 · 5 months

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Kitty’s New Best Friend {l.f.}

113 "Either I'm insane or you were just masturbating in our living room." 133 "You're being shy now? Really?" 141 "How many times have you jerked off to me?"

Felix x afab!reader | trope: friends to lovers, roommates | wordcount: 2.4k

Synopsis: When your roommate comes home unexpectedly, he finds you in a compromising position on the living room couch, moaning his name. Fortunetly, he's had a hunch about your feelings for a while, and he's willing to help you out.

Warnings: explicit content | dni if your under 18

Note: I wrote three different version of this over the past two years. This one was the best one, by a mile. Hope you enjoy. Please leave comments, if you want to encourage more content.

Again, thanks @jl-micasea-fics for letting me use your prompts. I know it's been two years, but still, credit where its due :)

Taglist: @skzho @bubblelixie @flakywig @itsallaboutkey @avyskai @mekuiikore @changbiddies0325 @knowleeknow @sensitiveandhungry @svintsandghosts @poutypoutybin @hyunjinswifeee @sunlitwilderness

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Please don't flag as mature or repost this story - Thank You!

He didn’t use to appear in your dirty dreams.

Only months ago, you didn’t need to put a face on the main character of your fantasies—the imagination itself enough to get you going.

That had certainly changed.

It could have been Felix sauntering your shared apartment without a shirt one too many times. It could have been the shoulder to cry on he had lent you after your ex. Hell, it could have even been as trivial as a kind smile for no apparent reason.

Your brain simply shut off and your kitty assumed control. Universally deciding that your roommate was a fitting image to get turned on to.

Now, his face made an appearance in every single one of your daydreams.

When Felix emerged from his room in nothing but a pair of loose hanging sweatpants, your mind went right back to it. It was ridiculous. You didn’t even listen to where he went off to, your fingers already running over his creamy skin in your mind. You felt like a teenager, arousal taking over you the second Felix left the apartment.

None of your other roommates were home which was fortunate. Sure, you could have gone to your bedroom to be safe. But how could you, when the heat reached you right there in the living room. Like it had happened in the shower a few days ago after Felix had sneaked in to get his lotion. You had told him you didn’t mind when in reality, you did. Just not in the way he might have thought.

That day and in your following fantasy, he hadn’t left, but instead joined you under the hot water.

Humming Felix’s name at the sound of your fingers running through your folds, you internally scolded yourself for thinking this way about him. A boy who was so innocently oblivious, he probably had no idea you even jerked off in the first place. Someone so sweet, he brought you candy when you were on your period, brewed you tea after a long day, or gave you massages when... Well, whenever you wanted one.

You were completely immersed in the scenario you had set up in your head, knot in your stomach tightening. So much so your brain took a second too long to recognise the familiar sound of his keys.

Things went very fast from there.

The door opened and Felix walked in to the sight of you. Rushing your hand out of your shorts, your neckline was red from the heat, your hair messier than when he had left. Mere minutes earlier.

“Felix? What the hell are you doing here?” you questioned, shock written on your features. “I thought you went out.”

“I—“ He scanned the situation and before you could stop him, he figured it out. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I went to get some snacks for the movie.”

Oh yes! The memory of your short conversation suddenly came back to you.

Felix had come out of his room, shirtless, recognising the movie playing on the TV in front of you. He had asked you to pause it, so you could watch it together once he came back from the store. Getting you snacks and a bottle of your favourite white, like the perfect roomie he was.

“Were you…” A smirk appeared on Felix’s face as his view wandered down your body to your pants. “Either I’m insane, or you were just masturbating in our living room.” Noticing your eyes shifting and your cheeks reddening in the light of the TV, he yelped. “Oh my God, you were masturbating, weren’t you?”

You struggled finding another excuse that could explain your hands down your pants. Not that it mattered, anyway. Nothing you said, no explanation you could have given, would get your roommate to believe he hadn’t just walked in on you.

Felix placed the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and strode over to the couch, sliding on next to you. The shit-eating grin on his face only heightened your embarrassment. Not so innocent after all, now that he held something over your head.

“Stop being so smug. It’s not like you don’t do it.” You scratched an invisible itch on your neck.

