#and then i immediately die for the 1 millionth time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years ago

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click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”

A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.

Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.

He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”

“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”

Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.

John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.

Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.

“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”

Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.

Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”

“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.

You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”

Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.

“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”

And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.

A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.

Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.

The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”

You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.

“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”

You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.

Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”

“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”

At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”

“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”

“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”

You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.

“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”

Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.

“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.

The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.

“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”

“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”

You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.

You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”

The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”

Yup. Total dreamboat.

“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”

Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.

When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”

You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.

You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”

“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”

You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.

“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”

He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”

Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.

Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

“You’d what?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.

Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…

I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.

I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.

I’d have sex with you.

I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.

Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.

A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.

You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.

Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.

“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”

I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.

The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.

“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.

You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.

“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”

But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”

Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.

You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.

“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”

Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.

For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.

Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.

Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.

Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.

Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.

Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.

You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.

While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.

He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”

When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”

You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”

Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.

“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.

“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.

It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.

Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”

“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.

“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”

“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.

“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”

Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.

You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”

Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.

“Okay,” Sam melted.

“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”

Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.

You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.

You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.

You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.

The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.

“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”

Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”

“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”

Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.

“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”

You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.

You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”

Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”

“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”

You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.

“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.

He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”

You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”

“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”

You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!

Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.

“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”

You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”

An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.

“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”

(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)

Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”

You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”

“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).

It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”

Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.

You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.

It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.

In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”

Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.

…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.

“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.

He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.

Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.

…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”

It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.

“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”

Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.

Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.

Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.

“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”

“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.

You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.

“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”

Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”

Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.

You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.

“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”

Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.

You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?

“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”

Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.

“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.

He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”

You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”

Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!

You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.

Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”

So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.

When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”

Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.

“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.

You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”

The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.

You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).

A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”

The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.

His��lap.

There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).

Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”

Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.

That is not the case.

With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.

“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.

“Shut up, Sam.”

He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.

The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…

He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.

Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.

Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?

You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.

Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.

It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”

A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.

“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.

Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).

Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.

The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.

Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.

“Everything okay?” He worries.

Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.

You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”

Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.

“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”

His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).

“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.

You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”

The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.

“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”

The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.

“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”

Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.

“...In our bed…”

Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.

“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”

What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...

You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”

Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”

Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.

You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”

“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.

Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.

“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”

You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.

Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”

“Got super noisy?”

After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.

Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.

“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”

He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—

Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.

The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.

You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.

This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.

You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.

Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”

He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—

“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”

What in the ever-loving fuck.

I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).

All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.

Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”

He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.

Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.

This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.

They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.

You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.

“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”

The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.

You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.

Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”

Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.

Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.

Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”

Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”

He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”

The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.

You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.

Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.

You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”

You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”

This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.

“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”

“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”

You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.

“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”

But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…

Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.

You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”

After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.

Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.

You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.

“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”

You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.

Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”

Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.

Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.

“A-ah!”

Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.

There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.

Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”

“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”

Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.

If this is just how his fingers feel…

Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.

Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.

To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.

Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?

Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.

The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”

A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.

While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.

There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!

So…

Close…

And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.

Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.

“Sa—Sam—”

Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.

“Sam…”

You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.

Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.

Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.

A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.

You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”

And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”

“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”

In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.

Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”

(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)

He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.

This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”

With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”

You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.

He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.

Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”

Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.

“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”

His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.

When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.

“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”

Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.

…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.

“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”

You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.

It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—

“Take it out.”

Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.

It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…

You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.

You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.

For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.

“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”

“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.

For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.

Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.

“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.

You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”

Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”

He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.

Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.

You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”

Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.

Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”

You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”

Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—

—you go for it.

Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.

Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.

Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.

You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.

“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.

You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”

Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.

For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.

You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.

Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.

He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)

It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.

“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”

Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.

You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!

It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”

Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.

“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”

Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”

“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.

This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.

You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”

This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.

Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.

He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.

But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.

“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.

Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”

Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.

Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.

“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”

Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.

“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”

You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.

You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”

Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration

READ PART TWO.

#sam winchester #spn #supernatural #uncouthspn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader headcanons #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester smut #user uncouth

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somevillainfuckery · 5 months ago

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RANTETHING TIME, WORMS (pt.1 PTP)

I said I was gonna rant on some random interests of mine soooo- first rant, yippee! I was wanting to do a rant today anyways [even though I slept "today" away], and thought well I did some doodles of random characters, maybe that'll help, and Popee happened to catch my eye. Funny psychotic rabbit man that isn't luring kids into the back room 🤭 I kinda just binged a couple random episodes of that since I started getting tired of Salad Fingers and having to hear him moaning over a texture every ten seconds Apologizing ahead of time, this is way too long of a rant 🤦‍♂️ Watching some of PTP, I'm just chilling, watching Kedamono get traumatized for the millionth time and Popee being a spawn of satan, and then the worst thing on the planet decides to fill my screen- FUCKING PAPI. NO OFFENSE TO ANYONE WHO LIKES THE SILLY MAN, DON'T GET ME WRONG, I FUCKIN LOVE HIS DESIGN AND A COUPLE SCENES OF HIM, HE'S GREAT FOR THE SERIES, BUT THERES A PROBLEM. I noticed in some scenes he has some... gross tendencies, to say the least, and other times he kinda just sucks. Like how fuckin old is Popee?? He's definitely not an adult, or at least he doesn't act like it, I'm assuming he's fuckin 17 maybe a bit older- who in the actual fuck is gonna step up to their teenage, almost adult son, with a goddamn bottle??? LIKE- STOP. PLEASE. I BEG OF YOU. POPEE IS NOT OK WITH IT, EVERYONE CAN SEE EVEN KEDAMONO IS BOTHERED BY IT, I ALREADY KNOW AT LEAST SOME OF YOU AS VEIWERS WERE BOTHERED BY IT. AND HIS RESPONSE TO THEM NOT DOING WHAT HE WANTS IS.. BECOMING GOD OR SOMETHING???

HUH??? I mean sure the argument for him is just he wanted to help- but Papi, that is NOT the proper help needed here, and I feel like nobody should have to actually point that out, he's an adult and should know that. And then another thing that kinda freaks me out is the reoccurring theme of vore? Yeah pretty sure rule34 artists had a lotta fun with this episode 😭 And what's worse is that his ass is unbearable in other episodes as well, not as freaky as this shit maybe, but still overall not making a good image for him. Poison happens to be one of my favorite episodes, just another episode where Popee gets sick of Kedamono basically existing. Papi is there of course, but he kinda just makes me uncomfortable the whole time like-

YOU'RE JUST SUCKING POISON OUT TO MAKE SURE THEY DON'T DIE. YOU DO NOT NEED TO LOOK AT YOUR SON THIS WAY. I'M ACTUALLY ON POPEE'S SIDE HERE, I WOULD ACTUALLY PREFER PUTTING A GUN TO MY HEAD THAN LET THIS MAN HELP. Really don't like how the scene goes, and when shit hits the fan you just- kill your kid?! EXCUSE ME??? Of course, as I said, there's other shit that just- doesn't sit right with me, now no its not exactly the immense perv levels of these two right here, but its more over the fact that Papi is supposed to be a father. From the very first episode we see the man, he comes in while Popee and Kedamono are practicing a trick, and his immediate reaction isn't some super flashy self introduction, or yknow- a fucking "Hello, son, I'm back from my several years of searching for the milk". It's to one-up his son? Assuming, being trying to understand any actual story out of this show is as difficult as understanding the FNaF lore, Popee is only even apart of this circus, or training to be apart of the circus, probably because of his father.. so Papi's intro is kind of a dick move. But then again, it could just be something that's going over my head entirely, since he proceeds to mentor them [and get a chainsaw to the head in the process]. I wanna believe that, or yknow find some sorta less asshole-y explanation, but then you kinda notice the difference from before he arrived, and after. When it was just Popee and Kedamono, Kedamono was impressed and supportive, and whether he wanted to or not, he'd end up practicing some sorta trick, or just sticking around to witness Popee practicing. After Papi arrived, and there was another member to the little group, I realized that everything Popee did was- disapproved by Papi, if I'm wording that correctly. A couple times here and there was some applauding, but other then that Papi kinda just seemed overall disappointed. No, I didn't rewatch the entire series again, but from what I can remember its usually disappointment, showing favoritism to Kedamono, or just constantly doing whatever his son is doing but better. I don't think I'd want this man as a mentor ngl. I mean if your son kills you and digs a grave with no hesitation, and is barely even upset at your death at all, pretty sure that means something is wrong with the relationship.😕 And besides the points where he's shown to "care", he is also pretty neglectful. The episode Ghost is one example, where they practice a magic trick on Popee, I genuinely love this little bit at the start because it seems like they actually have a decent relationship with each other-

but then everything just goes downhill immediately, and that's because Kedamono is a royal fuck up and kills Popee. That's when my point comes in. Look at Kedamono. AND THEN LOOK AT PAPI.

