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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year ago

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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whumpthemusical · 1 year ago

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Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

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ninii-winchester · 4 months ago

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But daddy, I love him

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Demon!Reader

Word count : 3.6k

Warnings : angst (if you squint), foul language.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean was bored. No, he was beyond bored. There were no cases and Sam was, well, being Sam. He had his nose buried in some book and he refused to acknowledge Dean's situation. He kept throwing paper balls at Sam just to annoy him and he finally succeeded when Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother.

"What the hell is your problem.?" He snapped.

"Ah so nice of you to notice." Dean started sarcastically, "in case it wasn't obvious. I'm bored."

"If you're bored read some lore books." Sam suggested with a shrug.

"I want to kill my boredom not die myself." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam made a bitch face before answering,

"Go out to a bar or something." He got up from his chair and left the library. Dean perked up,

"Good idea Sammy. I'm heading out." He announced leaving the bunker.

He arrived at the nearest bar, settling on one of the barstools he ordered himself a drink. His eyes search the space, trying to find something or someone interesting, his eyes dropped a figure a few seats to his left. She looked familiar. He looked at her for a few seconds before it clicked, he'd hooked up with her years back.

Now normally he wouldn't be able to recognise anyone he hooked up with several years back, but he remembered her because she looked exactly the same. It had been years and she didn't change even a bit. And the fact that he thought about her quite often. More than he'd like to admit.

He couldn't help but think if she remembered him. He wouldn't know if he didn't ask. Besides he didn't have anything better to do so he approached her.

"Hey." Dean said sitting down beside her.

"Hi." She smiled looking at him. It was hard to decipher if she remembered him or was just being friendly. "I know you." She added making his release a breath.

"So you do remember." He smirked at her.

"Do you really think you're forgettable, Dean?" She questioned with a sly smile on her face. He laughed at her comment, shaking his head.

"I must say, you haven't aged a day since I've last seen you." Dean spoke gulping down his drink. "And it's been like what? Nine years?"

The two had met when Sam had left for Stanford and John had gone God knows where, and Dean was free to do whatever. He was hunting a werewolf. After he killed the creature, he found a bar and ended up her in bed. They spent three weeks together before John called Dean back.

"Nine years." She nodded. "But you haven't aged yourself." She replied glacing at him.

"No really, you're just exactly how I remember you." He said looking at her in amazement.

"Yeah? Above you or beneath you?" She whispered leaning closer to him. He wasn't expecting her to be this straight with him so it caught him a bit off guard.

Dean quickly collected himself and answered with a smirk. "Both."

"Good to know I'm not the only one who still thinks about it." She added and he nodded.

The two had spent weeks together but it wasn't just hooking up. Dean took her out on dates and she cooked for him sometimes. They cuddled, played games, talked about anything and everything, music, movies, dreams. Everything except their personal lives. And they had sex. It was as if they were together but without any labels, and when Dean left there were no hard feelings.

"So what brings you to Kansas?" Dean questioned, looking at her with curiosity.

"Ah you know me, i go where the wind takes me." She replied with a shrug.

"So you mean you're still wandering around?"

She nodded her head before speaking.

"And you're not?" She laughed.

"Nah I've got a place now. With my brother." Dean replied vaguely, not wanting to drag her into the mess called 'hunting life'.

"Cool." She bit her lip, she completely turned her body towards him. "Do you wanna get out of here? My motel is right infront of this place." She added seductively, her hand placed on his chest.

"With pleasure, sweetheart." Dean said helping her stand, he threw a few bills on the counter which were more than enough to cover both their drinks, he pulled her out of the bar.

The moment she entered the room her back was slammed against the door and his lips were attacking hers. She moaned in his mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Clothes were ripped and thrown haphazardly. Their kiss was hungry and needy. For the next few hours the only sound that could be heard was of the slapping of his skin against hers, her moans and his groans and the filthy words he spoke that she loved so much.

"Fuck, I thought you were good back then but now you're just..." she trailed off panting, laying on top of him.

"You're one to say." Dean replied, his own breathing ragged. He dragged his fingers on her bare bare soothingly. "Missed this." He spoke after a minutes of silence. "Missed you."

"I did too." She said leaning up to peck his lips. "This is cozy." She added snuggling up to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly. She laid her head on his chest when she noticed his tattoo. "Hey. I like your tattoo, what does it mean?" She said tracing it with her finger. He froze for a second.

"I don't know actually, I uh.. I saw it at the tattoo shop, and I just liked it." He lied through his teeth. She nodded laying her head back down.

The next morning, Dean woke up by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned before answering his phone. It was Sam, asking where he was and that he needs to be back. Y/n felt Dean move beneath her and woke up.

"I have to go." He said sitting up, she pouted clutching the sheets to her chest as she watched him put his clothes back on.

"So soon?" Dean chuckled lightly before kissing her.

"We could do this again, for as long as you're here in Kansas." Dean said tying his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved closer so she could hug him from behind.

"De." She said resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I meant it when I said I missed you." She mumbled against his shoulder. He tilted his head to look at her better. He gave her a confused look not getting where she was going with this. She unwrapped her arms from his torso and shifted to his side, and straddled his waist. He leaned back a bit so she could sit comfortably. He gripped her hips, holding her gaze. "Dean, those three weeks were the best days of my life. I never thought I'd ever meet you again. In my entire life no one has ever made me feel the way you do, can we.. could we try-" Her heart dropped the moment his grip loosened and he avoided eye contact. She whispered a quiet "oh" and quickly got off his lap.

"Y/n-"

"I get it, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She was embarrassed, she really thought he felt the same.

"You didn't. It's just... it's complicated." Dean said standing up from where he sat on the bed.

"Yeah, no.. I get it." She nodded not meeting his gaze. Before either of them could say anything else, Dean's phone rang again. He sighed before answering.

"Yes Sam, I'm on my way. Yeah." He spoke into the phone before hanging up. He gave her one last glance before walking out of the door.

It had been three days since Dean walked out of her motel room and she felt pretty shitty. She basically asked him out and he outright rejected her. She sat at the small table, nursing a glass of scotch when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door expecting anyone but Dean, yet here he was.

"Not gonna invite me in, sweetheart?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.

"Find someone else to wet your dick." She rolled her eyes, closing the door but stopped it with his foot.

"C'mon don't be like that. I just want to talk." He said softly, prompting her to open the door wider. She walked back and he entered inside. "Look, I know I was a dick last time you saw me, but like I said it's complicated." She didn't speak or even acknowledge his words. "I would love nothing more than to be with you but it'd be hard." She raised her brow at him and he rubbed his face. "I'm gone, alot. I wouldn't be here everytime you need me. And you, you never stay at one place for a long time. I'm willingly to do this if you're okay with it."

"You really think I wouldn't stay, if you'd ask?" She said walking towards him. "Dean, the last time I felt something, felt alive was nine years ago. I was callous before and after you." She said honestly and her words couldn't have been anymore true. She was a demon. She hadn't felt, feelings for as long as she can remember. But with Dean, she felt everything there is.

"Let's do this." Dean leaned down kissing her softly. For the past three days all he did was think. He still wasn't sure what prompted him to give in to her, but it's time he started living for himself a bit.

Months passed, Y/n had gotten herself an apartment in Kansas, her and Dean had been going strong. They went out for drives, Dean stayed over sometimes, and had phenomenal sex whenver they could. Y/n had yet to visit his "place" since his brother doesn't know about them and she was fine with it. Part of her was relieved Dean couldn't stay longer. She didn't have to keep her "human charade" up.

Unbeknownst to them, both of them were hiding a significant secret from each other. But that was until,

"Princess, you can't go in there, his majesty is in an important meeting-" A measely demon tried to stop her from entering the chamber Crowley has his 'throne' in.

"Shut up before I disintegrate you into nothing." She sneered, her eyes turned completely black. She knew she wouldn't do but that demon didn't know that nor did he need to know. She pushed open the door, her father sitting on his so called throne while two men stood in front of him, their backs to her. She was too angry to recognise the silhouette of the body in front of her. "How many times do I have to tell you not-"

"Darlin' I'm a bit occupied at the moment." The man with the Scottish accent interrupted her. The two men turned around and her eyes widened.

"Dean, What're you doing here?" She questioned. His face seemed like he'd seen a ghost. He was shocked and confused. The other man, she assumed his brother, Sam raised his brows in confusion as well.

"Squirrel, you know my daughter?" Crowley questioned standing up.

"Your daughter?" Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between the shorter man and his daughter. She was flabbergasted and didn't know if she could get out of this situation. When she saw some demons following her, she confronted them, they revealed her father had sent them to keep an eye on her. The only reason she was here was to tell him to back off.

"You're on nickname basis with the King of Hell?" She joked looking at Dean. He glared at her and her grin dropped.

"What exactly is happening here?" Sam questioned feeling completely out of loop.

"That is exactly what I would like to know!" Crowley demanded looking at Dean and Y/n.

"What is happening is here, I just found out I've been sleeping with the Princess of Hell." Dean gritted his teeth. "You put her up to this, didn't you?" He glared at Crowley.

"She's my daughter, not some hooker. And why would I even do that? We're besties, aren't we?" He said as if they had been childhod buddies. "Wait a minute, you're sleeping with Dean Winchester?" Crowley looked at his daughter, disappointed. "He's a goddamn hunter."

"You say as if it's a bad thing." She mumbled "I didn't know he's a hunter." She shrugged. "I didn't even know his last name until now."

"You've seen him naked, you didn't see his anti possession tattoo?" Sam asked, clearing getting a kick out this situation. Dean glared at his brother.

"Well I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it was, the last time I choked a guy half to death because of that tattoo and turned out it was some nerd book thing, Supernatural or whatever." She countered throwing her hands in the air. Sam shook his head at the mention of the Supernatural books.

"How could you hide this from me?" Dean questioned the look of betrayal all over his face.

"Yeah sure, I could've just walked up to you and said, hey Dean I'm a demon." She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were a hunter either. Had I told you the truth you would've killed me."

"This is different." Dean replied.

"Alright Romeo Juliet. Whatever it is, this is done here. Y/n, I forbid you to see him." Crowley intervened.

"But Daddy I love him." She replied and the three men present in the room froze.

"I need a drink." Crowley said.

Dean looked at her wide eyed, still processing her words. A demon is in love with him, before knowing her real identity, Dean himself felt something for her but right now he wasn't so sure. Y/n bit her lip, looking at the green eyed hunter.

"We should talk." She said walking over to him. "Privately." She added loudly looking at her father. Crowley rolled his eyes before snapping his fingers, him and Sam disappearing from the room. Dean looked surprised Crowley didn't throw a fit when told to do something. "He loves me." She said as if she had read his mind.

Dean was silent for a moment and the everything came crashing into him at full speed, his supposed girlfriend is a demon, not just some demon but she's the daughter of the King of Hell. He's been sleeping with the Princess of Hell and apparently she's in love with him.

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed, extremely pissed.

"Dean, let me explain. I promise I won't lie about anything."

"You're a demon, demons lie all the time, you've been lying to me this whole time." He snapped at her.

"I didn't lie about anything, I just hid one fact. Besides you're the one who approached me at the bar, both times." She felt herself getting defensive. "I'm not like other demons you've met. I'm not evil. Hell I didn't even ask for this." She felt herself tear up.

"I don't even know who you are!" Dean exclaimed. "Who's body are you even wearing."

"It's mine." She replied.

"That's not possible, if you're Crowley's daughter you're atleast over two hundred years old how'd your body even..." he trailed off. "What do you mean you didn't even ask for this?"

"I'm the reason he's what he is." She started. "If you know him closely you'd know his relationship with his mother." Dean nodded urging her to continue, "so when I was born he swore he'd be the parent he never got. He gave me everything he could, loved me too much." Her voice cracked, "When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, and we're talking centuries back, I was gonna die. So my father, Fergus made a deal. My life for his soul. Ten year later they took him. He became a demon, kept an eye one me. He was happy that I was alive, When I was twenty seven I got into a fatal accident, I died. And he couldn't bear that so he transformed me with magic or shit I don’t know. He made me a demon. That way I would be with him forever."

Dean hadn't taken Crowley to be a man capable of love, he always thought of him as an evil son of a bitch who was the King of Hell and was there to cause trouble for him and his brother.

"He became the King of Hell because of me, just to give me everything I could ever need, he didn't realise by doing he kept me alive, but over the it made unhappy and lonely. I could never find love, I could never feel a thing. But nine years ago I met you, and I felt something, I don't how or why but I did, then you left." She whispered staring at him. "And then we met again, I thought I could finally get what I wanted, but I was naive to think it would work. I'm sorry Dean I never meant to hurt you, I just thought you're just a guy that I'll outlive and you'd never find the truth."

"This is a lot to take in." Dean said shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what happened to you." She nodded her head not knowing what else to say. "Is it true? What you said?" He asked cautiously.

"About loving you? Yes. I mean I don't know what love feels like, it's been a long time, but you do make me feel like I did when I was human. So yeah I do love you Dean. And I know you might not want anything to do with me after all this. But I'd do anything for you." She replied honestly. She'd been lonely for the past centuries, she's willing to do anything to feel something again.