“But I don’t do it out here where everyone can walk in. Do you have no shame?” Felix was teasing you now, the previously cutesy behaviour shifting. You couldn’t quite pinpoint his demeanour, but it almost seemed seductive. Like, he was definitely flirting, and not in his usual, sweet way. If his next words were anything to go by, it felt even more so. “Or did you want me to walk in on you?”

You almost choked on your saliva. “What? No! Of course not.”

The redness on your face darkened further.

Why would he ever suggest that you had masturbated out in the living room on purpose? Unless… Maybe, subconsciously, you had done just that. Perhaps you wanted to make use of the possibility, him walking in on you. So he could finally help you scratch the itch himself. Not his imaginary self, but the real one, in all his glory. Could your brain have betrayed you like that, without you noticing?

You didn’t quite know what to think.

“It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone about this.” Somehow, that relieved you. Not like you had expected Felix to go around, gloating about it. It still relaxed you to hear it from the man himself. “I only have one question, then we can stop talking about it. Forever.”

Your jaw dropped at his words. So he was blackmailing you now, too? Felix, out of all people. Nice Felix, who never hurt a fly. Cute Felix, whose love language were hugs and cuddles. Smug Felix, who somehow had the upper hand right now.

Your kitty purred at his intrigue, surprising even yourself.

“How many times have you jerked off to me?”

You must have had a mini heart attack at that very second. Unfortunately, you didn’t land in heaven. If anything, this was hell.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Felix replied, bottom lip wandering between his teeth. “And I heard you, moaning my name before. So, how often do you think about me?”

“I don’t— I didn’t— I mean— What?” You were sweating now, unable to form simple sentences. And that was before his hand landed on your naked thigh, squeezing. That’s when you lost the ability to breathe, stomach tensing.

“You’re being shy now? Really?” As his fingers drew figure eights onto your skin, they wandered further up your leg until he reached the hem of your shorts. He played with the band, keeping his irises on you, and your kitty hissed. His proximity was a dangerous game. “What if I told you, I’ve been thinking about it, too?”

What. The. Fuck?

He leaned in, lips close enough to feel his breath on you, and you got dizzy. You didn’t remember drinking any alcohol, but you damn well felt like it. As though you had gotten intoxicated, high, and now you were left to deal with the aftermath.

“Been thinking about you so much. Taking you in your room. In the shower. On this very couch. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His fingers entered your pants, playing with the hem of your underwear. Your breath hitched when his hand cupped you, smirk so close to your face you could hear it. Felix clicked his tongue when he felt your wetness. “I knew it. Not so shy now, are we?”

And you weren’t. Shy, that was. Overwhelmed, sure. Embarrassed, yes. But not shy. Not when you detected the tent in his own sweatpants. Felix wanted this, just like you. Felix was your roommate, best friend and now, potential lover. If anything, you felt most comfortable around him.

The feeling heightened when he gave you a gentle push, urging you to lay back. Felix’s face remained so close to yours, eyes glued to each other as he situated himself above you. His fingers started teasing as he leaned down, faintly pressing his lips to your pulse point. Your eyes stood wide open, searching the ceiling for possible answers to the one question you had.

How the fuck had this happened?

Felix kissed down your body, through the valley of your chest and over your tank top. Right down to your shorts. He must have been able to smell you, but you didn’t care. It was Felix, after all, the boy straight out of your dreams.

“Y/N,” his soft voice called you to catch your attention. When you met his gaze, the world stopped for a moment. The lust had momentarily vanished from his irises and what overtook was care and love. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t.” Your answer couldn’t have come faster, and you meant it. Under no circumstances did you want him to stop. Ever.

With that, the primate inside him gained back control, ridding you of your pants and underwear. All the while, Felix’s stare remained on your face, smiling between kisses he planted on your naked stomach. As though he wanted to capture all your focus and wouldn’t let you divert your eyes for anything.

A last smile sent your way and he dove in.

Your mouth stood agape as you watched him, connect his mouth to your clit, lightly sucking. You spread your legs so he could slot between them, and slot, he did. Key fitting in a lock, he kept your knees apart with his body, the whole couch becoming your playground.