BROTHA WHERES YOUR SADNESS- YOUR CONCERN- YOUR SON JUST DIED, KEDA IS FREAKING OUT.. AND YOU'RE JUST DIGGING A GRAVE LIKE ITS AN AVERAGE EVERYDAY OCCURANCE. THE ONLY TIME YOU ACTUALLY START GIVING A SHIT IS WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO SAVE KEDAMONO- AND AS FAR AS I KNOW, YOU BARELY EVEN KNOW THE WOLF. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? Another great example is in the episode Medicine, where Popee is sick with what one can only explain as this shows version of Covid-19. Papi and Kedamono are trying to help him by mixing some random ass concoctions that I'm gonna assume is a mix of medicine and soup, and overall none of them had worked. By the time they found something that didn't taste like straight death, they get distracted by that and decide "lets go off and enjoy ourselves", MEANWHILE POPEE LOOKS LIKE HE'S FUCKING BEGGING FOR HELP. I GET IT, POPEE ISN'T EXACTLY SOME SWEET ANGEL, QUITE THE OPPOSITE ACTUALLY BUT NOW YOU'RE STOOPING AS LOW AS HE DOES. An episode that really stands out is Loneliness, where Papi and Kedamono leave while Popee is asleep, and they stay gone for a few days. Popee is the definition of an asshole, duh, we all know he terrorizes everyone around him for a living. But according to the episode, they had to have been gone for maybe two or three days. Popee slept the entire day away, and thats the day they left, I'm gonna assume he spent that night/the next day trying to figure out where everyone went, and then went insane the day after. He'll kill Papi and Keda, no hesitation, but obviously he cares about them still, after all that's his father and his best friend. I assumed the pantomime episode plays a little into this, being Popee creates what looks like a hallucination of himself to cope with what he assumes to be abandonment, and its a hallucination everyone else can sense/see as well. (and take note of this, it appears that the easiest[?] way for somebody to duplicate themselves in a mental hallucination way is when they cry, so obviously Popee freaked out when he came to the explanation of abandonment so I'm assuming absent father = pretty fucked up mindset). Papi and Kedamono come back, they get rid of the duplicate by having Papi make a duplicate of himself, and Popee freaks the fuck out about it. Kedamono offers a solution- talk to him, try and calm him down, being a decent person to Popee. Papi literally refuses to even acknowledge the idea, or his son, and tries literally any other solution that doesn't involve talking to his child. I'm sorry... your child is having a mental breakdown. And you refuse to look at him. As I said, there are a lot of things that make Papi a great character, but he could be so much better if he was just a decent father. When I first watched the show, I genuinely thought Popee was just the most heartless prick known to man but like.. CMON, LOOK AT THIS SHIT, POPEE IS SO FUCKED IN THE HEAD BECAUSE OF HIS PIECE OF SHIT DAD. I'VE SEEN A LOT OF PEOPLE TALK ABOUT HOW THEY BELIEVE HE WAS JUST GONE FOR MOST OF POPEE'S LIFE AND I CAN SEE THAT, AND THEN WHEN HE DOES COME INTO THE PICTURE, HE JUST RUINS EVERYTHING. THE SECOND IMAGE HERE FROM MEDICINE, WHEN POPEE IS BEGGING FOR HELP, HE'S REACHING FOR HELP RIGHT??? AND WHO DOES HE REACH FOR??? NOT PAPI, NOT HIS OWN FATHER, HE REACHES FOR HIS BEST FRIEND, KEDA.

THE DUPLICATES HAVE A BETTER FATHER-SON RELATIONSHIP. HELL, WITH POPEE AND KEDAMONO, THEY'VE KILLED EACH OTHER, POPEE TERRORIZES HIM FOR FUN EVEN, AND EVEN THEY HAVE A BETTER RELATIONSHIP. WHEN THE WHOLE CIRCUS JUST VANISHED WHILE KEDAMONO WAS FREAKING OUT, POPEE STAYED... I DON'T SEE PAPI DOING THAT FOR POPEE.

THE SHOWS ENDING WAS GREAT, YEAH... BUT I WISH IT WAS POPEE AND KEDAMONO BEING STARS OF THE CIRCUS ON STAGE, AND PAPI OUT OF THE FUCKIN PICTURE.

#popee the performer #popee the ぱフォーマー #popee the clown #ptp popee #kedamono #ptp papi #ryuji masuda #rant post #starting a petition to put Papi down

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salvager-beyblade-fanfiction · 2 months ago

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Salvager Interlude 2: How To Escape

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Dr. Shu Kurenai’s eyes roamed his AI’s display screen, dumbfounded at the hundreds upon hundreds of civilian profiles spawning across the glass.

Lui Shirosagi

[DRAGON]

Rank: 16

Floor: 3

Daigo Kurogami

[HOLLOW]

Rank: 1,247

Floor: 2

Rantaro Kiyama

[ROAR]

Rank: 992

Floor: 1

Valt Aoi

[SALVAGER]

Rank: 3,000

Floor: 1

Joshua Burns

[SHOWSTOPPER]

Rank: 1,745

Floor: 4

Delta Zakuro

[POMEGRANATE]

Rank: 2,366

Floor: 2

Dante Koryu

[ACE]

Rank: 2,488

Floor: 2

Fubuki Sumiye

[SHARK]

Rank: 1, 503

Floor: 3

Silas Karlisle

[DRIFTER]

Rank: 546

Floor: 1

More profiles continued to generate and, finding the sight of them unbearable, Shu bit his lip and ducked his head to his chest. He’d locked so many people inside. What if some of them never made it out? “Shinoda?” he asked aloud, voice still trembling. “Have you found everyone?”

AFFIRMATIVE

Humans: 3,456

Male: 49%

Female: 51%

Mean age: 25

Maximum age: 82

Minimum age: 1

Animals: 58

REGISTRATION: COMPLETE

“A-and…” Shu warbled. “Are you tracking the androids?”

AFFIRMATIVE

Androids: 100

Online: 100

Offline: 0

ALERT: NEW CLASS CONFIRMED: STARVING SILVER

CLASSES

Original: 89

Starving Silver: 11

“Thank you. A-and… Can I ask…?” the doctor bit his teeth together, pointing over his shoulder at the black status screen that had flickered to life beside his shoulder.

Shu Kurenai

[STORM]

Rank: 3,402

Floor: 193

“What are these titles?” he managed. “The ones beneath our names. And why did you assign them?”

[IDENTIFICATION TAGS] are personalized codes unique to each civilian.

With their [IDENTIFICATION TAG], a civilian will have access to the Shinoda AI System.

Functions of Shinoda AI System include:

Instant information searches

Maps

Blueprints

Live tracking

Computer interfacing

Digital storage compartments

Access to the Shinoda AI System will increase a civilian’s chance of survival.

“Survival?” Shu repeated. “I d-don’t think things’re going to escalate to that level of urgency. I--”

ALERT: DEATH

Free de la Hoya

{VANISHER}

Rank: 52

Floor: 121

DECEASED

ALERT: QUANTITY CHANGE

Humans: 3,456 → 3,455

ALERT: QUANTITY CHANGE

Androids: 100 → 101

ALERT: NEW CLASS CONFIRMED: DEVOURED MAN

CLASSES

Original: 89

Starving Silver: 11

Devoured Man: 1

“Wh-what?” Shu choked, feeling suddenly bloodless. His stomach wrenched and bile began to crawl up his throat.. “Sh-Shinoda? Shinoda! What was that? What just happened?”

ALERT: DEATH

Arthur Peregrine

[ECLIPSE]

Rank: 2, 666

Floor: 120

DECEASED

“Shinoda!”

ALERT: QUANTITY CHANGE

“Stop!”

Humans: 3,455 → 3,454

“SHINODA!” the doctor screamed. “Cease live updates! Now!”

Immediately, the display glass faded, the throbbing scroll of text dissolving from its surface like stones sinking into a lake.

“Did…” Shu started, the words sticking in his mouth. I’m going to be sick. “D-did two people just die, Shinoda?”

AFFIRMATIVE

“And… and my androids killed them?”

AFFIRMATIVE

Shu covered his mouth with a fist, fighting desperately to hold in his body’s revulsion. “Can we shut them down?” he managed, voice breaking on the last word.

NEGATIVE

Androids run on individualized systems

Androids cannot be accessed remotely

“No…” he gasped. “There’s… there’s got to be something… Can’t we do something?”

REQUEST UNCLEAR

Shu whimpered slightly, pressing his knuckles even deeper into his teeth. How had things gone wrong--so, so wrong? He needed to get everyone out, now. But could he? He couldn’t lift the lockdown, he couldn’t even deactivate his own machines. Was there even a chance? Two civilians had already… already… He swallowed hard. Could he do anything?

Devastated, he stared at Shinoda’s display, unmoving.

What could he possibly do?

...

Valt rammed his shoulder against the sealed door for what seemed like the millionth time, feeling the impact like a lance through his entire torso. “Augh! No! Come on!” He pushed himself off the plated steel shutters, hearing the panicked warble in his own voice. “Open! Open!” He reared back, about to try again, when Rantaro snatched his arm.