"I did...uh" he cleared his throat before speaking, "I did feel something for you before this whole ficasso and I'd be lying if I said you being a demon changed it." Dean took a step towards her, "you said you're willing to do anything for this to work?" She nodded her head in affirmation, her eyes filled with hope. "We know how to cure a demon, make them human again."

"You do?" She asked looking surprised.

"Yeah, your father didn't tell you? We almost turned him human!" He chuckled.

"I told you I don't keep up with his evil shenanigans. If I did I'd have known all about you." Dean nodded in understanding.

"So do you-"

"Yes." She didn't even let him finish. "I'd do it."

"It might hurt." Dean warned "and what about your father?"

"Dean, I'm tired of being lonely for centuries. Yes I love my father but he has to let go someday. I can't live like this anymore."

To say Crowley threw a fit when he heard Y/n's decison was an understatement. He was beyond pissed. He went off on Dean, cursing at him, telling him he's always causing problems for him. It took Y/n a while to convince him but he came around when he realised this is where her true happines laid. Even if he was the King of Hell and Dean was his frenemy, he was still Y/n’s father and did gave Dean the 'you hurt her I'll kill you' talk.

The Winchester brothers took her to the Bunker and Sam prepared to cure her. They cuffed her to the chair in the dungeon inside the devil's trap. Sam had gone to bring the human blood, Dean kneeled infront of her. He cupped her face in his hands.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

"I trust you, Dean." She smiled at him. He placed kissed on her forehead when Sam came back.

Hours later, Y/n was screaming and groaning as they continued to inject her with human blood. Dean felt bad, wanting it to be over soon. When Sam was done, Y/n was sweaty and her head lolled to the side as she threaded on the edge of consciousness.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean patted her cheek lightly. She slowly opened her eyes, her black eyes now y/e/c, full of life. She gave him a tired smile.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean moved aside allowing Sam to pour holy water on her and she flinched at the sudden splash.

"Sorry, Y/n. It's Procedure." Sam apologised. She nodded lightly, she would've waved him off but her hands were tied. Her flesh didn't sizzle and the two brothers nodded at each other. She blinked a couple of time to adjust her eyes. Dean uncuffed her hands and helped her stand.

"Hi baby." Dean said holding her waist. She didn't waste anytime, pulling him for a kiss which he gladly returned.

"I didn't need to see that." Sam said loudly making them pull apart. "Congratulations Y/n, you're human now."

"Thank you for helping me, Sam." She told the taller man and he smiled at her.

"Thanking just him?" Dean complained.

"Well I thought I'd thank you some other way but if you just need the words...." Dean didn't let her finish before picking her up and making his way towards his bedroom.

Tags:

@deans-baby-momma @bansheesandbutterflies

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nastyaromatherapy · 1 year ago

Text

Footlong (18+)

Ethan, a boy you bullied in highschool, sees you at a frat party and is hungry for revenge.

saw (this fic) and was like damn, i need an extended version of this.

pairing - dom!ethan landry x bully!reader

one shot length, 1.9k+ word fic

warnings: PIV, creampie, mentions of sh, degradation, tara reader and quinn are all bitches, big dick ethan

“Ethan? Please. I bet he’s never even held hands with a girl.” You quipped to Tara when his name aroused in a game of Fuck Marry Kill. Quinn quickly disagreed, “I bet- No, I know he’s packing. Haven’t you seen the outline in his khakis?” You internally bleh-ed at her wandering eyes. “Quinn, you fucking horndog,” you joked, leaning back in your chair and contemplating the original question: Fuck Mary Kill, Chad, Ethan, Frankie. “Fuck Chad, Marry Ethan, Kill that motherfucker Frankie.”

“Swap Ethan and Chad, then agreed,” Quinn said. Suddenly Ethan walked in in the khakis Quinn was talking about earlier, finding his seat in the back of the class. “Speak of the devil,” Tara tsked. “Yo, Ethan,” you called out. His eyes flickered up to meet yours before quickly dropping back down. “C’mon, why the long face? I heard only fans should be back up tonight, and I’m sure the ladies miss you as much you miss them,” you fake pouted. He just rolled his eyes and focused on copying down notes he borrowed from some friends.

“Ethan!” Tara called out to him, only this time he didn’t look up. “Don’t mind y/n, she’s just nervous. She wants to invite you to her party tonight, wants to see this ‘big dick’ everyone’s gassing.” You smirked and found Tara’s comment as a perfect opening. “Yeah, Ethan, that true? That you hide a footlong in your khakis?” You asked him condescendingly, a flush already flooding his cheeks. “Oh, Ethan,” Quinn gasped, grabbing on the sides of her desk to rock it. “It’s too big, I can’t take it,” she moaned artificially.

Ethan slouched in his seat, wanting to be as far as possible from here.

He was though, he slouched in his seat on the couch at the frat party, beer can in hand. He saw you dancing with some of your friends who he’s never seen before, having not seen you since Highschool. Oh would vengeance be sweet.

He waited until you walked into the kitchen for a drink so that he could approach you without distractions. “Y/n l/n,” he said with false surprise, making you turn around with a gasp. He grew taller, his hair was more put together, he was just hotter. “What a surprise,” he smirked. “Footlong!” You smiled, the name stemming from the joke from 12th grade. “Ethan- sorry. Old habits die hard,” you said. “It’s all good just, surprised to see you here,” he spoke.

“You’re taller!” You said awkwardly, gesturing your hands towards his figure. “Yeah, I guess canceling all those only fan subscriptions helped me grow,” he joked self deprecatingly, sadly smiling. You sighed, hating apologizes. “Oh, yeah sorry about all that. It was just a joke,” you said in the most tone deaf way possible. “Hey I mean, at least those were all rumors. It’s not like it came out that I had a threesome with Paul Keene and his cousin and it turned out to be very true.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips twisted into a snaky expression.

“Yo what the fuck is your problem?” You asked him as your temper rose. “Just taking a trip down memory lane,” he smirked before taking a sip of his beer, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You looked at him with utter disgust for his remarks about the past. “Okay, my bad. You have gotten sexier though,” he said, empty hand reaching for your side.

You inched closer, giving into his touch. “Oh yeah?” You asked as you let his feel up your side. “Yeah,” he confirmed before finally landing a grip on your waist, pulling you in close. “You wanna dance?”

You led him to the dance floor to engage in some tipsy dancing. He wasn’t the best, was a little stiff, but you were there to help him out. You grinded on him as his hands rested at your hips. Ethan groaned as he felt his erection slowly growing as your ass rubbed against him.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing you by your wrist, and you complied to follow him up the stairs. He slammed you against the paneled wall and kissed you hungrily, groaning into your mouth. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least a littler turned on by this, your stomach churning.

You slowly slipped your tongue into his mouth, moaning into the kiss as his hands reached to fumble with your tits.

“Fuck,” he said after pulling away, wiping the extra slobber on his face with his palm. He grabbed you by your hand this time, leading you into an empty bedroom, being quick to lock the door.

“So, Footlong,” you started while walking into the room. “We gonna test if the rumors true? And I’m gonna guess you’re a virgin. Sex isn’t the same as porn, and girls aren’t like those cam girls I know you like to watch. Just to let you know.” He grimaced at your words, seeing that you obviously haven’t changed at all.

“Sad to see you haven’t changed,” he said. “Still a bitch,” he said with a smirk. “A sexy bitch,” you said. “According to your words.” Ethan was quick to correct you, “I said you were sexier, not sexy.” Your expression quickly faltered. “God I can’t believe I kissed you. You probably have herpes,” he said while wiping a hand down his face. “I-I don’t-”

“You know I used to burn myself? Almost everyday after school?” He asked, completely shifting the mood. Your face filled with shock, up until now unaware. “Ethan- I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me-” “Cause it was none of your fucking business!” He yelled, making you inch back a bit. “Just like it was none of your fucking business saying those things to me, knowing what I already had going on in my life.” He said, referring to the death of Richie and his father’s coping mechanisms.

“But I know why you’re here, y/n. It’s not because you like me, it’s not because you want to make up, it’s because you’re a fucking loud mouthed whore.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but you just couldn’t.

As he stood he started to unbuckle his pants, letting them drop to his knees. Your eyes grew wide at the visible bulge in his boxers, maybe not 12 inches, but still huge. “What? You need a step by step tutorial?” He asked, eyeing your blank expression. His words made you quickly snap out of it and get down so your knees touched the cold wood.

You tugged his boxers down, allowing his dick to spring out. He shallowly hissed at the cold air. Your mouth watered at the sight, he was perfect. You eagerly took the tip of him, feeling the rumbles of his groans. “That’s it, shut up and take it,” he grunted, slowly thrusting himself deeper into your throat. You rested your hands on his inner thighs and moaned on his length, finding yourself extremely turned on.

“Is this gonna be our secret? Are you gonna be too embarrassed to admit to your friends that you got face fucked by Ethan Landry?” He asked, his thrusts growing more aggressive. Your eyebrows contorted upwards, and with every thrust your mouth made a wet clicking sound.

You continued moaning around him from the pleasure of being used, eyes now glossy and red. Ethan slipped his hand down and pulled his cock out of your mouth, making you sigh from disappointment. “Stick out your tongue,” he softly demanded, and you quickly complied. “That’s a good whore,” he groaned as he jerked himself off over your tongue. You found yourself reaching your tongue up, just for a little taste. “Does the slut want my cum?” He asked, growing close, face completely red. “Yes,” you moaned. “Beg for it.”

You pouted, hungry for his cum. “Please cum for me, Ethan. I want your cum s’bad!” You whimpered out. Ethan threw his head back as he shot his cum directly in your mouth, a little making its way onto your lips. You licked it off your lips sluttily before swallowing all of it. Ethan tilted his head slightly, “Not even a thank you?” He asked, annoyed. “Thank you,” you corrected.

He looked down at you on the floor, eyeing you still in the dress. “Turn around.” After you turned to face away from him, he unzipped your dress to help you take it off, taking his shirt off as well. He hooked your black thong in his fingers and moved them to the side, eyeing your glistening pussy. He spit on it before giving your ass a slap, making you yelp and bounce forward.

“Face down,” he ordered, making you lay your face down on the cool floor. He took his cock and rubbed it up and down your pussy, leading you to whimper. “Please fuck me, Ethan,” you moaned. He slapped your ass again, “Yeah, you want my cock, slut?” You nodded furiously. “Please, need your cock in me,” you whined, pushing your ass back in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he slid into you, grabbing a hold of your waist. “Ethan!” You moaned out. Never in a million years would you ever think that Ethan fucking Landry would be stretching you out. “That’s it, take my cock,” he groaned, ego boosting from how much you enjoyed it, from how you whimpered on his dick and clenched around him.

“So big,” you whispered, which he picked up on. “Yeah? You love my big dick stretching you out?” You nodded in response. “Yes, fuck I love your cock, Ethan!”

He got so much pleasure out of watching you submit for him, the girl who tormented him for years just from her words, going dumb on his cock. “Mm, slap my ass again please, it felt s’good,” you slurred out. He smiled and was quick to comply, leaving a red mark on your cheek. “Slut love when I smack her ass?” He asked smugly. “Mhm,” you whimpered.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you struggled to find anything to grab onto, reaching for your discarded dress to scrunch in your hands. “Not gonna say anything bitchy?” He asked, thrusts growing deeper. “Where’d your confidence go? Fuck you’re pathetic,” he smirked. “Pathetic slut who likes getting her pussy ripped apart by absolutely anyone.” You moaned at his words, growing close as tears formed in your eyes.

“So close, Ethan,” you whined, your stomach twisting in the most pleasurable way. “Oh yeah? Beg for it,” he grunted, slamming into you harder. “Fuck- please let me cum Ethan, your cock feels s’good,” you begged, cunt squeezing his length so tight. “That’s a good fucking whore, cum on my cock,” he groaned. You released all over him, squirting for the first time.

The liquid spurted onto his thighs and the floor, making you feel somewhat humiliated. He continued to fuck you, having not came yet. You screamed from the overstimulation, moaning uncontrollably. “Fuck, oh fuck. Ethann,” you whined as he chased his own high.

“Fuck!” He groaned with one final slam, filling your cunt with his thick cum. He was quick to pull out and watch his cum slowly drip out of your pussy. “Come taste yourself,” he said. You shifted around and bent over to suck his dick, covered in a mix of yours and his cum. He cursed under his breath as you overstimulated his cock, grabbing your head and pushing you down on his length, throwing his head back, groaning as you deepthroated him. Then he lifted your head up to see your fucked out face, wet with sweat. “Be useful and open your legs.”

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abibliophobiaa · 2 years ago

Note

Hii hope you're having a lovely day

Can I get a forced proximity,fake dating smut with Eddie Munson and the phrase "come on I won't bite, unless you're into that"

this was such a fun prompt! below is 4k of eddie and r just being adorable as hell. warnings: fluff; barely edited because i’m at work and die like bob in the docs; fem!reader; smut, so 18+ minors dni.

It was supposed to be simple: show up to your ex's wedding with a date, so that way your friends from college wouldn’t look at you with pitying gazes that clearly said, “Look at the poor, sad, tragically lonely girl.”

For the record, you were none of those things. And maybe it was a little dramatic to think that way. Also yeah, maybe you received those questions from time to time—asked innocently enough, usually—when you planned on settling down, but what if you never wanted to?