Felix nibbled on your clit like it was sweet candy, gazes locked as his tongue came into play. Prodding, exploring. He looked sinful, like a devilish angle as his blonde locks tickled your bare thighs. A fucking dream-come-true, in the most literal sense.

Licking down your folds, he tasted you, humming in delight. His own personal five course meal.

Early on, you had been taught to never eat with your hands. That it was rude and crude, and ill-mannered. When Felix did it, it was nothing if not delicious. To watch, to hear, his fingers spreading you and entering in soft, gentle strokes.

Soon enough, he was three fingers in, knuckles-deep, petting the sensitive spot so deep you never reached it yourself. And there he was, doing it with so much ease, over and over. Kitty’s new best friend.

For a moment, you lost control, throwing your head back with a loud moan. When Felix squeezed your thigh, gently but determined, you brought your head back.

“Eyes on me, Kitten.”

A whimper at the nickname made him smirk as he scissored you open. His tongue prodded against your opening in sync, delightful as your stomach tensed.

“Oh, fuck—” You brought your hand to his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Guiding him, at least as much as he let you. “Please.”

Cocking his head, Felix teased you, playfully confused by your words.

“Please, I need you. Inside. Please.”

With one last calm suck on your nub, he snaked his way up your body. Fingers remained inside you for now, distracting you.

“But I already am. You have to be more specific, Kitten.”

You clenched at the words, and he visibly noticed.

“Your cock. I need you inside me. Please, Felix.” If those words hadn’t driven him crazy already, persuading him, your next ones sure did. “Kitten needs your cock.”

He groaned, fingers coming up to touch your lips. You opened them, licking over his moist rings and he lost himself in the sight. “Such crude words for such a cute Kitten.”

Smearing the last of your essence over your mouth, he began licking it off, taking his sweet time. And then finally, after he had already done much more intimate, he kissed you. Careful and collected turned to desperate and chaotic as tongues melted into one.

Kissing Felix was natural, like you had done it so many times before. And you would have continued doing it, if it hadn’t been for the more pressing issues.

When you bucked up into him, rubbing your naked crotch against his clothed one, he smirked into the kiss. “Eager Kitten.”

“Desperate,” you corrected, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him into you.

Felix drew away to rid himself of his shirt, kneeling on top of you. It must have been the hottest thing you had ever been lucky enough to witness. As he untied the knot in his sweats, your sight remained on his toned torso. Sculptured abs followed a set of muscular pecs and his prominent collar bones. You wanted to kiss every inch of his body, wanted to lick it and bite it, too. That was if he let you.

But not right now. Not when all you wanted was for him to devour you like his favourite desert.

Like the absolute menace he was, Felix tugged the hem of his sweats down, revealing the absence of underwear. And to think he walked around the apartment like that, unsucked. It was a real shame.

He stroked himself a couple of times, the other hand running through his messy locks. An undeniable God in human form.

You might have even been drooling, but before you could check, he hovered over you again. “Like what you see?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, curling upwards to connect your lips again.

With your legs still around his hips, it was easy for Felix to position himself. Your walls were clenching already, craving penetration. Some relief. Anything. It didn’t actually matter, as long as it was Felix doing it.

“You know,” he mumbled between kisses, tugging at your lip. It was in that moment, as he was so close, that you noticed the desire in his eyes. But it wasn’t just desire, but so much more. Adoration. Longing. Attraction. Love. “If you had told me about your secret from the start, we could have done this months ago.”

How he had come to know about your infatuation? You had no head to figure it out right that moment.

“However, we do have a lot to make up for. Better get to it, right?”

When Felix slid into you, your eyes rolled back into your head as your breath got caught in your lungs. Finally, after months of distanced yearning, he scratched the same itch that had plagued you for so long.

And your kitty was satisfied at last.

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a-kaash-me-outside · 7 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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sunny44 · 8 months

Text

The exes club

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex!reader, ex wags x fem!reader

Warnings: ex wags.

Summary: Where all the ex wags are best friends.