“Cut it out, man,” his friend gasped, reaching up to cradle his own shoulder, which had been nearly dislocated on the metal barrier. “You're just gonna hurt yourself.”

“But--!”

“Face it, Valt. We’re not going to get out like--!”

He was cut off suddenly by a flash of light. No, two--stunning and sharp. Both boys jerked backwards, startling away from the bursts.

“What’s--?” Valt started, stilling as his vision cleared and a wave of confusion fell over his head. There, hovering only inches from his nose was a flat screen, transparent with a light blue tinge.

Hello. I am Shinoda.

A similar hologram was projected before Rantaro, his glowing a soft orange. Valt exchanged a confounded look with him before turning back, activity on the strange screen catching his eye.

YOU ARE:

Valt Aoi

[SALVAGER]

Rank: 3,000

Floor: 1

CURRENT STATS

Strength: E

Speed: D

Endurance: D

Dexterity: D

Power: F

Inventory: E

POTENTIAL STATS:

Strength: A

Speed: A

Endurance: S

Dexterity: S

Power: S

Inventory: SS

INCOMING MESSAGE

Press to ACCEPT

Press to DISMISS

Press to DELETE

“Valt…” Rantaro coughed, his eyes flitting over the scroll on his own screen. “Are you… are you getting this, too?”

“Yeah,” Valt managed, absently keying to open up the pending message. To his surprise, when the pad of his finger pressed against the ACCEPT icon, it was met with resistance, flattening against what he’d thought was a hologram. “Whoa,” he coughed.

In front of him, the screen changed, displaying a simple, two-sentence note.

The Tower is in lockdown due to a deadly outbreak of androids.

Reach [STORM] on Floor 193 to escape.

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yuukei-yikes · 2 years ago

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Here’s a Harutaka ask for you! Do you think they’d get married? If yes what do you think their wedding would be like? Also I hope you feel better soon!

HIII if it isnt the little guy i watched slowly get into kagepro. whatsup. how are u holding up being into kagepro. ALSO THANK U im already a lil better i ate 1 single boiled egg and now im laying in bed

yes haruka and takane 10000% get so married. i have this silly headcanon that haruka is begging her from day 1 to get married because IDK he's just excited about being alive and takane liking him💗💗💗 and maybe he is also terrified of her changing her mind abt liking him and for some reason thinks getting married will solve that feeling of feeling not good enough for her💗💗💗 wait who said that. but takane's all like No haruka we're only like 20 and he's like AUUUUGGGHHH!!! fine

honestly its a hc born from a bit in the novels (im not sure u read them) where haruka says man i wish takane stopped swearing so much she's gonna have a hard time finding a husband💔💔💔 ITS SO FUNNY TO ME idk likeeee since he knew he'd die, he never imagined being an adult at all. this is more in the territory of the early twenties crisis he apparently has post str i guess. which is also hilarious.

i think haruka's like... he thinks of marriage of this weird alien thing bc as a teen he wont even entertain the idea of dating or anything bc HES DYING like he literally shoots down the acknowledgement of his feelings for takane BECAUSE he is dying. he's like man whats the fucking point if im just gonna die this sucks ASS

so marriage. well it's an adult thing. and he turns out to be alive!! and takane REALLY LIKES HIM FOR SOME REASON!!! and he's like WELL WERE ADULTS ARENT WE WHY THE HELL SHOULDNT WE GET MARRIED???? takane's like because we're BARELY adults like BARELY. and also IN SO MUCH NEED OF THERAPY. and haruka's like i dont see how that's related🙄🙄🙄 whatever takane ur such a bore🙄🙄🙄 its just a silly argument they laugh and tease each other about *rips hair out* theyre so CUTE AUGGHHH

yeah they do eventually get married. not IMMEDIATELY though but still probably rly young. like before their mid twenties young. LOL!!! as for a wedding i dont think they'd actually care about one??? because haruka and takane are really introverted ppl and being the center of attention mortifies both. well takane's used to attention bc streamer slay but its not. the same. like that's different BASICALLY i dont think takane would care to throw money in something like this and haruka is also like whatever man just sign the paper so i can officially be ur boywife. they still probably have like a little get together with the dan though. maybe they dont even tell them they're like OH BY THE WAY WE DID SOMETHING FUNNY TODAY wjxnoefuoendoefundkc call shintaro&ayano on the phone like can u come with us to sign as our witnesses. and shintaro and ayano are like WITNESSES OF WHAT? erm. haruka&takane engaged for exactly 14 hours when haruka asks takane to marry him for the millionth time and this time she's like uhhh. yeah alright👍

thats my harutaka wedding hc. that theyre too lazy to have a wedding🫡 ayano mourns it so much she's been like wedding planning her whole life for her siblings. seto&mary get ultra married as soon as theyre 18 im not getting into those hcs i already did but ayano goes so crazy with it. and then haruka&takane are next (tho years later) and ayano's like WH?? BUT IM?? SUPPOSED TO PLAN ANOTHER WEDDING????? WHAT DO U MEAN U WONT MAKE ONE???? and theyre like 🤷‍♂️ maybe she forces them and she organizes it alone and forces them to kiss in front of everyone and only then stops being annoying. sorry i love crazed wedding planner ayano

#ask tag #headcanons #theres a lot of content abt super ultra romantic haruka and while thats cute #i dont. i dont think he.#yeah.#like i think he'd TRY and IS romantic in his own way but definitely not the normal way with roses and candlelights. definitely not #hes such a loser i think ppl forget that he's a loser.#like can u imagine if he was like that. takane would rly hate it LOL #harutaka

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umbrellacam · 1 year ago

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#i know we joke about how kishimoto hates women so much he accidentally made the two main characters gay for each other #but he literally made Sasuke and Naruto star-crossed soulmates‚ destined to be born in the same life and find each other #Using a sun/moon & light/dark motif to show how they are opposites #but ultimately two sides of a single coin that must exist together or not at all. #He literally made it so that the ONLY girls in their social circle had ZERO chemistry with either of them #and a recurring theme was them rejecting girls and then immediately pivoting to talking about the other in the same breath #their final scene in Shippūden was literally Naruto confessing to Sasuke for the millionth time only for Sasuke to finally accept his love #They blew each other's arms off and the blood splatter formed a heart on the ground/a silhouette of two hands holding each other #THE SUN/MOON TATTOOS ON THEIR HANDS #Sasuke's brother finally dying‚ knowing that even if he was gone‚ Naruto was still there & would go to the ends of the Earth for Sasuke #The fact that literally no one in the world understands them like they understand each other (with the notable except of Gaara) #THE SUN/MOON DICHOTOMY AND TATTOOS #The ''i don't know how to process my feelings for you so I'll channel it into hatred for you'' Sasuke #vs. the ''i will accept the full burden of your hatred‚ and die with you because there's no point if we aren't together'' Naruto #The fact that the naruto openings and endings used romantic songs while showcasing Naruto and Sasuke's relationship #just a blatant affirmation of the subtext‚ contextualizing their unhinged relationship as being romantic (as if we didn't already know) #you just don't know how canon Naruto x Sasuke was. It was an unavoidable conclusion that even straight fans picked up on near the end #And then the third series came out and they obligatorily straight-married them both to girls they barely cared about #in fact‚ Sasuke hated Sakura and tried to kill her at one point. And Naruto was basically forced into his marriage by the death of Neji #Sakura had one (1) date with Sasuke‚ she got pregnant‚ he left and became an absentee husband/father and only returns to see Naruto #We don't talk about the ''we had to give them children after the timeskip and to do so‚ we had to straight marry them'' Naruto series #But it's funny to point out that Sasuke‚ by Sakura's admission‚ had a single date‚ got her pregnant‚ married her‚ then left the village #leaving Naruto alone to marry Hinata (his runner-up choice) #Speaking as someone who was firmly a fan of NaruHina and SasuSaku as a 10 year old‚ there's no way that those pairings should've made it #Everything from the first two series cements that the final pairings should have been NaruSasu (it technically was) and SakuIno #But having two of the three main characters be in an mlm relationship‚ with the third being in a wlw relationship wasn't an option #not if you want to milk the series for all it's worth and create a ''new generation'' Naruto with three kids from the three main characters #and the series sucks because nothing has changed despite an entire war being fought #Naruto achieves his dreams of becoming ninja president of one of the most powerful nations and he immediately backtracks on his ideals #leaving the village with ninja slavery and endorsing the ninja system as a whole‚ despite aspiring to tear it down to prevent more violence (tags via @midnight-revelation)

#man I love randomly coming across old fandoms and old ships on my dash #and finding delicious tags proving that they're still driving people crazy to this day #AS THEY SHOULD #nobody does it like SNS #so unhinged and mutually obsessed #to an absolutely insane degree #so canon #SasuNaru #NaruSasu #Naruto