But pretending, at the time, to be in a relationship seemed easier than avoiding all of those questioning stares and probing comments.

It had been Max’s idea, actually; you’d been helping tutor her for a college math test when she noticed the invitation on the fridge and you’d laughed about how it was your ex and you still frequented the same friend group, which meant being invited to his wedding was an absolute. You murmured to her in confidence that you really weren’t excited about going; mentioned you were the only one in your college friend group who hadn’t been married off yet or popped out a kid (you shuddered to think of either of the two).

“Why not bring a fake boyfriend or something?” She asked. It seemed so…silly at first. You’d arched a brow in her direction and chuckled to yourself, the tip of your pencil tapping against her loose leaf notebook absentmindedly. At your confusion, she proceeded, “You know? Ask Steve or Argyle…Eddie.”

“Don’t say Eddie like that,” you grumbled, chewing at the eraser tip.

The redhead flicked one of her braids over her shoulder, shrugging. “Don’t say Eddie like what?”

“How you did just now! You didn’t just say Eddie,” you explained, dropping your pencil down onto the paper. “You said Eddie. Like you’re insinuating something.”

“Yeah, like the big freaking crush you’ve had on him since you two were in high school together—”

“Your answer to number five is wrong.”

Max snorted. And that was that.

Luckily, Eddie’s amicable as he always is. When you suggest coming as your date, he’s quick to ask for times to pick you up and requesting the attire for the event. It’s an evening wedding, and he shows up in a dark suit that matches the color of his hair. The same suit that now rests over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his shirt beneath rolled up to the elbow, revealing endless whirls of tattoos he’s collected over the years since he graduated high school.

He’s—well, Eddie on a normal day is breathtaking. All dark hair that falls in waves to his shoulders, broad smiles, dark eyes that can see through your soul. Charming as hell, and just as charismatic. He’s the kind of person that brightens every room he walks into and graces with his presence.

Eddie at a wedding?

You’re practically heaving into your champagne glass with how disturbingly—and unfairly—handsome he looks, but he can’t know that, so you play it off that you’ve danced one too many songs and need a moment to collect yourself.

“Think the plan is working?” He muses, leaning over to sip at your glass. “Think we’ve fooled enough people so grandma over there can stop clutching her pearls asking if you’ve accepted your spinsterhood?”

Honestly, the whole fake dating thing isn’t as bad as you initially thought. Eddie’s been ever the gentleman, holding open doors, holding your hand, holding the side of your hip. It’s great for the optical illusion you’re trying to portray, but it’s terrible for the ever painful kick-thump throb of your heart in your chest.

“Why? You wanna get out of here?” You likely can. You’ve stayed for the ceremony, most of dinner. You’ve even danced with Eddie a bit on the dance floor, introduced him to a few of your college friends, let him press a kiss to your cheek during the ‘couple’s dance’ after he’d suggested you try on the lips and you nearly broke an ankle, tripping up in your movements from the mere suggestion of doing something so insane. “We could always head back to the hotel room?”

Oh—and therein lay the other problem aside from your cardiovascular symptoms as a direct result of Eddie’s proximity: the hotel reservation somehow got all mixed up and you only afforded yourselves one bed.

One.

Singular.

Eddie had reassured the front desk employee that it was no issue, but you’d slapped your card onto the countertop and asked—admittedly pleaded—if they could check again for another room. It was with pitying gazes that they advised, because of the wedding, all the other available rooms were full. Which left you and Eddie with a king size bed for the night.

“It’s fine,” Eddie had teased, tossing pillows down the center of the bed after both tossed all of your things onto the floor. “Here’s our bundling board. You better not try to jump my bones in my sleep now.”

The thought itself has your thighs sliding together, mind swimming as your friend’s ring clad fingers trail against your forearm, drawing you back to reality. You turn with a ‘huh,’ your eyes meeting his as he says, “I’m fine with that if y—”

You’re interrupted by the sound of Clarissa, your ex’s new bride, calling your name from another table away. You’ve been friends with her for years, studied in the same program for your undergrad degree, and remained as such even after she came to you one day in the library and asked if it would be okay to date Jared. And it was; you’d been broken up for some months, anyway, after all. All adults who could handle weird circumstances.

Just like right now, as Jared joins his new bride’s side and extends a hand to greet Eddie. “Is this the guy that swept our friend here off her feet? Nice to meet you…”

“Eddie,” Eddie says, reaching over to grasp Jared’s hand and shake it. He’s just as charming when Clarissa leans down and urges you both forward in tight hugs, giggling brightly over how nice the two of you look and blushing when Eddie speaks again saying, “You look beautiful. Congrats, you two.”

“Congrats you two,” Clarissa practically trills, clapping excitedly. She mouths over Eddie’s shoulder, “He’s gorgeous.”

You can only pathetically shrug in agreement before Jared’s asking how the two of you met and Eddie tugs you so close to him you’re practically sitting on his lap. Your hand manages to grip his thigh to steady yourself when your chair wobbles, and his palm swallows yours upon doing so. He lifts it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss against the back of it. Your skin bursts to life with a thousand bubbles dancing along your skin, though you chalk it up to the champagne buzzing in your system.

Heat coils again as he turns to look at you, brown eyes fathomless as he says, “Back in high school. She walked into first period math class and she waved at me and I knew it was all over after that. But we only recently realized we wanted to be more than friends; figured it was about time to take a chance. Best choice I’ve made in a long time, really. Now we’re inseparable. Unbreakable. Insatiable—”

You elbow him slightly, cutting his words off. “Insatiable, Ed?”

Clarissa and Jared are none the wiser. The both of them only lean into one another, Clarissa glowing with her bridal beauty and Jared looking like he’s fallen in love with her all over again as Eddie regales them with your fake relationship origin story.

“Can you act like you actually like me?” He grumbles near your temple, that palm curling around your hip again to draw you even closer. Heat coils in your belly once more as that mouth drops lower, hot breath fanning along the shell of your ear, his voice a husk of, “Relax. I won’t bite…unless you’re into that.”

So, maybe you can’t swallow the breathy sigh that punches its way up your throat. And maybe your thighs clench beneath the table. But they’re all mere side effects to the man hypnotizing everyone around him with his charm, casualties of the battle waging war behind your ribcage. Even so, the damage is done; the carnage remaining in the wake of your inner turmoil is evident in the slow curl of his lips, the proud smirk lining those presently devilish features.

He’s thoroughly enjoying himself—enjoying the effects his presence has on you, even under the guise of pretending you’re something you’re not. So if your eyes roll in your skull when he leans down and presses a barely-there kiss beneath your ear, it’s only because he’s really wonderful at the elaborate facade you’ve both concocted.

It’s only because, over the years of being DM, he’s perfected the art of performance.

It’s that and nothing more.

Call the casual touches and flirting throughout the night side effects of a few glasses of champagne and loosened inhibitions. Call the glances across the dance floor nothing more than intrigue and longing for a ‘what if?’ Call the brush of his fingers against your skin, the press of lips, the hand on your hip nothing more than part of an act. Because that’s all it is.

Or so you think and have conditioned yourself to think.

But that tension lingers long after Clarissa and Jared wish you well. It lingers in the breaths filling the elevator on your way back to the room, it seeps into the pauses in your conversation. It grows and curls like a bowstring in your belly, drawn tight when Eddie slides the key into your hotel room door and pushes it open.

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I would have thought you were flirting with me earlier,” you hum, a casual laugh breaking into the otherwise quiet of your newfound privacy with the man, toeing off your heels near the door. “And the little speech about how we started ‘dating’ was really convincing. Either that or you should reconsider a career in acting.”

“What if I was, though?” His voice is soft. Softer than it’s been all night, a tremulous breath that makes your stomach clench. “Flirting with you, I mean.”

Before you, you can see two options laid out on a platter: you push into unknown territory, a world of possibility should you choose to open your heart to him; or, you brush his affection aside and preserve what you already have, not wishing to disrupt the balance of your life as you know it.

Eddie is friends with your friends.

You’re friends with his friends.

When lines become blurry, relationships are put at risk. Sides might need to be taken. There are other people involved outside of the two of you. But a louder thought rings true. An understanding that it’s Eddie. Eddie, who has only ever put your own needs above his. Always first. Wanted what was best for you at all times. Would it, then, be such a terrible thing to be selfish just this once?

“If you were…” you begin, stepping across the room to meet him where he stands. Your fingers trail up to his tie, the dark red material like blood sifting through your fingers, “did you mean it? The story too?”

“Since first period math class senior year—well, your senior year. My first senior year.” He chuckles uneasily, palm moving to slide over the span of his shoulder, easing at a knot. Watches you slide your fingers up along the fabric, moving up to help loosen the knot around his neck. You fumble with it for a moment, his breath spilling across your forehead, your bottom lip between your teeth when he rasps out, “Can I kiss you?”

And you’re nodding your head rapidly, gasping as his hand slides up to rest against the small of your back, guiding your frame closer to him. You practically ooze into his chest, bodies warm and humming with anticipation as he walks you backward over toward the bed and groans into your bottom lip presently pinched between his teeth as you tug at his tie and drag him into the cradle of your thighs down to where you lay in a sprawl of limbs against the mattress.

“Oh…” He pauses in his ministrations, breaking apart with a gasp despite your whines of protest to run a palm along the mattress. You flop down onto your back as the man presses the same palm against the topper, watching it shift and move beneath his weight. “Oh this is nice. Much better than my shitty one back home.”

“Eddie…” His head jolts back your way, as if he remembers you’re lying beneath him, waiting for him to help you out of your dress, and drops a kiss down against the curve of your neck. You hum to yourself and grasp his chin, dragging his mouth near to yours. He brushes your lips once, twice, and you tell him, panting, “I really like you, Eddie.”

He sighs as your hands finally help free the tie from around his neck and you toss the fabric into the far corner of the room, fingers dropping down to start working on the line of buttons down his chest inch by inch until you’re met with dark ink and a trail of hair against the bump of his stomach that disappears into his waistband and has you leaning forward to press a kiss to his exposed sternum. Beneath you can feel the rapid thrum of his heart, can taste the salt on his skin, flesh still warm from all your dancing in the wedding hall.

He’s climbing over to the top of the bed, bringing you with him, and rearranging the two of you so you can lay side by side. One of his palms starts a gentle slide up your back to grasp at the zipper pulled all the way to your neckline. His eyes implore yours briefly, a gentle exchange with no words, and your head dips. The sound of the metal dragging down your spine reaches your ears, fabric soon pooling around your ankle before he’s tossing it over onto the far corner of his room with the rest of both your clothes.

You take a moment to look at one another. Eyes roving across skin, fingers following in their wake. He trails his fingers along your shoulder, down the path of your sternum, swirls a circle around the soft skin of your abdomen until your sides shake with laughter. You watch those exhausted eyes of his trail along the curve of your hip, the bend of your knee, the crux between your thighs. Nearly gasp into his collar bone when he hikes a thigh over his hip and draws you in for another kiss, and you can feel the hot press of him briefly—albeit too briefly—against your center.

Those kisses, burning with a fresh fervor, draw breathless sighs from your lips. His words against your skin, telling you how beautiful you are, how he’s wanted this moment, how he wants to watch you fall apart against his fingers when he asks if he can touch you have you mewling with want, shuddering at the first brush of his fingers through your slick, warm and welcome between your thighs.

But it’s in that languid exploration that the two of you start to slow down, champagne bubbles that still linger in both your bellies making your eyes more and more tired with each passing moment, fingers becoming gentler, lingering longer. He sighs when you lean over to brush a kiss against his throat and suck, but it settles in the air and you can’t help the airy giggle that spills from your lips when one of his hands waves lackadaisical in the air as you ask, “Falling asleep on me, Munson?”

“No—no,” he groans. He presses a gentle kiss to your throat, and feels your pulse skitter beneath your skin. “Jus’ g’me a second. Wanna make you feel good.”

It’s a shame, a sin really, how even in his tired, partially blissed out state, Eddie Munson still has the power to make your insides liquify. Especially when those eyes start to flutter as he tries to focus his attention on you, lashes lingering longer and longer against the tops of his cheekbones in his efforts to stay awake.

With one last press of your mouth against his, you slide off the bed and help yank down the comforter enough so he can crawl inside, sleepy sighs spilling from his tattooed chest. Satisfied, you clamber in beside him and smile to yourself as that same chest aligns against your spine, arm looping low around your waist, and you both drift into a slumber.

It’s early when you wake again. Sunlight starts to filter in through the windows, the clock to your left reading seven in the morning. Luckily, it’s a Saturday and your check out time isn’t until eleven, which means more than enough room to shower and get ready to head back home to Hawkins. You’re about to clamber out of bed when you feel Eddie’s hand against your stomach shift. Butterflies burst to life at the gentle caress of his skin against yours, fluttering away only seconds later when the man in question grumbles, “Oh shit. Oh shit, sweetheart. I fell asleep.”

“You did,” you giggle, your calf brushing along the hairs lining his own. He groans, face pressing between your shoulder blade, hips flush against your ass and you continue, “It’s okay, though. You were tired.”

“We were…and I was…shit.” He huffs against your skin, hooking his chin over your shoulder to then brush a kiss against the plushness of your cheek. Then once more in that space beneath your ear that has you shuddering against him.