Yourusername instagram post

Liked by @maxverstappen, @isahernáez, @charlottesiine, @luisinhaoliveira, @elenaberri, @katerinaberezhna and other 174829

Yourusername the exes club is reunited again

Ps: for sure the best part of ours relationship

Tagged: @isahernáez, @charlottesiine, @luisinhaoliveira, @elenaberri, @katerinaberezhna

Isahernáez I miss this so much

Yourusername and I missed you

Luisinhaoliveira love you babes

Yourusername love you more girlfriend

Maxverstappen I can see you’re having fun

Liked by Yourusername

Love4wags I love that the best wags are bestfriends

Mv33fan I miss y/n and Max together

User81 I hate the fact that y/n explicitly say that she doesn’t like the current wag

F1lovelywags

Model Y/n Y/L/N talking about the comments of her not liking the new wags.

Y/n was Max Verstappen's girlfriend until a few months ago when they decided to end their relationship.

She and the other ex-WAGs were often seen together in the paddock during race weekends, emphasizing that they were and still are best friends.

Fans are now commenting on her latest post, suggesting that she dislikes the new WAGs just because she shared that she and the other exes were out having fun.

Yourusername instagram stories

“It’s race weekend”

I was invited to attend the weekend in Monza.

It had been a while since I attended any races; it lost its appeal after Max and I broke up. We decided it was for the best, as my modeling career consumed all my time, just like his racing career did to him.

We no longer had time for each other, and it was driving us apart. So, the best decision for both of us was to take a break, which ultimately led to the end.

But here I was again, at a race, hoping everything would go well without any stress.

"Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N." I turned around to see someone from SKY Sports. "Could you give a brief interview?"

"Of course," I agreed, controlling to not roll my eyes as giving interviews was the last thing I wanted to do today.

"We saw your statement in your latest YouTube video regarding the comments on your posts. Do you have anything to declare?"

"As I said in the video, I'm not obligated to like anyone, even if that's what fans think. I don't personally know any of the girls, so the comments are unfounded, defamatory, and malicious," I said, looking into the camera. "I've always been friends with the other girls, and our friendship might have started here due to our ex-boyfriends working in the same field. But our friendship goes beyond that, so the fact that these so-called fans are bothered by something so trivial truly amazes me. Once again, I have nothing against anyone, so I ask you to stop trying to portray me as the villain just because you don't like me."

"Very well, thank you Y/n, for your words," I agreed and left.

I continued walking, stopped for a coffee, and on my way back, Daniel waved at me.

"Y/n, long time no see."

"Hi, Dani," I hugged him. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Good too, just the usual dramas."

"I saw; people don't have much sense.”

"Don't even talk about it. I don't know where people get this rivalry. It's not like I said anything about them in the post."

"Don't worry about it. Fans are just jealous because all of you dated who they wanted. The girls are getting hate now for dating them."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I sighed. "It's terrible for all of us. Max and I aren't even dating anymore, and people still hassle me."

"I can imagine. Heidi sometimes shows me some comments, and they're pretty nasty."

"Well, I need to go, but good luck in the race," I waved. Passing in front of the Red Bull garage, I was pulled inside, and when I saw, I was in Max's driver's room. "What the hell is this?"

"I wanted to see you," he said simply.

"And did you need to pull me in like you were kidnapping me?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you and I wanted as few people as possible to see."

"Why? Are you ashamed?"

"Of course not." He stared at me. "How are you?"

"Look, you didn't pull me in here to ask how I am, and I know it was your idea to invite me, even though you tried really hard to make it seem like it wasn't," I said, and he looked at the floor. "So tell me, why so much effort to bring me here?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you."

"You could have called me or sent a message."

"I know, but I needed to say this in person," I agreed and sat on his bed.

"All right, I'm listening."

"I wanted to apologize for my fans. I heard about what happened with your last post, and I didn’t wanted you to go through all this because of me."

"It's not your fault."

"Are you sure? The fans are mine."

"It doesn't matter; they're not your real fans if they're such nasty people," he agreed. "It's okay."

Max sighed, briefly averting his gaze before fixing it back on mine.

"Y/n, I need to be honest about the other reason I brought you here," I nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I still love you, more than I can admit. Seeing you dealing with all this pressure and drama made me realize that, even with everything that happened between us, I can't just let you go. Not again."

My heart raced, and a smile formed on my face.

"Max, I feel the same way. I think, deep down, we never stopped loving each other. Maybe it's time to give what we had a second chance."

He smiled back, sincerity reflected in his eyes.