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n1k1tty · 3 years ago

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kiss me ! part 1

jake was definitely head over heals for your cold personality, and he wasn't going to let anyone take you. but heres the problem: he couldn't find a single way to keep a conversation with you. despite your scary demeanour, jake decides to man up and does everything out of his will to get you.

fluff, jake x reader, (not proofread)

jake was frustrated to know that many guys have been after you the second you stepped in that classroom doing the bare minimum.

hearing ‘wanna grab lunch with me?’ here and there somehow always made him ball his fist to prevent himself from being a problem. yet again he couldn’t blame other people for wanting to ask you out either. he even sometimes wished that you had rejected him so he could move on. although of course he didn’t really mean that.

because now he was wandering around the school looking for you while he was on a “bathroom break” during his soccer practice. he knew you always liked to stay at the school rooftops admiring the view while listening to music. not like he was stalking you or anything...

you turn your head to look at the person at the door "you again? when are you going to leave me alone? pervert" you scoff, kicking the little pieces of rocks as you avoid jakes eyes. it was almost the millionth time you've seen jake this day, and it was always for the same reason, to piss you off, well more like ask you out --which still pisses you off.

you weren't one to believe in love, or maybe just not yet. because you weren't even sure if you were capable enough to love someone. even the thought of having to be so sweet and touchy with each other grossed you out, and of all people, jake especially knew that. so why was he so determined to get you to fall in love with him?

"hmmm maybe never?" jake chuckles at the sight of you rolling your eyes "then i'll move schools --countries if that's what takes for you to leave me alone" as you turn around and face him, eyes widened at the thin space between the both of you "and maybe i'll find you"

you raise your eyebrows "well that's borderline criminal act" you wander off "now sim jaeyun i think it's best for you to leave before you add up to my anger --i mean you already are. but wouldn't that be horrible?" jake's eyes follow you as you drag your feet "not really" he states "you're hot when you're mad"

you scoff out of disbelief, hitting him hard on his arm, looking away almost immediately as you trying to hide your heated face "shut up before i'll push you off this building" letting go of the grip you once had on his collar, "alright, alright sorry ma'am. but if you're really mad for whatever reason, come with me. i'll take you to a place" he suggests, offering his hand for you to take "you should be happy. i normally wouldn't even consider letting anyone know about my spot" he shoots you a grin

you take time trying to consider his offer, but as much as you don't want to stroke his ego about convincing you to go with him, you really needed something to release your anger "as long as you shut up about this" you give him a side glance "no promises" he sends a wink your way "ugh, fine"

he gently takes your hand as he drags you out of the school "can you jump over the wall?" jake looks at your flustered face "....no..?" you answer, making a line with your lips, causing him to let out a small chuckle "okay cutie, i'll help you up" you cringe at the nickname "call me that again and i'll break your neck" you step on his knee as he tries to boost you up "yeah that's right, keep going"

but as jake looks up he couldn't help but feel flustered, looking away "i made it!" you pant, hands resting on your knees as you wait for jake to come up as well. but after a few seconds of not hearing him, you call out his name, peaking your head over the wall "jake? i swear to god if you leave me out here i'm killing you"

"n-no i didn't leave you" he stutters, trying to collect himself from being a flustered mess "then come up here! the sun is setting, you wouldn't want to miss it"

"y-yeah it's just that i uh, i saw.....your....you know?" he explains, his hands not knowing what to do "you saw my what!?" you shrieked "no no it's okay i looked away!" he reassures you "ugh, just- just come up here!" you yell, already walking ahead as you try to cool down your heating face "so pink aye?" jake jokes, catching up to you

"SIM JAEYUN!" you yell, kicking him on his ass "ow! okay sorry!"

jake was resting his head on his hands, watching as you play with the small puddle while watching the sunset, not even an hour in, jake panics as he sees the amount of missed calls from riki "oh shit! my soccer practice!"

the following days after that, almost everything remained the same, jake continuously teasing and flirting with you, you getting in trouble for the littlest things, never coming home until the latest of the hour. but yet again, almost everything remained the same

you were now in denial of your feelings towards sim jaeyun. it would hurt too much of your pride to actually admit it, because after all, you've always told sim jaeyun you hated him.

you groan "jake, there's a reason why i'm failing english, okay? just accept the fact that i'm the worst" you bury your head on the pages of your book, seated across jake at the back of the library "i didn't even ask for you to help me! i simply just asked for your notes that just happened to have a first grader's hand writing" he scoffs, a little taken back by your sudden insult on his hand writing "thanks? i know you didn't ask for help, i just wanted to do this with you so that you don't get detention for not knowing proper english" he explains, handing you another sheet of paper with an 54 circled on the right corner "seriously y/n? 54? come on, one last set of questions and i'll take you to the new cafe just across the street"

and almost immediately, you bring your head up, grabbing the pen and taking the set of questions. making jake giggle "y/n, just say that you like me, you know i'm not going to reject you-- ow!" you smack him on the head with the pencil "that's absolute nonsense!" you whisper with a harsh voice, digging your face on the note book as you try to cover the little smile you had on your face

i think it was safe to say you got 4 out of 10 right, causing you to almost have a mental breakdown at the library "i can't do this sim" you groan "i think you just need a break yeah? wanna head to the cafe?" jake stands up to pack your stuff, giggling at the sight of your head still buried in between the pages of the book "c'mon y/n" he kneels beside you "get up, let's go to that cafe"

you've never felt your pride hurt as much as this did, having to show jake how bad your were at english, him having to tutor you without you asking for help, and jake bringing you to the cafe even though you weren't even remotely close to getting at least 6 right

and you weren't exaggerating when when you say jake had to drag you all the way to the cafe "hi! what can i get for you today sir?" the girl says, the obvious heart eyes she has for him pissing you off even more "hi yeah i'd like to have a caramel machiatto" he responds politely, smiling at the obvious glare you held at the girl, poking out your tongue after she was called by the manager, an old lady replaces her "anything else for your girlfriend--" before you could correct her, jake immediately speaks up "she'll have (drink)"

he smiles at the old lady before paying "i'm sending you money later whether you like it or not" you roll your eyes "and i'll send it back" he holds your waist as he leads you to a table, causing your heart to beat 10 times faster "yeah? well i'll send it back to you again! i'll keep doing it until you die!" he scoffs at you "as if!"

even after multiple attempts of trying to make jake ask you out, the boy who you thought was so smart couldn't take a single hint at all.

but in jake's defence, you were a little bad, considering how bad you were with boys, he vividly remembers that one time when you were trying so hard to make him jealous by talking to other guys. he even laughed as you struggled to keep up with a conversation.

or that other time when you tried to hold his hand just to do something romantic just for once but ended up letting go because he wouldn't stop teasing you about it. he still took your hand, yet he never asked you out still.

"you okay darling?" your mother asks, taking a quick glance at your droopy form leaning on the counter as you wait for her to finish cooking "is it a boy?" she teases, making you perk your head up "i knew it!" she gives you an endearing smile as she gives you a plate with eggs on it, a heart shaped ketchup placed on the top of the egg "mom!" you whine

"okay fine, it is a boy. but don't tell dad" you whisper, smiling once she zips her lips "what's his name?" she asked, tilting her head as she leans on the counter in front of you "jake"

"jake?! i love jake! you should invite him over sometime" she squeals "he's a nice guy, i'm sure he wouldn't hurt you, so what's bothering you?" you sigh, taking a sip of the water "he likes me, it's like the whole world knows. but he just keeps on flirting with me and never actually tries to ask me out" you pout, aggressively taking a bit of the scrambled eggs, making your mother chuckle "oh baby, i'm sure it'll happen soon. just give him some time! unless if you're that impatient, then maybe you should try considering to be the one who makes the first move" she walks away, heading upstairs

no, as much as you hate it, that would hurt too much of your pride. so you decided to wait.

summer just had started and you couldn't even explain how much you hated the heat. staying under the shade 70% of the time whenever you went out with jake and his friends "guys! i have an announcement" jay yells, you were currently over at jay's house, just having a little party with just the 8 of you "my father booked us a trip to hawaii"

"WHAT?!"

part 2

— HEY 👵🏽 so i decided that this would be a multiple part story bcs i didnt want it to be too long!

i haven’t written the second part yet, but hopefully i’d have it done before tuesday

feel free to ask if you want to be tagged once the second chapter is out!

this has been n1k1tty! see ya!

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen x reader fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen jake #jake enhypen #enhypen jake x reader #jake x reader #jake sim #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun

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zozo-01 · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday (But I'm impatient so I'm posting it on a Tuesday <3)

SO! I teased this David/Angel story in the last WIP, but I'm gonna share an actual snippet now this time!!! This is part of a 4 + 1 kind of story for the above two and this is one of the scenarios/events. It's basically a fic by itself and I have oh so much more to write. Originally, the individual scenarios were gonna be less than 500 words each... but I got carried away with this one... Buckle up folks this is gonna be a long story when its done!!!