He starts a slow path along the side of your neck, laving kiss after kiss into your flesh, trailing down your shoulder. He starts to mark his way back upward, igniting every inch of you with a fresh fire when you gasp out, “We, ahh—mmm—still have a few hours before we need to leave.”

For emphasis, to really drive home your wishes in the moment, you slide your thigh up and over his, your hips moving backward to press needily against where you know he’s hard already. Those talented hands of his that strum along his guitar at the countless Corroded Coffin shows you’ve been to begin to work a slow path up your thigh, calluses tantalizing against skin. You push back harder against him, feeling his returning roll of hips against your ass, seeking out friction, craving release. But you have all morning.

You have time for the gentle slide of his fingers down the front waistband of your panties, the whine you release as his middle finger parts your center from entrance to clit, drawing out three slow circles that have you nearly begging him to fuck you right then and there. Still, he’s patient. Takes his time stroking against your center, listening as you coach him through what feels good, telling him to speed up, slow down. His other hand, not occupied with drawing out your pleasure, grips yours and slides it against the pillow nearest your head, a chuckle spilling from his lips when your head turns and you whimper into your pillow, asking him for what you need.

“What did you just say, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your bare shoulder, hissing when your hips push back into his hardened cock. “Tell me what you want.”

“Mmm—” He slides a finger inside you, drawing a slow circle, opening you around the digit before adding another. He repeats the question, low and sensuous in your ear, a purr that has your eyes pinching shut. “Want you inside me, Ed. Want you, want—”

Those fingers at your center slip from you, your chest heaving as he reaches over onto the nightstand nearest to his side of the bed and fishes out a blessed foil packet. You hear him hastily tear it open, the bed shifting and dipping in his efforts, before he’s pressing his chest back along your spine and hiking your thigh up and over his. The hand previously holding yours against the pillow above you slides back into your own, and your vision blurs out around the edges as he pushes your panties aside and drags himself through your folds from behind, catching on your clit, before slipping inside.

Your mingling hisses at the initial stretch of him turn into quiet moans as he starts to pick up his pace. He pastes sticky kiss after sticky kiss into your shoulder as that hand of his moves around to slide against your throat, shifting your head up and away from the pillow you’ve buried it within. Your eyes meet his, and between the constant roll of his hips as he moves within you, the fingers splaying across your neck, and the words he babbles into your lips about how tight you are, how good you feel, how you’re doing so good for him, it all quickly become too much.

He catches the flicker across your features, the way your sounds pick up in frequency, the rasp of your breath through your lungs. Against your lips he mutters, “Come on, sweetheart. Touch yourself for me, okay? Wanna watch you.”

And you’re quick to do as your told, palm sliding down your stomach until two fingers meet your clit, rubbing in the way you know you like, matching the frantic pace of Eddie’s hips, pulling back and then slamming into you again and again, driving you closer and closer to utter bliss.

“Oh—fuck—I’m so close, baby.” His fingers around your neck tighten, lips pressing against the corner of yours as you work yourself in tandem with him, the sound of skin slapping together muffling the cries spilling through your parted lips. “Tell me you’re close.”

You come before him, nails pressing down to etch crescents into the hand holding yours above your head, murmuring his name over and over again like a prayer as his lips claim yours once more and swallow the moan he lets out as his body jerks a few times and then stills behind you, shallow breaths puffing hot and frantic into your kiss.

When you both finally catch your breath, and you roll over and turn into him, he pulls you close to his chest and grins into your shoulder, asking, “What are you doing next weekend?”

And it’s that next weekend, at Jonathan and Nancy’s wedding, that you go as a real couple this time.

You don’t even give Max and Lucas shit for giving you a thumbs up when they think Eddie isn’t looking.

(protect myself from readmore)

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanficton #eddie munson fluff #luna’s words #lunas1kfollowercelebration🌙

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withleeknow · 5 months ago

Note

for the requests — i'll send two songs that i've liked for quite a while and you can choose the member that you see who fits the vibe?

sand by dove cameron

and

make you mine by madison beer

conversations with strangers.

pairing: seungmin x gn!reader genre/warnings: exes to ??, non-idol au (i wrote this with seungmin in mind as a celebrity/singer or musician of some sort so it's pretty vague and it's not explicitly mentioned what he actually does, so if you wanna imagine him as an idol it still fits the narrative. i can't tell you what to do lol), Angst™️! (i think. i liked this at first but then i was looking at it so much that i became desensitized to it and idk if it's that sad anymore lol); the ending is a little ambiguous maybe?, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, could've been more edited word count: 2.9k note: this might be one of my favorite things that i've written lately but i am also in my fish freshly dropped on land era so i am fully prepared for this to flop like ass lol bye

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I saw the end when we began You couldn't love the way I can I tried to bargain with the stars For more than half of your heart But you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand And I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand

Sand - Dove Cameron

"Why did you call me?"

"Why did you come?"

There isn't a good answer to his question, so you choose to ignore it in favor of keeping your eyes on the road, your fingers holding tightly onto the steering wheel. You don't know what to tell him. You yourself aren't even sure why you came to that bar, why Seungmin is sitting in your passenger seat right now just because he was drunk and he wouldn't let anyone take him home but you.

"I asked you first," you say. It takes an effort to keep your voice even, an effort not to look over at him.

"Don't know," he sounds like he couldn't care less, but that's always been Seungmin for you. "Old habits die hard, I guess. You were the only one I used to call."

You round a corner without even having to look at the GPS. The route to his place is still ingrained in your brain even after all this time. On some nights when you feel too stuffy indoors, you would go on a walk by yourself. Directionless for an hour or two, you just want to feel the wind wrap around your body and solid ground beneath your feet.

On these same nights, you would find yourself at Seungmin's door.

It's always unintentional, the way your feet would carry you to his home without your permission.

"Used to," you reiterate. "Past tense. You don't get to call me anymore. I'm not your chauffeur."

You feel his eyes on the side of your face. Then his voice, ever so calm and collected, "You came anyway, didn't you?"

His words irritate you for some reason, even though he means nothing bad. No malice in his voice; he's just simply stating a fact. You did come when he called, and perhaps the person that you're really annoyed with is only yourself, because why did you come?

He should be a stranger to you by now, and yet, you're here.

Maybe you know the answer. Maybe it's not a hard question at all.

You let the both of you wallow in silence for the rest of the drive. When you pull up to Seungmin's building about ten minutes later, you finally turn to cast your gaze upon him with your eyebrow slightly raised, a polite Get out if there ever was one.

Instead of taking the hint like a normal person and going on his merry way, he just stares at you with his big eyes and his hair still styled to perfection even after a night of celebrating and drinking. Seungmin loves to be difficult, this you can't ever forget.

"Well?" you press. "You're home."

He blinks, then swallows thickly. He looks around your car for a few seconds, unsure of himself. If he wasn't intoxicated, you would think he's trying to stall.

"I... I can't go up by myself," he says.

"Are you serious?"

He just nods, something expectant in his gaze.

"You're a grown man."

"Help me up." He doesn't sound all too drunk, but maybe he's just got a way of masking it because Seungmin would never outright ask for help. He's stubborn, and he thinks it makes him look weak. Incapable.

In the end, you give in to his request. You let him lean on you in the elevator on the way up to his floor, the scent of his cologne still overpowering the bourbon he had all night and it makes you just a little nostalgic.

At his door, you hold onto his waist and look away when he punches in the passcode. The door unlocks and this should be it for the two of you, your unexpected reunion should be ending the moment Seungmin crosses over to the other side of the threshold, but he just turns around and looks at you, his body against the frame of the door this time.

"There, you're home safely," you say. "I've done my part. Goodnight."

"Come in."

"Why?"

"I'm tired. Come in." And with that, Seungmin retreats into the apartment, leaving the door open for you to follow without any further explanation at all. For a moment, you stand there by yourself, not really sure of what to do. You hear him shuffling inside, before the sound of his body plopping onto the couch carries over to your ears.

What business do you have here? What business did you have with Seungmin in the first place today?

And yet, you find yourself trailing inside, closing the door behind you until the lock clicks into place. Maybe you're curious to see what the place looks like since the last time that you were here. The two of you never lived together - you weren't foolish enough to agree even though he did ask - but you were over often enough to consider this your second home.

Not much has changed. It's still the same minimalist four walls that you were used to. Same light gray paint, same black couch. Same framed signature of his favorite baseball player and same tiny crack in the decorative bowl on the coffee table. There's a photo on the credenza lying face down seemingly on purpose, but you don't say anything about it.

"What am I doing here?" you ask.

"Why did you come?" he shoots you the question for the second time tonight.

You blink at him. He only stares back.

"Why did you call me?" you repeat. "Why did you really call me?"

Questions thrown out but no answers received, like you're both running in circles, with neither of you knowing why you're even running in the first place.

Seungmin purses his lips before he stands up, the suddenness of the movement leaves him unsteady on his feet, makes him hold onto the couch's armrest for support. "Do you want some water?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Okay."

"Give me a second. Have a seat."

You watch as he pads into the kitchen a little wobbly, then returns a few minutes later with two glasses of water. He sits back down on the couch next to you, some distance dividing the two of you. He takes a sip, you do the same.

"Called you because I missed you," he says, casually admitting it like he was merely discussing the weather. The place hasn't changed, but maybe he has.

The last time you spoke to Seungmin was about six months ago, when he dropped off your things two weeks after you broke up. You haven't had any contact since, and that's exactly the way it should be for you and him now. You went your separate ways and that was it. A mutual agreement that hurts, but it was mutual nonetheless. For the past half a year, all he's been to you is a stranger. You know why it had to happen. You agreed to it.

But, just because you haven't talked, doesn't mean that you haven't thought of him. You wish he only crossed your mind in passing, wish your brain only conjured up the image of him whenever you saw something that he would like, or whenever you caught a glimpse of him on the TV or radio. In reality, it's been much more pathetic. You think of him almost every day, despite your best efforts to cleanse yourself of everything that's remotely related to the name Kim Seungmin. His absence carries itself with you all the time, a hollowness that seeps into every crevice of your life.

You know he means it. Seungmin doesn't lie, least of all to you. His honesty twists inside of you like a knife. Salt, meet wound.

You have no words to offer him, no response you can think of that would make sense to say out loud so you don't say anything. The only sound that falls from your lips is his name, like a warning, a plea, a consolation all at once.

But he doesn't seem to mind. Not his sudden vulnerability, not your reluctance to entertain that split second of honesty.

"I answered your question. Now you have to answer mine," he says. "Why did you come?"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

He doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes a moment like he's mulling it over in his head. "Thought maybe you missed me too," he says eventually, ending the sentence with a bitter chuckle. "Just a little bit."

You tongue your cheek, stall with another sip of water before you place the glass on the table. On a coaster of course, Seungmin hates cup rings on his fancy table.

You lean back to rest on the couch, staring up at his boring ceiling. There are memories of you on this very couch, ones of you lying with your head on his lap as he plays with your hair, the two of you winding down after a long day. Or ones that are far too inappropriate to bring up ever again, of nights where you were both too desperate and impatient to take it to the bedroom. Those gentle reminders are still here somewhere, tucked between the cushions perhaps.

"Sure." You hum, nodding along. "Let's go with that."

Another chuckle, humorless. Though, you think he's pleased enough with that non-answer but you're not sure. He mirrors your position, falling into the couch with a sigh. From your peripheral vision, you think he's scooched closer to you, just by a few centimeters, in the process of settling into the sofa.

"My turn," you say. "Why do you want me here?"

"What is this, 21 questions?"

You shrug simply. "You asked me to come in. I'm just curious."

When Seungmin stays silent for a beat too long, you turn your head to watch him, thinking maybe he's knocked out because of the alcohol in his system. But you find him wide awake, his eyes staring ahead, looking like he's already sober.

His face is unreadable when he says, "Wanted to see something."

"See what?"

"See if something is still there."

It's your turn to remain quiet as you process his words, and it's Seungmin who has to turn to gauge your reaction.

"And? Is anything still there?" you ask.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the one that stayed."

"Does it matter? If I say there is?"

"Of course it does."

"What would you do about it?"

He goes still once more. You know he doesn't have an answer to your question. What would he do? What could he even do? Patch things up only for them to fall apart again in a couple months? Once upon a time, you were naive enough to think that you could find a way to make it work. You had enough blind faith to think that it would all work out in the end; that if you wanted it enough, maybe the universe would let you have this one thing.

You return your gaze to the ceiling. He's shown you his cards, maybe it's only fair that you show him some of yours too.

An uncertain inhale, then the realization that this is the only time you would be able to have an honest conversation with him about this.

"Wanna hear something funny?" you ask.

"I have a feeling you're gonna tell me anyway."

It's anything but funny, and Seungmin is certain that you're not building up to a punchline. Sure, it's a little tragic that nothing matters, but there's some freedom, some comfort in that too. You can tell him everything that's plagued your mind for the past couple hundred days or so without having to worry about the repercussions. Even though not all is said, everything is already done.

"You know, you were mine before you were anyone else's," you say. You feel his eyes on the side of your face. The silence persists, and you aren't sure if you can take it as a sign to continue, but you do so anyway because at least he's not pumping the brakes on it, right? "I used to be jealous of your life. Toward the end, I mean."