"Y/n, I just want to do this the right way, without rushing, and make sure we're both ready." I nodded, feeling a profound sense of relief.

"I'm willing to give it a try, Max. After all, what do we have to lose?"

And in the end, I guess I put an end to the exes club.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram stories

“Ops, I guess the exes club is over for me”

651 notes · View notes

uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years

Text

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”

A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.

Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.

He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”

“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”

Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.

John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.

Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.

“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”

Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.

Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”

“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.

You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”

Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.

“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”

And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.

A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.

Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.

The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”

You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.

“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”

You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.

Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”

“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”

At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”

“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”

“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”

You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.

“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”

Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.

“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.

The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.

“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”

“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”

You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.

You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”

The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”

Yup. Total dreamboat.

“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”

Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.

When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”

You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.

You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”

“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”

You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.

“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”

He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”

Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.

Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

“You’d what?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.

Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…

I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.

I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.

I’d have sex with you.

I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.

Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.

A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.

You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.

Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.

“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”

I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.

The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.

“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.

You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.

“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”

But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”

Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.

You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.

“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”

Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.

For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.

Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.

Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.

Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.

Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.

Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.

You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.

While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.

He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”

When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”

You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”

Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.

“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.

“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.

It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.

Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”

“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.

“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”

“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.

“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”

Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.

You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”

Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.

“Okay,” Sam melted.

“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”

Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.

You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.

You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.

You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.

The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.

“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”

Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”

“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”

Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.

“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”

You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.

You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”

Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”

“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”

You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.

“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.

He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”

You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”

“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”

You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!

Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.

“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”

You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”

An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.

“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”

(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)

Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”

You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”

“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).

It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”

Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.

You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.

It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.

In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”

Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.

…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.

“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.

He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.

Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.

…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”

It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.

“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”

Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.

Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.

Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.

“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”

“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.

You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.

“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”

Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”

Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.

You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.

“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”

Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.

You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?

“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”

Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.

“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.

He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”

You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”

Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!

You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.

Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”

So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.

When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”

Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.

“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.

You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”

The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.

You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).

A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”

The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.

His—lap.

There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).

Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”

Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.

That is not the case.

With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.

“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.

“Shut up, Sam.”

He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.

The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…

He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.

Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.

Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?

You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.

Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.

It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”

A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.

“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.

Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).

Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.

The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.

Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.

“Everything okay?” He worries.

Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.

You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”

Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.

“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”

His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).

“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.

You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”

The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.

“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”

The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.

“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”

Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.

“...In our bed…”

Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.

“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”

What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...

You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”

Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”

Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.

You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”

“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.

Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.

“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”

You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.

Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”

“Got super noisy?”

After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.

Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.

“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”

He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—

Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.

The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.

You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.

This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.

You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.

Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”

He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—

“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”

What in the ever-loving fuck.

I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).

All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.

Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”

He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.

Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.

This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.

They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.

You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.

“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”

The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.

You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.

Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”

Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.

Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.

Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”

Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”

He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”

The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.

You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.

Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.

You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”

You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”

This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.

“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”

“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”

You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.

“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”

But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…

Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.

You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”

After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.

Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.

You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.

“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”

You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.

Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”

Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.

Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.

“A-ah!”

Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.

There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.

Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”

“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”

Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.

If this is just how his fingers feel…

Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.

Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.

To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.

Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?

Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.

The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”

A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.

While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.

There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!

So…

Close…

And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.

Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.

“Sa—Sam—”

Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.

“Sam…”

You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.

Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.

Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.

A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.

You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”

And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”

“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”

In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.

Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”

(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)

He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.

This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”

With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”

You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.

He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.

Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”

Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.

“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”

His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.

When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.

“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”

Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.

…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.

“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”

You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.

It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—

“Take it out.”

Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.

It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…

You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.

You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.

For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.

“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”

“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.

For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.

Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.

“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.

You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”

Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”

He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.

Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.

You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”

Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.

Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”

You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”

Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—

—you go for it.

Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.

Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.

Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.

You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.

“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.

You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”

Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.

For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.

You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.

Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.

He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)

It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.

“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”

Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.

You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!

It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”

Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.

“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”

Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”

“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.

This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.

You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”

This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.

Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.

He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.

But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.

“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.

Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”

Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.

Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.

“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”

Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.

“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”

You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.

You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”

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READ PART TWO.

#sam winchester #spn #supernatural #uncouthspn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader headcanons #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester smut #user uncouth

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