(Tagging @bittersweet--chaos because I've been annoying them with this for like weekssss!)

#1: They made him forget the unease of being in a car.

Over the years, David has developed some habits to cope with his unwariness in a car. His arms were stiff when holding the steering wheel, made sure his foot was hovering over the breaks, kept his eyes on the road at all times, and most importantly-

“Angel, for the millionth time, I do not want any music playing while I’m driving.”

One of the annoying things about David is that he refuses to let music play in the car while driving. He claims that he doesn’t want to be distracted on the road, but the pack notices the way his eyes glaze over and his voice slightly cracking. He would never say the full reason, but it would take a real dumbass to not figure that out.

“But Davey! It’s way too quiet and this is a damn road trip! If you won’t talk to me, then the least you can do is let me jam out,” Angel said while pouting. They crossed their arms and puffed out their chest to show that they’re annoyed, but honestly, David thought they looked cute sitting like that. Their adorableness didn’t negate the fact that he really didn’t want music to be playing right now.

David took in a shaky breath before continuing. “Angel, I know it’s boring without any sound, but I just-” Angel cut him off, “then I won’t play anything.”

What David didn’t know is that when he started speaking, his eyes had glazed over and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Maybe he was remembering something bad?’ Angel thought. They didn’t know. What they do know was that David needed this. And who were they to deny their boyfriend something he needs.

One thing about Angel that he loves was their ability to know when to push and when to stop. Of course, it has been a learning process for them both. But they were learning each other’s boundaries. And they were learning together.

“Thank you, Angel,” David sighed out, before focusing on the road again.

A few moments went by before Angel started humming a tune, one that David was familiar with. He let out a groan and if he wasn’t driving, he would have banged his head against the steering wheel.

“Oh, I’m sorry if the humming is bothering you. It’s just that it's a song that’s been in my brain and I have to hum it so it gets out, but I totally understand if you need me to stop and,” Angel kept on rambling and apologizing. The longer they were explaining themselves, the more out of breath they became.

David let one hand go on the steering wheel and held his Angel’s hand. “Look at me Angel, you’re ok just breathe with me.” Angel looked into David’s eyes and he swears that their eyes could only be compared to the moon. Once Angel's breathing calmed down, David explained why he became annoyed with humming.

“It’s not you, I promise. The song you’ve were humming is a stupid ‘Hall and Oates’ song that Tank used to blast when we were younger,” David said with disdain in his voice. “At one point, they did it specifically to piss me off, so now anytime I hear the song, I just want to die on the inside.”

Angel started laughing that beautiful laugh of theirs. “Why though? It’s such a sweet song. Never would have thought that Tank would be into it,” Angel mused. David looked at the smile that was on their face, and he immediately felt at ease.

He forgot that he was in a car, something he hasn’t been able to do since his father died. Angel had made him forget it. Their presence was enough to keep his mind from fixating on every detail that he needed to control. Maybe he could try…

“Hey Angel, can you open that compartment for me?” They did as they were told and were met with a CD. Angel looked up at David who was reminiscing about… something.

“I was a fussy kid and it took me forever to put me to sleep. My… my dad used to drive me around when I couldn't sleep. Apparently, driving around the neighbourhood knocked me the fuck out.” David let out a little chuckle. “The CD you’re holding is the one that he’d play every night to help me sleep, and I want to listen to it with you.”

“David… you don’t have to play any kind of music because I asked,” Angel said nervously as they fumbled with their shirt.

“I want this. I promise.” Angel nodded and put the disc into the CD player.

For the first time in forever, a road trip karaoke session was held in David’s car.

At that moment, David thought he was blessed with a real angel on his side. Their bright smile and siren-like voice that he wouldn’t mind spending forever listening to.

‘Huh. Never would have thought I’d want to spend forever with someone, but I wouldn’t mind if it was them. I should ask them about it. Not now, it’s way too soon. But one day, I will propose to them.’

#$10 if you can guess the hall and oates song #its reallyyy easy once you know me #also #this is me shamelessly projecting myself on to david #AND IT TURNED OUT GREATTT #this is zo speaking #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asmr

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vexture · 2 years ago

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Yoinked from friend Carmen (@good-wine-and-cheese) - 5 songs we actually listen to, but I'm adding as many as I want to, because I can :> (there's probably some misspellings, I'm tired lol)

First off, if it's not obvious, some of these songs will have very iffy lyrics if you listen to them yourself, I just like making playlists for fics and some of this shit is what my headmates like, for legal reasons (tm) I don't condone any of the shit in these songs (I hope no one I know actually thinks that)

1. Stockholm Syndrome, Nostalghia

Man when we found this song it was like a punch to the gut, given the situation with my old partner at the time, plus one of my headmates really relates to this one (which, ouch) but just like, the instruments and the messy way she sings is really really cool :00

2. Carousel Waltz, Jack Conte

Headmate Jules listens to lots of stuff, and outside of his trigger song, this one in particular makes him tune into the fronting area. I vibe with the flowey composition so much man, the way this guy sings has such an uncanny feel, and raw

3. Ich tu dir weh, Rammstein

Woop woop Steiner listens to this one a shit ton, not surprised but like, damn lol. I love the guitar specifically in this one and whatever shit they did at the start (it sounds like pitched down piano keys), and when I have the volume up all the way the way Til growls vibrates my ears and man, that shit's awesome :0 gotta love bdsm tracks (also fun fact this song was taken off the original release because of the subject matter)

4. Hang, 8 Graves

I found this one for my jthm jimmy playlist and I really like the way everything is phrased. The way it sets up feels like one of those like, party anthems for asshole frats but like the lyrics give to something more open about these types of people and their friend groups, I really dig the instrumental too :>

5. Sacrilegium I, Zeal and Ardor

Another one of Jules' shit, man this one reminds me of like, Tron, anyone remember that movie? I played the game based on the movie :> not much for this type of electronic stuff but it's just got this type of pull to me personally, and it makes it a blessing when Jules stops playing Barracuda for the millionth time lol

6. Cocaine Jesus, Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Oh ouch, one from Wolfgang's playlist. I cannot unpack the absolute projection he does to this song here but what I will say, for myself, the line "..high as hell, feeling fine, nothing bad but nothing kind - not, not a word from me, at least nothing you would mind.." is what drew me in immediately, and is the line he focuses on the most except for the bit at the end of the song

7. Came as a Glow, Pile

The fucking guitar, and the borderline yelling this guy does is great. I was like "oh fuck I don't think I'm gonna like this one" but then the vocalist smacked me in the face with the whole screamish thing. Ever since then I've just had it in my master playlist and I listen to it more than I think probably

8. Reich mir die hand, Blutengel

Milosz's positive trigger song, and the only one of Blutengel's songs I remember liking back in 6th grade :> Milosz has listened to their entire discography and will fucking die by this shit lol. I wish the lady's back up vocals were more pronounced though, that is legit my only complaint about this song

9. Doing My Time, Pale

I found this when my YouTube recommendation was good (f in chat since it sucks now) and like, you have to listen to this like, at 10 pm- 3am full blast with headphones and just lay in your bed. The atmosphere is like, the fucking best for those late nights where you feel certain ways it's great

10. Doom Woods, Whitechapel

Headmate Josh makes everyone listen to this shit when he drives, and I'm not saying it sucks, but long term exposure to Josh(tm) can either make you hate shit like this or have brain rot, he showed Magnus and he's now a Whitechapel stan I guess. I can say the vocalist should sing more, in one of the other songs he sings and man it's awesome. 10/10 would learn screaming just to make a cover of this song

Anyone can do this too, btw this was really fun!

#sunny's game tag #music game #sunny's headmates

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 years ago

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Ribbon and Lace

Asa Emory x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Part 2

Read Part 1 here

Summary: The Collector leaves himself a gift takes his time tearing it open.

Warnings: Dubcon, drugging, bondage, knife play, blood play, biting, lingerie, choking, Stockholm Syndrome

Bored. Bored. Bored.

You stare at the wall of your “cell,” counting the little pinstripes in the hideous brown wallpaper for what feels like the millionth time. You wonder if every kidnapping victim has moments of boredom like this. The entire time you’ve been imprisoned here, you’ve vacillated wildly between monotony and visceral fear the second that door lock clicks. At least you’re not in the trunk anymore.

Just then, the door handle rattles. Speak of the devil.

You’re on your feet in an instant, heart climbing into your throat as the door swings open. Asa strides in, not looking at you, instead retrieving the tray that held your most recent meal. He’s mask-less, as he always is anymore. No point, you suppose.

He steps out of the room, then returns a moment later, fixing you with that cold stare that never fails to send a thrill of fear racing down your spine.

“Come,” he orders, indicating you should follow. You wonder if you should bark, too. Saying nothing, you anxiously grip the hem of the black sweater you still wear and submissively trail behind him.