"Jealous of what?"

"I don't know. Just your life, your dream. All of it."

Seungmin blinks. "You were jealous that I got to live my dream?"

"I said I was jealous of your life, not you," you correct him. "Because you always seemed to want everything else more than you wanted me."

"You make it sound like I was the bad guy." He turns a little defensive all of a sudden, an edge in his voice when he says, "That's not true."

You still remember him well enough to know that it is.

And it's not such a terrible thing; it's simply the truth. You can't fault him for having a dream and for having enough courage to see it through, even if it means unintentionally leaving you behind in the process. You could foresee the end even from the beginning. If you wanted to blame someone, you would have to blame yourself too.

You swerve around his metaphorical walls, his make-believe suit of armor. If you'd been nervous around Seungmin tonight, then that anxiety is now chipping away brick by brick the more you internalize the fact that nothing matters anymore.

"Remember your last show before we broke up? You were so happy, I was so proud of you. You belong on stage and I never wanted to take that away from you. But then I noticed the crowd, the thousands of people out there cheering your name and I realized that I would never compare to them. Their praise meant more to you than mine, and it was only a matter of time before you outgrew me to look for bigger and better spotlights.

"I'm not saying you were wrong for any of it. I don't blame you. You were always going to outgrow me. It's sad, but it's okay. I always knew that you'd have to leave me behind at some point. It's on me too; I just fell too hard too fast for someone who could never stay. It's your dream, you can't help it. But that night... that was the nail in the coffin for me, knowing that one day, to you, I would be just one of the faces in a crowd that you can't even tell apart."

It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. In fact, it's even a little cathartic to pour out the words that have been sitting heavy on your chest. Although it's not until a single tear spills over that you realize your eyes have welled up somewhere along the way. You quickly wipe it away with your thumb, then you feel his hand reach for yours after a few beats.

Seungmin calls your name, and you can hear the regret in his voice. When you look at him, his eyes have softened, no longer on the defense now that you've beat him to the offense. "I'm not drunk enough to forget about this in the morning, you know," he says.

"Does it matter? What are you going to do about it in the morning?" you ask. "We're already broken up. It's not like we can go anywhere from here. But at least now you know what it was like for me."

It seems to be a common theme tonight - stretches of silence in between admissions of truth so that one of you can gauge the other's reaction, trying to assess what path would be worth it to take at this crossroad you find yourselves unable to move on from.

Then he's tugging on your hand, pulling you to him until you're in each other's orbit again. Close enough for him to wrap his arm around you. Close enough that you're weak, not that you were ever that strong to begin with. It doesn't really come as a surprise that you let him.

"I..." Seungmin starts, full of uncertainty as he tries to string together a sentence. "We could go back."

This isn't a surprise either, that you're considering his words.

"What happens when it ends again?"

You can practically taste the residual bourbon on his breath when he leans into you, his lips brushing your cheek just slightly. "Then it ends again," he says, a little pained, all too selfish. "But it'll be worth it. It's worth it to me."

"What if it's not what I want? What if it's not worth it to me?"

He pulls back, putting some distance between your faces so he could see you better, the deep brown of his eyes searching for something that you're both aware of.

"You came tonight," he murmurs, as if that in and of itself is a sufficient enough explanation. "You stayed."

Not all is said, but everything is already done.

You had chance after chance after chance to leave, to shut this down - whatever this is - but you didn't, not even once. You're still a willing participant even though you've lived through this ending before. You know he loved you, know he loves you even if the way he goes about it is selfish.

Because you do know the answer to his questions. It's clear as day; anyone can see it from a mile away.

When your world eventually comes crashing down again some time from now, you won't blame Seungmin. You won't blame yourself either, despite having option to walk away from all of this right now.

Because maybe some pains are worth enduring twice, aren't they?

Why did you come? Why did you stay?

Is anything still there?

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids angst #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #seungmin angst #seungmin fic #seungmin scenarios #seungmin x reader #seungmin imagines #seungmin x you #stray kids #kim seungmin #seungmin #skz

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voltronisanobsession · 10 months ago

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Hi! It's me again, I was wondering if I could ask a Derek hale x sister! Reader where since the hale fire the reader stop talking to anyone but only her siblings (like laura, Derek and cora) and one day the pack come in to derek's loft and saw reader whispering to Derek a d they ate shocked because even at school she never speak but as soon as she saw them she stop speaking/whispering to him. So the pack always try to make her speak by speaking to her or asking her things but reader either sigh or growl but never speak to them even though they're her pack because she's afraid that they'll die once she will start being friendly with tem, sos some people of the pack start getting frustrated and stiles or someone else make a comment about her being mut or thinking that she was mute and Derek her big brother stand up for her. Please and sorry it's so so long.

Derek defending Reader b/c of their Quietness

UGH YES LOVE THIS🦅🦅🦅 it’s not long bro, don’t even worry about it, I love writing for teen wolf teehee

Idk if I did you justice but I hope you enjoy this!!

Derek is SUPER protective of you, like it’s not even funny😭

Since you’re with your older brother most of the time, the pack has gotten used to your presence and silence, yet were always so curious to know more about you!

But whenever they’ve come across you, whether it be at school, walking down a street, or even when fighting, you never say a peep to any of them

They obviously know that you somewhat care for them with all the times you’ve saved their asses from trouble, but you’re just so quiet that it’s hard to form a connection with you

I don’t think they’ve actually heard your voice besides from the occasion sigh or chuckle you would let out whenever someone said something funny

At one point they all just assumed you were mute until they one day unexpectedly dropped by Derek’s studio when they hear faint talking from outside his door

Of course they hear Derek’s deep voice, but they also hear a new voice as well

This once is much softer, yet filled with life as they heard the joyful laughing of this unknown person

Stiles being Stiles, homeboy just barges in to see who this new person only to see the surprised faces of you and your brother

“You can talk?!” Is definitely the first thing this dude would say

Your mouth is glued shut at the question and before the group can begin interrogating you, Derek steps in to separate you all

Since then, the group (mostly stiles tho) would try and make you talk

Whether it be about the most random things, they are always in some way waiting for your response

I think Allison would be the one in the pack to understand your hesitance of forming a connection with them because of your terrible pst

She understands your boundaries and only converses with you when it’s only the two of you

Allison doesn’t let her surprise how on her face you you laugh at a joke she offhandedly said to make you feel comfortable

She’s the only one you would actually talk to in private, allowing her to take a place in your heart with how many times she’s saved you, and made you laugh

Scott doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable by any means, but sometimes the silence between you both makes him feel awkward

He definitely bugs Derek about it though. Because of how much he asks about it, Derek does fold at one point and reveals why you never speak around them

Scott sees you in a different light at the knowledge of you scared of forming relationships with them, but he doesn’t treat you any differently

He’s learned to embrace the silence and calmness you bring, throwing smiles towards you every now and then when you guys make eye contact

Lydia and Stiles are more of the pushy types, always bothering you about why you don’t talk

Lydia learns to just let I go though after the first few times she tries talking to you

She doesn’t wanna waste her breath when you won’t even respond to a yes or no question😭 you usually communicate with her with your eyes or by nodding your head

Stiles on the other hand won’t let go of it

He’s always asking you questions, waiting for a response before babbling about something else

There are times that he asks sensitive questions which he knows is wrong and insensitive of him but he just wants to hear you speak again

I think we all know how stiles is, pushing someone’s else’s limits until they actually do so emerging to him to him shut up💀

I think Scott might reveal a little about you to Stiles because of how annoying he’s gotten about the subject

Stiles actually gets fed up one random day tho after the group almost gets killed because of your reluctance to communicate with them, making an off handed, and lowkey insulting, comment towards you

“What, are you finally gonna speak at our funerals when one of us dies? There won’t really be a point in doing so though.”

Might not seem like much, but for you, your heart breaks at that

He will admit it’s not his proudest moment

The second the comment leaves his mouth tho, Derek is slamming the younger boy against a way and giving him the death stare

Everyone gasps at the sound of Stiles hitting the wall

Scott tries to make Derek let go, but Stiles was talking shit to his younger sibling and he’s not gonna take that

You quickly walk over though, resting a hand on his arm

Everyone is supposed, even Derek, when you speak

“It’s ok Derek, let him go.”

After a moment of hesitation, Derek lets Stiles go, not before threatening to rip his head off if her ever speaks to you like that

Once he’s backed off, you look to Stiles, eyes filled with hurt and anger

“Are you happy now Stiles?”

And boom, you angrily walk away leaving everyone tense, Allison chasing after you

I think this’ll have a more emotional affect on you because this dude basically forced you to kinda relive a trauma you’ve grown to have

He destroyed the coping mechanism you had, which was keeping to yourself in silence

But maybe this was the push you needed. Maybe you needed someone to break you out of this shell you were in.

It was a difficult and scary process for you, but with the support of Derek and Allison, you slowly began speaking more

Starting with small comments, everyone gave you time and space to go at your own pace when talking with you

I think you would have a stutter because of your limited amount of contact you’ve had with other people throughout the years

So the pack patiently as you get out the words and sentences you stumble on occasionally

They don’t make fun of it, but instead encourage you to continue, especially if you get frustrated when you can’t get out a specific word

They are also there to remind you that they’re always going to be there for you, and that they won’t ever leave you💔

You appreciate so much because that’s been your number one fear ever since the fire that happened all those years ago

While at first things were still awkward with you and Stiles, he apologized the second you guys were alone

He’s super sincere and remorse full of the way he treated you. You accept his apology, but not without giving him the classic Hale threat if he ever does it again🤭

Derek is still super protective of you and always reminds you to not push yourself

You honestly love and appreciate him for that, and often remind him how much you appreciate him

Cora, if she’s visiting, would be surprised to hear you talking freely now. While she gives Stiles the stink eye at hearing how it all happened, she’s lowkey happy that you’ve finally broken from your chains of doubt

#teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x you #platonic Derek hale x reader #derek hale x reader #derek hale #stiles teen wolf #stiles stilinski #Scott teen wolf #Scott mccall #lydia teen wolf #lydia Martin #allison teen wolf #allison argent #malia teen wolf #x reader #teen wolf headcanons #teen wolf #headcanons #teen wolf ask

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beanghostprincess · 8 months ago

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I'm gonna shamelessly drop some silly headcanons for the Cross Guild and also Shuggy:

• Shanks absolutely told Mihawk to his face "hey I think you and my boyfriend should hook up"

".... Excuse me?"

"I said you and Blue should hook up! :)"

".................. what percentage is that rum-?"

"I'm not drunk! I just think you'd like him!"

"Shanks. Redhair. I begrudgingly think of you as an acquaintance with whom I am not averse to spending time with, but if you ever insinuate I would "hook up" with a clown of all things, I will sever your other arm and beat you to death with it."

".... hot."

"You need professional help."

• cut to several years later, Mihawk is looking at Buggy, laid out on the ground on his tummy and playing with a baby humandrill. Oh, he thinks, watching Buggy coo and smile, quiet for once, sweet and unfiltered, oh no

• falling in love, for Mihawk, was a gradual decline, slow and steady until he suddenly got kicked off a cliff roadrunner style. He was warming up to the clown, was beginning to see what perhaps Shanks saw in him, was growing begrudgingly fond. Then one day, he happened across Buggy curled over onto a desk late at night, his cartoonishly large red outfit loose around him, drowning his limbs. With a touch of something approaching compassion, he designs to move the other to the couch at the very least, but then he sees Buggy is kneading the spare fabric in his sleep, not unlike a cat. When Mihawk scoops him up, the swordsman almost drops him because humans do not purr, and yet... shit. Shit. The Clown is cute. Who authorized this? Seas damn it all, he owes the Red bastard 250 Berri

• Crocodile resisted love with all the aplomb of a feral koala on crack. He outright REFUSED to fall for a clown, let alone THIS clown in particular. Then Buggy goes and does something absolutely mundane but cripplingly sweet like making his coffee PERFECTLY and then asking about the newest batch of strawberrywanis that just hatched. Croc gets affection aggression and is fuming over how much he wants to kiss this dumbass.

Buggy goes and makes it worse by making a soft comment about having been looking into their care himself out of interest and brings up maybe looking into expanding, what with the 'Wani yield, something Croc has been debating for future endeavors because while the current set up is okay and will remain alright, it won't always be. He is frothing. He is feral. He wants to kiss the clown. Shit. SHIT. How dare he?!

• Buggy is simply Oblivious. He has Shanks (and wowza if that hadn't been nice, seeing his boyenemy again after a highly traumatic experience like prison-and-then-war), and he knows he has a bit of a crush on his new business partners, but there's no way they'll like HIM back. It's simply not a Thing. He'll make do with self indulgent fantasies for now.

• Shanks is across the new world, sipping rum out of a sippy cup and grinning at the denden bc He Knows. He knows damn well that nobody is immune to his baby's charm. Nobody Is Immune To Buggy.

• Luffy wakes from a nap in a cold sweat like "my sand dad is about to kiss my clown mom. Zoro. Zoro wake up your dad is about to fuck my mom. Zoro-"

My favorite thing about Cross Guild falling in love is the inevitable way in which both Crocodile and Mihawk swear on their life they will NOT IN A MILLION YEARS fall for somebody as pathetic and ridiculous as the clown. And yet. And yet, they fall and it is painful to go through and they hate every second of it. But it goes from "I wanna kill him" to "He's okay" to "I guess he is cute" to "I would kill for him" in, like, months. Which for them feels like seconds. And they want to die.