You don’t look around you, keeping your gaze firmly locked on the back of his boots. There are things through some of these doors you never want to see again as long as you live. You assume he’s taking you for a shower, but realize you’re wrong when Asa abruptly stops at start of a hallway you’ve never been down.

He holds out his arm, beckoning you to him. You hesitate briefly before timidly approaching. Unceremoniously, he scoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style and carefully making his way down the new hall. You understand the caution when Asa eases over a trip wire across the floor. There are traps everywhere; wires connected to all manner of horrible implements designed to swing from the ceiling and impale or crush, others made to break bone and cripple limbs. Where the hell is he taking you?

There’s a door at the end of the hall. Without putting you down, Asa pushes it open with a boot, closing it behind him before finally setting you on your feet. Before you have a chance to look around, he grips your chin, tilting your head up so you’re looking directly in his eyes.

“Do not leave here without me. Do you understand?” You nod. Obviously. He must think you’re an idiot.

Asa releases your chin and busies himself with something on the counter behind him. Looking around, you find yourself in what looks like a hotel suite. There’s a small kitchen, a sitting area, a queen-sized bed, and you’ll guess there’s a bathroom through the little room to the left. Everything is worn, dusty, and peeling like the rest of the rooms in this dilapidated building, but there appears to have been some effort put into making this one livable. You wonder if this is where he stays. Does he live here too?

“Take this.” You’re interrupted from your musings when Asa pushes a pill into your hand. It is small, round, and white. You have no idea what it could be by the markings on the front. Your mouth goes dry and you look up at him pleadingly.

He merely gazes at you expectantly, handing you a bottle of water. You don’t have a choice, of course. You suppose the worst it could do is kill you, which would be a blessing if you’re honest with yourself. He’s never letting you leave any other way.

Taking a deep breath, you place it on your tongue and quickly gulp it down with some water when it begins to dissolve. You pull a face, the chalky, bitter taste sitting thick on your tongue. You wonder how long it will take before it begins to work, whatever it is.

You’re quiet for some time, choosing to search the room to occupy your thoughts instead of thinking too hard about the pill you just swallowed. As you stroll, Asa tinkers with some horrible contraption sitting on the counter. You’re too afraid to look at it closely.

You were right, that room had been a bathroom. Approaching the bed, you run your fingers over the sheets, nearly groaning when you feel how soft they are. You’re so tired of sleeping on that ugly chaise.

“Am I gonna die?” You ask finally, turning to face your captor. He tilts his head, observing you for a moment before speaking.

“Not unless you are allergic to Rohypnol.”

“Rohy—you roofied me?” you exclaim, stomach churning. Why? He’s never had any trouble subduing you before.

“I need you calm,” is his only reply. You open your mouth to respond with something nasty but close it when the room tilts. You blink several times, holding your arm out to steady yourself. Immediately, Asa strides forward to take your hand. You stumble into him, gripping onto his shirt, a giggle bubbling up out of your throat.

“You…roooophhied me,” you slur, eyes drooping as you tilt your head back. Asa must grip you around the waist to keep you from toppling over backward. Unwisely, but unable to stop yourself, you reach up and clumsily brush your fingers over his mouth.

“Yooooou havenn’ kissssed me y—yet,” you mumble, attempting to force your eyes open. The Collector says nothing, instead watching you coolly, mild interest the only expression on his face. “Yo—yooou s-s-should,” you whisper.

Something crosses his face then, some complex emotion that rises to the surface before being beaten back down by Asa’s mask of indifference. You only catch a glimpse before your eyes slip shut, knees buckling. You can’t be sure, but it almost looked like…indecision.

Your head pounds. Your eyes water, eyelids glued shut with dried tears. You try to bring your hand to your face to clear your eyelashes but find your arms are secured behind your back.

With difficulty, you blink, peeling your eyelids apart. The room lurches and you must blink furiously until it rights itself. From your position on the bed, the first thing you notice is the empty counter; that awful contraption, whatever it was, is gone. You’re not sure if this is good news or not.

You crane your neck to look behind you, grunting with the effort, and find you are tied up like a present. You wear lingerie, lacy black that leaves little to the imagination with matching thigh highs. Your arms are folded behind your back and tied with thick, black ribbon. Your legs are bent at the knees, each calf secured to its corresponding thigh with the same fabric as your arms.

When you twist back around, you feel something on your neck, like a choker but thicker, heavier. You can’t see it, can’t bring your hands up to touch it, but it almost feels like leather against your skin. A collar…?

Movement in your peripheral makes you jerk, hair standing on end, heart stuttering in your chest. Asa winds around the bed like a predator, eyes raking over your bound and struggling form. You shiver, the look he gives you instantly heating your blood.

After all this time, he’s conditioned you, taught your body to respond with just a look. You can already feel the slickness between your thighs, your traitorous body aching for what he’s about to dish out. You fucking hate him.

You hate him, but, fuck, do you want him.

Asa seats himself on the edge of the bed and reaches out to trace a gloved finger across the ribbon wrapped around your thigh. He drags his hand up your body and hooks a finger in the collar around your neck, tugging you upright until you’re kneeling and bringing your face inches from his own.

He studies you then, dark eyes tracing your cheekbones, your ear, your nose, before falling to your parted lips. You hold your breath. Is he…?

It’s measured, the way he moves, like every action is planned out in his head. Maybe it is. Gradually, he leans forward, brushing his lips against yours teasingly before pulling away and looking into your half-lidded eyes. Just that tiny bit of contact is enough to send a jolt of need pulsing through your gut.

Asa does it again, leaning forward, stopping just before your lips meet. You feel his warm breath against your trembling lips and it takes all your self-control not to lean forward and crush your mouth into his. You can’t imagine what kind of punishment that would earn you.

He pulls away again and you whine, biting your lip and fidgeting, arms straining against the ribbon digging into your skin. A little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. Prick.

“What do you say?” he asks, thumb tracing across the collar on neck, slipping the digit under the leather to feel your racing pulse.

“Please, Asa,” you whisper, leaning toward him infinitesimally. That must be enough because Asa grips the collar, pulling you in and laying claim to your lips.

He’s teeth, tongue, rough in every sense of the word but you moan into his mouth anyway. You taste copper on your tongue and realize he bit you hard enough to make you bleed. You’re on fire when he pulls away again, goosebumps raising on your skin and lips tingling.

Your blood is smeared across his mouth as if it is lipstick. Asa licks his lips while he pushes his thumb into your mouth. He doesn’t need to tell you to suck on it. You’re well trained, the taste of his nitrile gloves as familiar as food now.

Then, he does something that surprises you. He snaps off his gloves, tossing them onto the bedside table before reaching out to grip you around the waist. You sigh when you feel the warmth of his bare skin against yours. He’s never touched you without gloves before.

Asa pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him. He fists a hand in your hair and tips your head back, latching onto your neck, biting and sucking the skin not covered by the collar until you’re writhing and whimpering in his lap, grinding down against his hard, clothed cock. His free hand grips a handful of your hip, his trimmed nails digging into your flesh hard enough to leave angry, red welts.

You gasp when he tosses you back on the bed, the world tilting suddenly and making your head spin. You freeze, holding your breath when Asa shoves the blade of a knife in your mouth, cold steel clacking against your teeth. You tremble, trying to contain your panicked breaths so you don’t slice your tongue.

“I recommend you don’t move,” he purrs. You see your own blood coating his teeth when he speaks.

You whimper when you feel the fingers of his free hand rub you through your underwear. You can’t control the throaty moan that leaves you when he shoves your underwear to the side and slips two bare digits inside. The feel of his skin in your cunt instead to the artificial nitrile makes it almost impossible not to buck your hips into his hand.

It’s a testament to how well Asa can control that knife when he doesn’t slip and cut you while he’s finger fucking you into oblivion. His palm grinds against your clit, fingers curled within you and rubbing the exact spot he knows will make you scream. He plays your body like a fiddle. He’s experimented, found the most efficient ways to pull you apart, created methods that have you clenching and coming undone within minutes. Mewls and moans spill from your bloody lips, every muscle in your body tensed to keep yourself from writhing and stabbing that damn knife into your gums. He’s not making it easy for you.

He surveys your expression with cool indifference. His eyes betray him, the only hint he’s getting any satisfaction from this. Dark pupils blown wide, they rake over your twitching body, zoning in on every tick and spasm, ruthlessly devouring you until you’re begging around the steel sitting on your tongue.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, spilling down into your hair after you’ve cum on his fingers for the second time. Finally, blessedly, he pulls the blade from your mouth and you let your aching jaw snap shut. You wiggle in your restraints, your arms and legs pricking with pins and needles.

Asa unbuttons his slacks, freeing his engorged cock before pressing your knees to your chest, spreading your legs wide. Pushing your panties to the side again, he lines himself up and slams his hips forward, thick cock abruptly parting slick muscles. You should be expecting it by now, but he still always manages to take your breath away.