And Buggy is completely oblivious, of course, he thinks they hate him. They are just two neurodivergent men who do not know how to communicate their feelings because they have been on their own for too long. So they are just. They're idiots.

Also, Luffy and Zoro reacting to Bughawk has to be the funniest things in the world-

#cross guild falling slowly for each other is just perfect imo #and they hate every second and i enjoy it so so much #one piece #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #cross guild #red haired shanks #shuggy #bughawk #crocbug

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sleepiexx · 1 year ago

Text

Cops ‘n Cartel Leaders

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Note: any irls that follow me, you do not have to read this imma preface this now. I don’t wanna be hearing any judgment abt my ass getting freaky on the internet!!

Summary: One off-handed comment turns into a steamy afternoon spent together.

Warnings: smut, afab reader, reader and Valeria role play that reader is an undercover cop who’s been caught and tied up, reader isn’t actually a cop, light knife play, no one gets cut, degradation. Also reader at one point asks Valeria what she’s doing, this is not like dubcon or anything, they have a pre discussed relationship with boundaries in place.

Word count: 2439

There was no telling how they got here, all that they knew was that they could sit there for hours like this, just talking.

“I love you,” (Y/N) murmured, running her fingers over Valeria’s knuckles.

Valeria hummed in recognition, deciding to tease the other girl, “Do you?”

(Y/N) knew she was just messing with her, lord knows Valeria loved to push her buttons, but still she took her words to heart.

“Yes, you’re literally my everything. I love you so much.” She whined, flashing the saddest looking puppy dog eyes Valeria had ever seen.

Valeria laughed at how easy it was to get to her, only making her want to defend herself more, “I’m dead serious, i would do anything for you. I would be your little housewife and stay home cooking and cleaning all day if you asked me to.”

Valeria scoffed at the idea, “(Y/N), if I didn’t wake you up every morning, you would stay in bed until 3pm. You wouldn’t survive as a housewife.”

“I could survive, I’m resilient, it’s like my only skill,” (Y/N) pouted.

Valeria nodded, “I’ll give you that. But you wouldn’t thrive, I think you’re better off with me spoiling you.”

The comment was lighthearted yet (Y/N) still felt the need to prove herself— to prove she wasn’t just with Valeria for her money.

“It’s nice to be spoiled, but I’d love you even if you didn’t. You could drive me out to the middle of nowhere and drop me off and I’d hitchhike for thousands of miles just to beg at your feet for you to take me back.”

Valeria’s expression turned sour at the thought, “I could never just get rid of you like that.” She shook her head, but as she thought more about what (Y/N) said, a smirk made its way to her face, “I wouldn’t mind the begging though.”

(Y/N) grinned, “I love you so much that I would beg as much as you wanted.”

Valeria figured it was her turn to say how much she loved her, if only to quiet the cheesy laments from (Y/N)’s mouth.

“I’d kill for you.” She muttered, voice dead serious.

Despite her drop in tone, (Y/N) kept up her joking. “Oh yeah? Well I’d die for you.” And of course, she was serious too, she just wanted to rile Valeria up too. It worked.

Valeria grabbed (Y/N)’s face and turned her head to make eye contact. Her intense eyes burned holes into (Y/N)’s.

“If you told me right now that you were an undercover cop sent to take me down, I’d let you.”

And god, Valeria’s voice was so serious, just daring (Y/N) to fuck with her. Valeria wouldn’t be one-upped, that much was true, yet (Y/N) never knew where to end a joke, always taking it too far and getting herself in trouble.

“Good thing,” (Y/N) giggled, quickly straddling Valeria. Holding her hands above her head, she smiled, “because you’re under arrest.”

Her reign on top was short lived, in one swift move, Valeria flipped over and switched their places. Her grip was tighter than (Y/N)’s had been, and she made sure she was planted on top of her. There was no way in hell that she was letting (Y/N) get out.

Valeria leaned in close, “Oh that’s adorable. You wanna play officer, sweet girl? You wanna arrest me?”

All the words evaporated from (Y/N)’s throat. She tried to stutter out some semblance of a sentence but Valeria wouldn’t let her, instantly cutting her off.

“Too scared to speak, officer? Maybe instead we can play ‘undercover cop who gets caught by the big bad cartel leader and gets punished for her betrayal.’”

Valeria slowly grinded her crotch against (Y/N)’s, drawing out heated huffs and sighs from the girl’s mouth.

“Valeria?”

Valeria grabbed her jaw harshly, “It’s Sin Nombre to you.”

She used one hand to continue pinning (Y/N)’s wrists as she dug around the drawer on her bedside table, looking for something. (Y/N) had no clue what, and Valeria made sure she was too preoccupied to notice until she heard a click.

(Y/N)’s head snapped to look at her hands above her, now cuffed to the bedpost, “W-What are you doing?”

“Oh mi amor, you didn’t think I’d give you a chance to escape your punishment, hm?”

(Y/N) didn’t answer, too lost in the sensation of Valeria’s crotch rubbing up against her own.

Her jaw once more ended up in Valeria’s tight grip. Their faces were so close that (Y/N) could feel Valeria’s breath on her face. “I asked you a question, officer.” Valeria purred.

(Y/N) raked her mind, trying to remember what had been asked. “N-No ma’am.”

“Well then there’s your answer.”

Valeria spread (Y/N)’s legs, putting her knee right up against (Y/N)’s clothed sex. (Y/N) rolled her hips to grind up against Valeria’s leg, taking a shaky breath after doing so.

Ever so slowly, Valeria ran her hands along her lover’s sides, leaving goose bumps in the wake of her touch. Her knee stayed firmly pressed against (Y/N)’s covered cunt to provide some stimulation as her hands wandered. (Y/N) tugged her lower lip between her teeth, waiting in anticipation of Valeria’s next move.

As her hand reached the bottom of (Y/N)’s shirt, Valeria realized the predicament she found herself in. How to take off her girlfriend’s shirt and bra without uncuffing her? The solution came in the form of a switchblade in her pocket.

An intoxicating feeling of fear washed over (Y/N) at the sight of the knife in Valeria’s steady hands. This fear pooled straight into her clit, twitching with lust. The fact that a knife turned her on so much made her feel dirty, but the ache in her lower region overpowered the shame.

Her whole body shivered as Valeria carefully sliced through her t-shirt, pulling the scraps from her figure.

The knife slid to the strap of (Y/N)’s bra, nearly connecting until (Y/N) spoke up, “Wait, I like this bra.”

Valeria stopped for less than a second, hardly hesitating to sever the material separating her from her girlfriend’s tits.

“You should have thought about that before you double crossed me,” she hissed.

After throwing the bra to the side, Valeria folded her switchblade and put it away into the night stand. Her hands instantly gravitated back towards (Y/N)’s body. She left teasing touches all around (Y/N)‘s breasts, conveniently missing her nipples every time.

(Y/N) started to whine but was cut off as Valeria quickly pinched her left nipple. All that left her mouth was a squeak in surprise.

Valeria stimulated (Y/N)’s nipples in all the right ways. She rubbed up, down, side to side, circles, every way you could imagine, not forgetting to pinch them so she could hear the sweet little squeals that left (Y/N)’s lips.

“I could make you cum like this,” Valeria threatened, “only touch your nipples, leave your pussy aching for me. This is a punishment, after all.”

(Y/N) shook her head, panic evident in her facial expressions, “please,” she begged.

Valeria smirked, the sound of begging akin to music in her ears, “please what?”

“Please Sin Nombre.”

Valeria’s breath hitched, she had meant for (Y/N) to ask for what she wanted out right, to beg to be touched, and yet this was so much better. The name coming out of her swollen lips sounded so sweet, and so dirty.

But still, Valeria was on a mission to torture the poor girl, “What? What do you want Sin Nombre to do to you, officer?”

Shame was tossed out the window at this point, “Fuck me! Please Sin Nombre, please fuck me.”

“Was that so hard, pretty girl?” Valeria’s hands shot to the hem of (Y/N)’s pants. She tugged them off at an agonizingly slow pace, going down with them. Then came the underwear, tugged down slowly from thigh to calf then pulled off altogether. From her new position by (Y/N)’s ankles, she kissed her way up (Y/N)‘s legs. Stopping at the top to bite a chunk of the plush inner thigh.

(Y/N) moaned, squirming away from Valeria’s vicious teeth to no avail.

Valeria finally let up, only to free her mouth so she could speak to her lover, “You may be a cop, but you are also my fucking bitch. I’m going to mark you up so everyone who sees you knows you’re mine.”

(Y/N) clenched around nothing, grabbing Valeria’s attention.

“Aww, am I not giving her enough attention?” She condescended, lightly tracing a finger across (Y/N)’s vulva.

(Y/N) nodded, sealing her fate as Valeria’s lips near-instantly latched to her clit.

Any composure she’d maintained before was thrown out, moans spilled from her lips as Valeria flicked her clit with her tongue. Her face felt hot, mortified at the idea of cumming too quick as her guts twisted at the euphoric feeling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” She breathed. With that, Valeria finally let up on her intense ministrations, switching to firm, long licks on (Y/N)‘s clit.

Just when (Y/N) thought she was safe, Valeria started sucking on her clit once again. The pace was increased from the other time, making it hard on (Y/N) not to cum.

“Oh god, oh please. Please, ‘m gonna cum.”

With one last tug from her lips, Valeria separated from (Y/N)’s cunt.

“Wait, no, please, I was gonna cum.” (Y/N) cried.

Valeria roughly grabbed her chin, “Not without me you weren’t.”

And all at once, (Y/N)‘s vigor returned. She stared with glossy doe eyes as Valeria stood and rid herself of her clothes.

Valeria caught on to (Y/N)’s staring, scoffing and stepping towards her, “What a little pervert. How often do you let someone you try to detain fuck you? How would your higher ups feel if they saw you like this?”

(Y/N) shivered at the thought of her imaginary higher ups seeing her all fucked out at the hands of the big bad Sin Nombre.

“Fucking slut.” Valeria muttered as she situated herself in front of (Y/N). She placed her left leg under (Y/N)’s right, and her right above (Y/N)’s left, pressing her clit right up to (Y/N)’s.

“You cum when I tell you to cum, understand?”

(Y/N) nodded, giving Valeria the go ahead to start rocking up against her. The warmth of Valeria��s cunt pressed up against hers drove (Y/N) crazy. Paired with the stimulation on her clit, she was doomed.

“Fuck, please.” She begged.

“Not until I tell you.” Valeria growled.

Soon after, she buried her face in (Y/N)’s neck, making good on her promise to mark her up. One thing about Valeria: she was mean with her hickeys. It wasn’t a simple kiss and suck, no; Valeria bit, hard. It wasn’t a hickey from Valeria if it didn’t feel like having sex with a vampire.

The best thing that resulted from her bites— apart from the bruises that could last for weeks— was the honey smooth sound of Valeria’s moans, muffled by (Y/N)’s neck and sending vibrations up and down her throat.

Valeria separated from her neck, nipping up to her jaw and slowly to her ear. “Such a good girl, making me feel so good,” she whispered huskily.

Like the fear of Valeria’s switchblade had done earlier, her words dove straight into (Y/N)’s throbbing clit.

“Please, Valeria, don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”

And though (Y/N) had broken the ‘only call me by my official name’ rule, Valeria was lenient sometimes. “Give it to me, princesa, cum for me.”

All the tension in (Y/N)’s abdomen snapped, leaving her shaking as she came hard. The sensation washed over her in waves of pleasure, truly fucked out.

Once it passed, she was left to lay helpless as Valeria continued rutting against her, chasing her own orgasm. She let out a low whine at the overstimulation.

“I know, sweet girl, I know, just gotta stay still till I cum, okay?” Valeria coo’d, brushing hair out of (Y/N)’s face.

(Y/N) nodded pathetically, just wanting to make her girlfriend feel good, to let her use her for her own pleasure.

“Good girl, good fucking girl.” Valeria groaned, eyes rolling back as she finally came. Her hips slowed but continued rolling against (Y/N)’s.

(Y/N) stared in awe at the beautiful woman above her, nearly cumming again at the feeling of Valeria’s cum running down her cunt.

As Valeria’s high passed, she separated herself from (Y/N) and flopped down right next to her on the bed.

A dirty thought ran through her mind and she followed through with it, gathering her own slick onto her middle and ring finger before plunging them deep into (Y/N)’s vagina.

(Y/N) let out a loud moan, clenching around Valeria’s fingers, trying to suck them back in as she pulled them out.

“So cute.” Valeria laughed, as if she hadn’t just essentially cum in her girlfriend.

They sat in silence for a beat, allowing the two to catch a breath. Once (Y/N)’s heart stopped beating a mile a minute (now only going .9 miles a minute), she spoke up.

“Can you uncuff me so we can cuddle?” (Y/N) asked, eying her cuffed hands.

Valeria reached over her, into the drawer she’d originally retrieved the cuffs from, pulling out a key. “Of course.”

The cuffs came off with a click as Valeria unlocked them, leaving (Y/N)’s raw wrists bare.

“I really did like that bra.” (Y/N) pouted, snuggling into Valeria’s side.

Valeria ran her thumb over (Y/N)’s irritated wrists, “I will buy you 10 new ones.”

(Y/N) smiled, nuzzling further into Valeria and pulling the covers up. “I love you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Valeria tightened her grip around (Y/N), “I love you too.”

And as (Y/N) fell asleep, Valeria stayed awake counting her lover’s breaths. When she got tired, she pressed a kiss to the crown of (Y/N)’s head.

“I would kill for you,” she whispered, “and, mi amor, I would die for you too.”

#valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria garza cod #call of duty valeria #call of duty fanfic #smut #call of duty smut #valeria x fem!reader #call of duty x reader

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bloodykora · 1 year ago

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If you’re still doing Buggy headcanons: Sooo I always actually thought big noses on people are INCREDIBLY attractive. Give me men with noses that look just a bit too beaten up, women with noses that are big and wide, give me Roman noses and hawk noses and any unconventionally attractive nose and I am SWOONING.

… I feel the prompt almost writes itself at this point, what would Buggy think of someone who sees his funny looking nose not as a flaw but a mayor charm point and just constantly gives it kisses, traces it affectionately, boops it or comments (in all honesty and absolutely genuinely) how handsome and distinguished it makes him look, how it really suits him etc?

Wanna read about that man bluescreening because he hasn’t even treathened them yet to not make fun of his nose and they are already at the „flattering him to save themself“ stage? What do you MEAN you’re not saying that to safe yourself?!

This fucking anon/ask made me giggle so much, I literally showed it to my friends. I hope I did you and the prompt justice!

Enter the moment in Annie where Ms. Hannigan sees Warbucks’ diamond and goes “Oh my god, is that thing real?!” in shock but also delight. Me at that dude’s honker. (I want to be put on his nose like he has gangrene and I’m a leech who sucks on it to get the blood flow going) Also enter the Doja Cat quote of liking big noses.

- At first, dude is fucking weirded out. People have made comments and jokes about this stupid little red thing on his face and you… you think it’s attractive??? Huh.

- Definitely thinks you’re lying at first (and for the next few months), you’re literally the only person who is able to shut him up.

- Curtain drops, spot light is on, the blue haired clown walks in. Blabbering on about how his entrance should be more enthusiastic, but you got your eyes on your own prize, bright big red nostrils. If he wants an entrance, you’ll give him one by starting to clap loudly, getting so giddy that you start slightly hopping.

- “Oh my goodness, that is just.” Loss for words. “Are you making fun of me?” He approaches you, you hear him but his words don’t really seep into your brain at the moment. “It’s gorgeous, literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Your eyes are locked with his eyes and before he can even reply you reach up to brush your fingertip against his nose.

- Wants you dead first, no one has gotten close to touching it in years. And you, a low life nobody insults him like that. You get strung up immediately, your arm stretched so your fingers are out.

- “For that little ploy, I’ll take your fingers first and then your life.” Yes you’re scared but really could you regret it? This was the pirate’s life. “Oh, darn. Well, I’ll at least die happily. My eyes set on the most lovely nose I’ve seen in my years of life.”

- Thinks you’re still making fun of him until a few compliments later it clicks in his head that you mean it, with no hint of sarcasm or mockery. He lets you down, immediately ordering his crew to take care of the others you came with while he returns (runs) to his quarters. He’s a little intrigued by you, willing to die for a graze of his face. He keeps you as well, not that you’re upset by it.

- Crew thinks you’re hilarious, stopping a task to gaze longingly at the captain until either he realizes in which he shoos you back to work or he walks away. You boost his ego a ton though.

- From a distance he can ignore the thoughts he knows you’re thinking but up close, when they’re said in front of the crew, other pirates, hostages. He’s been known to cover your mouth with something so he doesn’t freeze up. When yall get together though, its game over.

- The first time you licked it, he almost saw some form of god. The angel's chorus was in his ears and he couldn’t help but say a little prayer in his head about you.

- Kissing it at least 3 times a day for good luck, rubbing up and down the bridge to soothe him to sleep, nipping at it when you feel playful. Not to mention he now has your voice in his head if he ever insults it going: “That’s not true! It is like one of the top 3 of the things I love about you and if you are mean to it again then I’m gonna cut it off and keep it all day!”

- Laying in his bed just watching him go about the day when you drop a “If my memory was wiped tomorrow I hope I’d get to keep at least the picture of your nose in my head.” before just turning over and going to rest. You hear him physically stop in his tracks and then a thud, he had let go of a boot.

- He doesn’t ever want to ask for praise about his nose on the days where he feels more insecure but you can tell by the way he rubs it on your collarbone and shoulder. You immediately pull out the good old “Have I told you how dashing attractive your nose is today? I seriously would just hop on and ri-” he doesn’t let you finish the sentence, cutting you off with a kiss knowing where it’s going.

- If anyone comments on his nose, you are the first to bite back. Threatening to cut out their tongue and string it up for future people to understand their place. Then squish Buggy while speaking highly of his stunning feature and how lucky they are to see it in the first place.

- You’re kinda crazy but hey, so is Buggy and he loves that you’re insane about him and his nose.

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy live action #some of yall are freaky and i love it

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kookidough · 5 months ago

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random rant about tbp tiktok cause i’m actually Sick of it at this point💆‍♀️💆‍♀️ these issues probably exist Outside of tiktok as well but i only ever see them on there so thats the platform i’m gna talk about

before you read i just wanna say warning for mentions of sa!!!!!

first of all i dont want to jump straight into the serious shit so the unoriginality is actually INSANE like ive been seeing the same jokes since 2022, can we Please get something funnier than “griffin does gymnastics / is a ceiling fan” 😭 the amount of times recently i’ll see a tbp tiktok and then get someone copying the idea and making the Same exact post like 3 scrolls later is insane like Pls can we be original Pls this movie is so sad i need something to laugh at

outside of being totally unoriginal some of the jokes tend to be Really Fucking Disgusting like straight up joking about assault, i shouldn’t even have to explain that thats not funny in the slightest?? this one person made a bunch of really gross ones and kept blocking people who called them out in the comment section, my friend had to dm them Several times and all they did was take down one post, the rest are still up with a ton of views :/ i know its like shock humour or dark humour or whatever but i dont see the ‘funny’ side of a grown man forcing himself onto a child and i think if youre laughing at that you should sit down and ask yourself why you think thats so funny.. people in the comments are always like “i shouldn’t laugh” so they Know its wrong as well which just ugh the whole thing just really gets on my nerves

another thing that gets on my nerves is the lack of media literacy and straight up spreading misinformation, maybe on the media literacy part i’m just a hater but i see so many questions being asked or theories being posed when all of the things mentioned were… literally answered in the movie?? “whats up with finney and gwen’s mother” it’s literally said in the movie that she has the same ability as gwen and she killed herself bc of it, next question, “why was max so interested in finding the missing boys” maybe because he was a coked up conspiracy theorist who saw a serious crime happening in his brother’s area so he decided to be a genuine concerned citizen who wanted these boys to be found💀 “why did the grabber kill max” because he had evidence of the highly awful crimes he’d been committing and was about to let his latest victim free?? the list goes on and on but those r the main ones i see all the time

as for the misinformation. Ough. it annoys me So much this is a hill i will die on😭 i dont know if its people’s half-baked theories or personal headcanons that just got way out of hand but i see so much stuff being spread that just Isnt true, it gets spread so far that when you google these things it appears as true when its not which is annoying !!! i actually was gonna make an entire rant about one theory in particular that pisses me off so bad but i can fit it in here alongside my list of “other theories presented as facts that i Absolutely Despise”

first theory, the one i was gonna make an entire post over, is the theory that vance is the grabber’s son. if i see one more tiktok of those two with that marina and the diamonds song im going to fucking lose it😭 i have no idea where people got this from but its so fucking popular that it comes up on google and i Hate it, i think it comes from the fact that in gwen’s dream sequence, which, might i add, WAS A DREAM, it looks like the police drop vance off outside the grabber’s house and he goes inside there, which… apparently automatically makes them related…?? it takes like one ounce of media literacy to realise that Obviously he’d be getting dropped off at his own house in real life, but as a ghost he’s centred on the place he died and is showing that house to gwen in her dreams, like how every other ghost shows that house to her. awful theory awful take i hate it, if its ur personal headcanon sorry but i do Not fw that

the other theories i have like. not much to say about other than the fact that they’re Not true, i see a lot of stuff about griffin for some reason? the number tends to change but a lot of ppl say “he was kept in the basement for 4 years” like . Huh. where is your proof???? i know the missing posters are insanely unreliable but if you literally read them griffin went missing on april 2nd and billy went missing on may 4th so highly likely griffin was only in the basement for like. a month at most, no idea where ppl are pulling 4 years out of💀 i also see people say griffin has broken legs or a broken back Just because of the first scene where we see him doing a backbend but . if that was the case then he wouldnt be able to stand with the other ghosts when they show gwen the house, i think the backbend was just the position he died in and thats why he first appeared that way to finney but Hey thats just my opinion! last two i have like no rants over but just. firstly people saying robin never made it to the basement for some reason but clearly he did otherwise his ghost would not be down there with the rest of them😭 secondly the theory that vance was kept there the longest “because he’s the most feminine” which. just makes absolutely zero sense to me whatsoever idk whos random headcanon got popularised but i dont like it

okay getting serious again, while this one does not make me angry its like. just really weird to me? i think its common knowledge at this point that both the book and the movie are inspired heavily by the john wayne gacy case, with the grabber literally being inspired by john wayne gacy himself (you Cannot argue with me on this one its literally confirmed and theres a boatload of evidence supporting it). i guess its natural to see people making comparisons between the movie and the case because of the inspiration but i’ve seen Several videos recently of people taking photos of jwg victims and putting them next to tbp characters and saying thats who theyre inspired by and i think thats . Really coming across as insensitive i cant lie😭 we know the grabber was inspired by jwg and its heavily thought that billy was inspired by johnny gosch but theres not much about the others and i think its just really distasteful to compare real life murder victims to fictional horror characters just to get views/likes on tiktok, it comes across as insanely disrespectful to me but idk i havent seen anyone else talking about it so i might just be being sensitive

last thing that really really bothers me is grabber simps. while i do see it on tiktok i see it on here, tumblr, most often and its… so odd to me…. like why are you thirsting over the paedophilic serial killer… so so strange to me… i want to see art and character analysis and silly little posts about all the characters but every time i open the tbp tag i’m jumpscared by someones weird ass grabber x reader oneshot and its SO GROSS get that shit away from me😭😭😭😭 also saw this one girl on tiktok one time whos literal entire account was dedicated to the grabber and she defended this by saying the sa in the movie was “just a theory” which is so victim blamey girl i do not trust you there is so much evidence for it in the movie, again w the media literacy point, just because something isnt directly shown to you doesnt mean it isnt shown in other subtler ways… anyway i get if people like the grabber as a villain but actually like. loving him and thirsting over him is weird as fuck to me

so um ya the fandom is a trainwreck can we go back to there being like 3 of us please and thank u. if you actually read all this then Wow thank you its literally just me being chronically online and ranting about stuff that doesn’t matter in the real world at all

#the black phone #rant post #not tagging it with characters because it’s just me getting all this off my chest and idgaf if it gets notes or not

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bam-bi-buck · 24 days ago

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8x04 SPOILERS

Buck 🥰

Gerrard 🤢

Excuse me, that is not Buck’s job, you can’t ask him to choose someone to fire, are you out of your mind?

Love Athena not liking the houses lol

“I’ll know it when I see it”

Bleh, Ortiz for Mayor 🤢

“Who loves being a public servant?”

Everyone reluctantly rasing their hands lol

“Love the enthusiasm” what do you mean Gerrard, you’ve made the firehouse such a lovely place to work

Body cams??

Mama: “bet I know who put the order for that”

Why do you keep saying tight end?

Don’t call him 🥺 Wes needs a hug

Oh Eddie 😭

Wes no!! 😭

Wes you better not die!!! It’s not allowed!!!

I genuinely have no thoughts during this ambulance ride other than aaaaaaaahhhhh

The way Eddie cheers then the soft “you’re gonna be okay kid,” after he called him Dad 😭

“Hell of a save”

“And you got us here”

Love when they all cheer each other

Hen’s speech 😭

But also don’t name drop her girl, that’s such a risk in court

The look of devastation on Karen’s face

Noooo 💔💔💔

No contact why???

This judge sucks

“911 what’s you’re emergency” love Maddie

Also this totally took me out of the scene for a sec, is there something on Maddie’s nose, does she have a nose piercing?

Am I seeing things?

Anyways I’m gonna fight Ortiz and this judge whatever her name is

“I don’t want another house, I want my house” 🥺

Aww Michael name drop

lol how many greats are you gonna say there Bobby?

Hen at Ortiz’s office 😭

“I’m expected to go on, maybe young Mara will have to learn to do the same”

Bitch

“He is not my captain you are my captain”

Yes Hen!!

Love them all coming to Bobby

Bobby’s face when Buck said Gerrard was touching him

Cue the “No, my boy” audio bit

At least we learned that Eddie’s having regular zooms with Chris, even if he’s not talking much in them

Chimney talking about Gerrard’s Ego feels important, they’re gonna use that against him aren’t they?