A moan from above startles you. He’s usually so quiet, only uttering a few grunts here and there. You glance up to find him curled over you, forehead nearly touching yours and…trembling. You almost didn’t think it was possible for him to feel anything other than minor annoyance.

You have no idea what you’re thinking when you lift your head and press your lips to his again. He looks almost vulnerable; just so completely out of character you can’t help yourself. It’s a mistake. Asa’s hand darts up, gripping you around the neck and shoving you back down into the mattress. His other hand joins the first and he squeezes, cutting off your air supply as he starts up a brutal pace.

Your chest burns, lungs struggling and failing to pull in air as Asa’s hips slap relentlessly forward. He stares at you icily, apathetically watching your face go from red to purple. You’re torn between fear and euphoria, lust coiling in the pit of your stomach while your lips open and close uselessly like a fish out of water. Darkness creeps in the edges of your vision, tears pouring from your eyes and further obscuring your sight.

Asa relents a few seconds before unconsciousness claims you and you gasp, inhaling deeply before coughing and spluttering. “I-I’m s-sorry,” you stammer as soon as you have enough air in your lungs to speak. A cry leaves your lips a moment later when he tilts his hips and hammers that glorious, sensitive spot deep within you with mechanical precision.

“Asa, Asa, please, please, please, I, I-” You can’t finish your sentence, words losing meaning and dying on your tongue as you hold poised, tense, ready to crash into bliss, if only he’ll let you…. He says nothing, letting you teeter on the edge until you’re sobbing his name over and over like it’ll save you.

“Do it,” he growls into your ear and you scream, back arching as blinding pleasure wracks your overheated body. You barely register the strangled “F-fuck,” above you when Asa joins you a moment later, pumping you full of sticky warmth.

Your chest heaves, sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, arms and legs screaming to be untied. You whimper, wiggling your toes and tensing your arms, trying to work any amount of feeling back into your limbs. Asa shudders, resting his head on your shoulder so he can calm his own haggard breaths.

Still panting, he pushes up to his knees before slipping the knife under the ribbon tying your legs, sawing through the fabric. You groan in relief, letting your legs flop onto the mattress, flexing and twisting your ankles. Asa abruptly flips you onto your stomach to reach your bound arms. He leaves the collar around your neck.

You inspect the red grooves in your skin left behind by the ribbon as Asa slips off the bed and into the bathroom, presumably to clean up. You wonder if he’ll take you back to your little chaise now. You’ll be sad to leave the bed.

Asa strides out of the bathroom, not sparing you a second glance before he’s crossing the room and leaving, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. You wait, passing the time by massaging your tender neck you’re sure is already sporting bruises. Ten minutes pass. Nothing. He’s leaving you here?

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you crawl under the blankets, adjusting your aching limbs until you find a position that suits you. It doesn’t take long before your eyes are drooping, fatigue and roofie hangover pulling you into a deep slumber.

You have no idea how much time has passed when you hear the door click open again. You jerk out of a dream, hastily sitting upright and rubbing your bleary eyes. You look toward the door, fully expecting to see Asa’s icy stare.

What you see instead makes all the color drain from your face, a horrified scream erupting from your throat.

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector (2009)#the collector x reader #the collection #slashers #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #my writing #dubcon #blood #drugging #n sfw #stockholm syndrome #cliffhanger anyone?

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jay-and-dean · 4 years ago

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Firefly Chapter 9 : Twenty eight years old, Come what may

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary : 40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 5900

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Masterlist

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————————

9. Twenty years old : Come what may

Reader’s Pov

She opened her eyes in a gasp, almost like she had slept holding her breath. She put her hand on her chest and immediately, the smell of the bunker calmed her.

This was no Hell, and even if it had been, the Winchesters had made sure Hell would never be what it was before : No Lilith or Alastair, no Lucifer, no knight of Hell…

She let go of the pillow she was holding like she once used to hold Mister Teddy bear; and looked around at the grey room. A little smile appeared on her lips : Everything was perfect.

She didn’t own anything, since Lucifer didn’t really let her pack before locking her back in Hell, but Dean had made sure that her room was welcoming enough. A little alarm clock on the nightstand, next to her glass of water and little bag of candies, a few books behind her bed, because she had always loved books so much ; he had also given her a few extra pillows.

She looked at her open closet, smiling at the memory of going to buy clothes with Dean on the second day. He didn’t want to take the risk to take her far, so they went to the closest store in Lebanon, a tiny store, where only one pair of jeans suited her, so she had bought two of them, two shirts, a few underwears, and a pair of sneakers. But her perfect items were the one Dean had given her. She really didn’t need anything else.

She sat and looked down at her wrists, they were now healed from the deep wounds caused by years of tugging at the chains but a mark was left, a scar. She rubbed her thumb on it, wondering if it would stay, thinking of the books she had read about those people who suffered slavery, their scars couldn’t disappear…

Her eyes wandered in the dark, and the red light of the alarm made her frown, she shivered.

6:28 am.

That meant the bunker would probably be silent... And silence wasn’t her favorite sound.

She got up on her tiptoes, tugging at Dean’s t-shirt to cover her panties. And, as discreet as she used to leave her princess room with her teddy bear in her hand, she sneaked out.

No blood all over the corridors and no scream anywhere. Dean wasn’t being tortured, he was sound asleep in a bed, not even too cold or too hot, just perfectly surrounded by pillows and safe.

A sound caught her attention in the kitchen, the calming, already familiar sound of the coffee machine in the morning, and the intoxicating smell that came with it.

A light smile on her face, still on her tiptoes, she walked to the kitchen to see who was at the origin of that comforting morning sound.

“Hi Sam” she smiled, when he appeared in her field of vision.

“Oh, hi Firefly” he said, immediately correcting himself. “Y/n.”

“You can call me that” she smiled sincerely, earning an awkward chuckle from him. “Is Dean still sleeping ?”

Sam nodded and handed her a coffee, she took it and started blowing on it. The feeling of the flavored steam on her face was one of the things she loved so much about life. One of the million things.

“D-Dean told me about what you’ve been through to lock Lucifer, and save us all, and me, from his cruelty” she started hesitantly. “I know it isn't worth much next to what you had to live but… Thank you. Thank you so much.”

His eyebrows raised a little, and he looked down while nodding.

“No, it- it means a lot actually” he said. “Thank you for helping my brother in Hell.”

“I didn’t” she answered right away. “I tried. But he still got tortured everyday, he still had to bleed to death on that concrete floor; cold as death or hot enough to make the blood puddles boil… And I still slept in a bed.”

Sam frowned, biting the inside of his cheek once or twice.

“You…” he finally spoke. “You had more than your share of horrors. You can’t blame yourself.”

She smiled kindly, she wasn’t ready to stop blaming herself, and as long as she would hate her kind, or at least half her kind that much, she couldn’t really forgive herself. But she had tried, and she was holding on to this.

“I’m going to get back to bed, with Dean” she stated. “Unless you need me for anything.”

“O-okay” he said, surprised, blinking a few times. “No, I dont… Be careful though, Dean is an angry sleeper.”

“He wasn’t angry last morning” she shrugged and left the kitchen still on her tiptoes, her mug close to her face.

She pushed the 11 door slowly, immediately smiling at the strong smell of Dean filling the room. He had been sweating, the room was a little warmer than the corridor, like his body had created a lot of heat during the night.

He was sleeping on his back, the covers crumpled next to him, his black t-shirt bunched up, slightly showing his lower stomach.

She entered slowly, carefully closing the door behind her. She walked to the nightstand to put her coffee there, Dean loved the smell of coffee waking him.

Then she put one knee on the bed, then the other, to join him in the middle of it.

“It’s me” she whispered when he reacted in his sleep to her movements. “It’s me Dean.”

She laid next to him , not daring to touch, just enjoying him being so close.

“Morning Firefly” he grunted, stretching his arm to reach the first part of her he could.

His hand landed on her bare thigh, grasping it to bring her closer.

Her hand flattened on his chest and her leg snuggled above his, his soft blond hair tickling her ankle. She looked up at the side of his face, her lips against his shoulder.

“I’m going to get up” he said sleepily.

“You don’t have too” she whispered, lifting her arm to stroke the hair on his temple.

She had held him so often, she had stroked his hair countless times… But now that it wasn’t to escort him to his millionth death, everything was different, a true Heaven.

“Yeah…” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “So tell me more about Sue.”

She smiled wide. For once, she also had stories to tell, she could finally debate about the best songs of Led Zeppelin -she hadn’t forgotten one- and tell him what food she liked the most.

Dean’s pov

The bar was not too busy, and just the good, enveloping amount of loud.