That’s mean Chimney (his comment about Buck not Gerrard - say all the mean things about Gerrard Chim)

“I wouldn’t call it an attack”

As the nurse is putting bandages all over him 🤣

DUDE

“He wasn’t 400 pounds when I got him, he was an adorable cub”

My mama “well guess what dumbass they get bigger”

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I have layers” 🤣

The cat jumps up

Mama: “Surprise!”

No pets

Yeah, wild tigers would fall under that policy, wouldn’t they?

Hen & Chim being separated + Buck & Eddie being separated feels wrong but I love when Buck & Hen get to work together, love the looks they share

“Not so loud the rest of the team thinks it’s an essemble”

“He’s the voice of god around here”

“No not a fan” “That’s Brad Torrence” 🤣

Bobby!!!

“I’m telling you who you should get rid of- yourself!!!

It’s all about his Ego!!!!

I see the pieces!!!

LOVE Bobby scheming

“I’m a dad who doesn’t live under the same roof as his son”

Eddie 😭

Wanna shake Wes’s dad

Gerrard going to Ortiz after talking to Bobby, Bobby charmed… (well maybe Brad did lol) him, didn’t he?

“You know Vincent, we’re a lot alike,”

My mama “jackasses?”

22 million budget reductions for the LAFD seems like a lot

Like for the FD specifically

You’d think you’d want them funded in particular

Excuse me sir

Is there a reason you called her Miss?

Mama: “Oh did the other jackass help? Now I feel bad”

Me: “Don’t feel bad, he’s still a jackass”

“This is a set up”

“It sure as hell is”

A team that schemes together, stays together!!!

Eddie helping Wes 😭

Mara gets to go home!!!! 😭😭😭😭

“Let’s build something new, something just for us” awww 🥰

Welcome back cap poster!!!

“The man the myth the legend” 🤣

I actually don’t mind him being at the Hot Shots job, as long as he isn’t in the 118!!!

HALLOWEEN EPISODE

There goes everyone’s “Bucks the one with a pumpkin on his head” theories lol

Denny!!! No!!! What the hell!!!

Give the Wilsons’ a break, my god!

#911 abc #911 fox #911 spoilers #911 season 8 #hen wilson #bobby nash #evan buckley #eddie diaz #chimney han #mara driskell #maddie han #olivia ortiz

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wwe-on-mymind · 2 months ago

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Are you willing to do this with me. (Part 1/2) - [Us.]

Relationship: Sami/Jey (SamiJey)

Rating: Teens and up —light angst, feelings, making up, kissing, happy ending

Summary: Sami and Jey talk about their feelings and try and come to some sort of understanding.

Word count: 2,299

Ao3 link - part 1

Part 2 here.

A/N: This is Part 1 of 2. [Part 2 is EXPLICIT]. This is my first attempt at writing a Fic ever. So I'm sorry it's bad haha but it was fun writing! So hope you enjoy it 🌸🌺 - comments/feedback would be appreciated, just to gauge how good OR BAD this is. Thanks! 🩷

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he says, shaking his head slightly exasperated. He doesn’t know why Jey is making this so difficult. Sami feels like he is the only one fighting for them and the only one who wants this. ‘Does Jey even care or want me the way I want him?’ he thinks somewhat bitterly and it's making him sick to even think it’s a possibility. So, he quickly shoves it out of his head.

“I guess I expected something from you, something that was, a little more. But I guess that's on me, huh." He pauses, but doesn't wait for Jey to respond before continuing. "Do you really not want this? Was I... Am I just making it all up?” Again he doesn't really wait for an answer, shaking his head in frustration he continues. “You finally admitted you wanted me, that you would try, that what everyone else said and thought didn't matter anymore.”

“I know that,” Jey admits, wishing it didn’t come out sounding so weighted with guilt, so weak and pathetic.

Sami isn’t letting up though, he's hurt and he's finding it hard to keep this up any longer; whatever game they keep playing. “Yea, you do Jey! You do know that, yet you keep playing me around, you say one thing and do another. You keep running away. Do you really not want to be with me?” asks Sami, he knows he sounds hurt but he can’t help it.

"Look, unless you been in my position, you ain't gotta come at me like this, okay?” Jey replies agitated, raising his voice despite himself, he feels defensive hearing the hurt in Sami’s voice, knowing that he caused it, so he attacks; sticking to what he knows best. Because suddenly all he is thinking of is everyone's reaction; his family's, what they are going to say and do if they ever find out, he is afraid. The thought being so vivid and upsetting, he can almost taste the bile rising up the back of his throat. He struggles but manages to force out, "You donno what it's like. To have to answer to family, to have a certain imagine 'n responsibility you gotta bear. Constantly wonderin' how to impress ‘em, to be exactly what they expect you to be. To be more than the expectations."

Sami understands that, after all, he's spent so much time with the 'family', he's seen it firsthand and can't argue, so even though he hates it, and hates that he understands it, he truly does. So, Sami can do nothing but utter in defeat, "Right, this isn't going to work is it? I'd rather you just come out and say you don't really want this, put me out of my misery already. I can't do this anymore.”

“That’s not fair,” Jey protests, softer, sounding weak even to his own ears.

“Oh? It’s not? So, what is fair then, Jey? Please, tell me."

"I donno!" Jey almost yells again, roughing up his hair and tugging at it, then dropping his hands and turning them upward in defeat. "I donno, okay?" he breathes out.

"Please Sami, what do I gotta do? I donno know no more. Just tell me what to do, Sami. I'll do it."

The words hanging between them, almost shocking and just right to stamp out the burn of Sami's growing hurt and frustration. He feels the fire in him die all at once, the urge to yell, argue and fight, vanishing.

The instantaneous change must have shown in his face and body language because Jey immediately but tentatively takes a step closer to him. As though, if he didn’t physically get closer to Sami, he might loose his nerve and he wouldn’t have another chance again.

“I don' wanna loose you Sami,” he states, his tone softer, reaching out like he means to touch Sami, but stops short halfway, only to drop his hand back down. “I should’nve said all that and done all that. I knew it then, and I know it now. I should’ve just said how I really feel ‘bout you, ‘bout us. I donno why I keep makin’ mistakes and excuses. What I said, what I did, I din’ mean any of it. I really didn’, I was just scared." He doesn't stop for a breath and keeps going, afraid that if he pauses he might not continue again. "I don’ wanna to be that kind of person, I'm not that kind of person, I jus’, I was scared ‘n I was wrong, I….” But his pleading explanation finally cuts off when he sees Sami holding up his hand, stopping him short.

“Just stop. I...” Sami trails off. For someone who is never at a loss for words, he’s finding it hard to form the right words. It isn’t like him to hold a grudge for long, especially when it comes to the people he cares about and the people he loves. He is always more willing to forgive and forget, simply because it’s too tiring to hold onto something so heavy and in the end, it would be him that probably suffers more for it.

Spending his time nursing resentment or stewing in it, he's learnt is futile. And everything that has happened between him and Jey, to be honest, all of the reasons seem small and inconsequential in this moment. They are insubstantial and weak, and ephemeral when compared to the man standing in front of him, warm and solid, present and real. They could really have a chance and make something of this. They just had to try. And Sami is willing to take the first step.

He reaches out and gently touches the side of Jey's face. The younger man immediately turns his face leaning into the touch, and that's all it takes for Sami to fully give in.

He moves closer and envelops Jey into his arms. He presses his face into the younger man’s neck, breathing him in, and savoring the way his arms are wrapped around him and holding Jey firmly to him.

“I really missed you Sami,” Jey croaks out the words, sounding muffled, pressed against Sami's hair. “I was afraid of bein’ with you but I was afraid of loosin’ you. I was afraid I’d miss out on ever feelin’ this way with you. I can't even explain what it's like when I’m with you. Just gotta be ‘round you... I can't stand thinkin’ I might’ve fucked this up. ’M sorry, I'm so sorry.”

The raw pain and emotion in his voice is too much for Sami.

“Don't, just stop okay, just….just stop.” He reluctantly pulls his head back, away from his spot at the younger man's tempting neck, a spot he really doesn't want to leave right now, but he does, to get a better look at him. Searching his eyes for something, and what he's trying to find Sami himself isn't sure of, but suddenly, he sees it and Sami knows he’s found it, and the next thing he does is lean forward once again to gently press his lips against Jey's. With just enough pressure to know it is a kiss, light and innocent, but heavy with a promise of so much more. It’s a reassuring pressure; an assurance that Jey has him.

Not confident that words alone will be enough to convince Jey, Sami wants to show him. Show him just how much he means to him, how much he loves him, for Jey to trust him and to show the Samoan that this is all worth it. Sami doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to listen, and he certainly doesn’t want to go around in circles anymore. He just wants to feel Jey and let Jey feel him. He wants Jey against his own body, to kiss him, and touch him and to just be with him.

He wants to show Jey just what the future can really be like for them.

Sami softly cups the sides of Jey's face in his hands and closes the distance between them once again. Kissing him delicately at first, but soon a little harder with a hint of desperation, like he is still trying to plead his case.

But Sami doesn’t have to plead for long, he can taste the Samoan's apology and want in each soft, tentative kiss, and tilts his head to accept them with parted lips. He can feel the heat starting to build between them and pulls him even closer.

Out of breath they pull apart for air. Jey wants more, and going by Sami's actions, so does he. So Jey pulls of his jacket, starting to lift up his shirt too. And Sami doesn’t bother to pretend his eyes aren't fixated on his hands as they work; and on the naked skin that is slowly and painfully being revealed.

“I came here to talk you know, not because I was trying to fuck you,” Sami forces out, hating that he is inturrupting the mesmerizing view his eyes are witnessing right now. He's also surprised, and quite pleased with himself for being able to form any kind of meaningfully strung together words at the moment, his mouth being so dry and his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. But, he has to get this out before they go any further, he needs Jey to know that his intentions are pure. Don't get him wrong, he definitely wants this, but his main intention was always to focus on working things out between them. And if something more happened, that was a welcoming bonus.

That didn't deter Jey one bit, in fact the way that statement from the older man is worded —"fuck you"; lights a fire in Jey. "I know. But, are youu sayin’ no to this then?" questions Jey, giving Sami a coy smile and a sultry tilt of his hips. Knowing fully well what it is doing to Sami, going by the growing reaction he is noticing in Sami's pants and the sneaking suspicion that Sami might appreciate the sight of his hips. He’s noticed the way Sami eyes his waist when he wears his crop tops, it gives him a thrill every time he feels those eyes on him, burning his skin and making him feel like he is on fire. He is addicted to Sami’s attention and he revels in it. To the point where he starts wearing those ridiculous tops more often than not. Anything to keep Sami’s attention on him.

It takes a minute to steady his breathing, but Sami manages, and he exhales. "No. Yes. I mean no." Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tries again. "What I mean is, I'm not saying no." You can't exactly blame him he thinks, for getting tongue tied when he's got Jey's tattooed naked torso and hips enticing him this way. And he vaguely wonders how he's going to react when he finally sees the younger Samoan fully naked.

Before he can think on it anymore, Jey closes the remaining distance between them, grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in, for a kiss so raw it drives that and all other thoughts out of his head.

Nothing matters right now except the feeling of Jey's tongue in his mouth and the warm calloused hands that are slowly creeping under his shirt; nothing but his own hardness straining against his pants and the growl that rumbles from Jey's throat at being challenged by Sami's own tongue.

Nothing, but—

Jey reluctantly pulls away panting. “Sorry I, uh, just hijacked your lips there aye. Is....is this okay?”

Sami gives a disbelieving snort, “I should be the one asking you that. In case you haven't already noticed", he continues, pointing down to his groin, "This is more than okay.”

“Oh, okay, I mean—If you're okay. With what we doin’—us—doin’ this—”

“Jey.”

Jey stops and looks at Sami, and all of a sudden comes to the realization that he's never going to be able to go back to pretending the lovable ginger was nothing more than a friend, or someone he worked with, not when he now knows the flavor of Sami's mouth.

He searches Sami's face, and all he can see is love in his eyes, no trace of doubt. He can also feel proof of Sami's desire matching his own against his thigh. But he’s also seeing the searching expression on Sami's face fixed on his own. His eyes scanning Jey looking for any signs of, Jey assumes, his own doubt and reluctance.

So Jey holds Sami's gaze, and slowly leans in, brushing a light, tentative kiss across his lips. Sami's lips are chapped but soft and receptive, and his mouth opens up instantly and Jey licks his way inside.

Sami let's out a low moan from deep inside, eagerly swiping his tongue against Jey's. He allows Jey to take over the kiss, savoring it and his toes curling as he pushes the younger man towards the bedroom, sliding both hands up and down his tattooed skin as they move, trying to feel every inch that's exposed.

Jey shudders and continues to be guided along. Sami is taking over after that, dragging Jey along to his bedroom with more intention than before. The room is equally as big and spacious as the rest of the hotel suite, Sami knows Jey is used to the best so he isn’t all too surprised, seems like old habits die hard. But Sami is too distracted to fully appreciate it. All his focus is on Jey and the perfectly sized bed in front of them waiting to be used.

When they get close enough to the bed, he turns and pushes Jey onto the mattress.....

——

Thank you for reading! Part 2 coming soon! 🩷

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