Sam kept looking around worriedly, like some monster was going to show up to hurt them because he had recognized her. But Dean was unfazed, sipping at his beer, his arm on the back of her chair. He had seen her power, and now he was sure of something : Not much could really hurt her, and if anyone tried, he would just rip them like he did Death, Abaddon and Lucifer. Nothing would stop him.

“I was so drunk !” she laughed out loud, telling her story, joy lighting up her whole face, her entire body living her words.

He smiled, engrossed by the sparking in her eyes.

“Sounds like a great evening” Sam nodded.

“Yeah” she said. “It was the first night I knew exactly where I was going to sleep” she added with a serious shadow on her face.

Dean wrapped his arm around her and used his big hand to put her head on his shoulder. She sighed in content and put a hand on his chest.

They stayed like this for a few moments before she got up.

“I need to pee, Jesus beer !” she said before she left.

Dean watched her leave, drinking a sip of his beer. His flannel made her look small, he remembered how her dresses used to make her so tall.

“You just let her go by herself ?” Sam asked.

“What ?” Dean gave him a mocking face. “I know she is not a big fan of loneliness but I’m pretty sure she likes to be there alone.”

“Someone could recognize her” Sam insisted, ignoring his brother’s comment.

“I gave her a phone, a necklace with sigils to keep her hidden, put a tracking chip in her shoe… You heard what Billie said, no one can recognize her, she learned to vanish into the crowd when she faked her death, her powers are hiding themselves” he stated in a deep voice. “She has been a prisoner all her life, give her a break.”

“I know, I’m… I’m worried sometimes” Sam said. “I really like her, but there are moments when you seem blinded by her, Dean.”

He didn’t answer and leaned to the back of his chair, looking at the restroom door to see her come back.

Dean was not blinded by her. He knew what everyone was thinking.

They were not hating her, and, after they met her and saw the light within her soul, they even grew pretty fond of her, who wouldn’t ?

They just didn’t understand that bond Dean and her had, no one did.

And Dean himself knew it was strange. He had seen her grow, and she had seen him die a thousand times. They had fought and hoped together, and they had suffered. What she had seen all of him, kneeling in his guts to hold his hand… No one could really understand that.

Having her in his home, in his life, was confusing, scary and disturbing. Thinking so much about Hell was unbearable the first three days, and at some point he really feared that it would stay insufferable. And so he stayed occupied, buying her clothes and some girl products, reading on Cambions, interrogating Demons and Angels… Even Billie.

But Firefly was not the darkness of Hell, she was the light out of it.

The next three days became easier. He felt relieved, like somehow, his hope being alive was a closure for him. A way to give some of his memories more sense and to let go of a part of it.

And so their bond grew. He remembered their kiss, so long ago, and spent a few hours in his bed wondering if their connection was this kind of bond, or not. And obviously, he had no idea. Of course she was pretty, beautiful even, and had the most radiant smile… But for now all he could really think, was that he needed her there, and that she needed to live for real.

He was confused, and, the more he was failing, for once, to find the right words to explain to his family why she could sit in the driver seat of Baby and turn on the engine without a flinch of him ; why she would always know when he was cold or hot, hungry or bothered before he even noticed ; how well she could know every details of his story… The more their bond made everyone wonder.

Castiel had been the most suspicious, his too serious frown hiding almost entirely the blue of his eyes. He had stared at her, and warned the brothers a hundred times about what a Cambion could do. Sam had reassured him like he could to avoid any poor choice from the angel, and Dean had just ignored him.

But when Firefly jumped in the angel's arms, her big eyes wet, thanking him a thousand times for freeing Dean, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles… even Castiel didn’t seem so sure of her dangerosity after all.

Sam was trying his best to understand what was going on, to hide his worry behind his usual kindness. Firefly coming to their life was even more disturbing than Jack’s birth, because it wasn’t new the same way for both brothers.

But once again, each time he felt slightly threatened by the connection between the young woman and his brother, she said or did something that showed how admirative she was of him, and how much she was ready to work on earning his trust, and possibly his friendship.

Jack was never worried, but curious, somehow craving answers about himself in the being that was both so opposed and so close to what he was.

She finally came out, meeting his eyes the second she passed the door and grinned at the music playing. She stopped in the middle of the bar, slowly swinging on the blues notes of guitars, her now shortened but still pretty wild hair nonchalantly moving on the red and black flannel, her hips moved by invisible waves…

And that’s when Dean knew the bond was indeed Love, and that, even if she needed freedom and to leave for other men, he would never stop being desperately in love with his Firefly.

While his heart was pounding at the realisation, she came closer and took his hand.

“Dance with me” she asked him.

Dean gave her an awkward chuckle and he could see his brother smirking in the corner of his eye.

“I don’t really da-” he cut off his own sentence and stared at her smile, who was he to put a damper on her mood, how could he resist that smile of hers ?

With a little groan he got up from his seat and grasped her hand tighter.

“Of course” he went with her to the jukebox, leaning down to her ear and whispering. “What song do you want, sweetheart ?” he stood behind her with his hands on her hips, feeling her move underneath his palms.

“This one” she put in a coin and as the song started to play.

Dean turned her around to guide her to the middle of the floor.

“Elvis Presley ?” he questioned,amused, as she put one hand on his chest and another on his shoulder.

“Yes” she murmured.”I love this song”

Her head came resting against his chest, making a small smile form on his face at the sweet gesture. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, enjoying the feeling of her against him, ignoring Sam’s look, and some other people glare on them. He knew perfectly well how silly they looked, like a prom in the middle of a small town bar. And he didn’t care the slightest.

They swayed slowly to the song, held by each other, floating in the song. And after a little while, Dean couldn’t help but whisper the lyrics in her ear.

“Take my hand. Take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you” his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his nose in her hair.

His heart was beating fast, he was even a little afraid she would hear it.

And when she looked up at him, he just fell harder for her. Her beautiful Y/E/C eyes shone in the dim light of the bar, those eyes that could make anything bearable, her smell surrounded him and at that moment it was just the two of them, all he could feel was her and that’s all he ever wanted to feel from now.

By the time the song slowly came to its end, they both had stopped moving, lost in each other.

He cleared his throat and let her go with a slightly awkward smile.

“We should head home” he said with a hoarse voice, his eyes having a hard time not looking at her lips.

“Yes, home” she smiled as she said it, like she was testing out the word for the first time and liked how it sounded.

And Dean would be wrong if he didn’t admit he loved the way it sounded from her lips.

Reader Pov

Dean parked the impala back in the silent garage. They all got out and made their way inside.

“Thank you for tonight, I really enjoyed it” she told the brothers as her hand rested on the doorknob of her room.

“Yeah it was fun” Dean said as he looked at her, his tongue peeked out to lick at his lips, so Y/n knew something was making him a little nervous.

“Yeah, it was” Sam repeated, his eyes flickering between his brother and Y/n.

She could see a faint smile on his lips when he wished them a goodnight as he rounded the corner to his room.

“So…” Dean started. “You think you will sleep okay, Firefly ?” he asked.

“I will Dean, you too ?” she kept her hand on his chest, the need to touch him and have him close all the time was so strong.

He nodded, smiling at her worried face, his hand pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I will” he whispered. “No one is going to hurt me, or you.”

She gave him a small smile, reached up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek.

“Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Firefly.”

She entered her room, her cheeks hurting from smiling. The entire night she couldn’t stop thinking of that one time they kissed, in Hell. It was so long ago and in the heat of the moment, but she cherished that memory like her most precious gift, it had sheltered her from being depressed in the street, and it had kept her sane in the cage.

She had been in love with him for so long, she didn’t even remember not loving him with all her heart… but did he like her that way ? Could he look past the fact she wasn’t human ? That she could, like Castiel said, be dangerous…

She crawled into her bed with all these questions turning over in her head.

_______________________

A familiar scream woke her.

“N-No stop !” she heard.

Dean.

She jumped up and ran to the room next to hers. She could hear his whimpers through the door, her heart aching at those familiar gasps of pain, she carefully opened it and went inside.

He was sweating, his hands tugging at the sheets, panting and a worried frown on his face. She couldn’t stand to see him like this.

She made her way to his bed, sitting next to him to stroke his hair out of his sweaty forehead.

“Dean, it’s okay you’re safe.”

She sat up against the headboard and pulled him into her the best she could, his face immediately nuzzled into her chest, looking for safety. Her hand came up to stroke the back of his head, he was shaking. She started humming the song they danced to earlier, and when she did, his hands let go of the sheets and wrapped around her, holding her tight against him as his breathing slowed down.

She could feel his eyelashes brush against her neck as he slowly woke up.

“You’re safe Dean, I got you. No one is going to hurt you” she whispered to the top of his head.

“T-Thank you” his voice sounded just like it did when he was in Hell, right after his body was healed but his mind couldn’t yet process what had happened.

“It was Hell” she stated, she didn’t need to ask, she knew how it sounded, she had grown up with it after all.

“Yeah, and then purgatory, Micheal,...” he sighed.

She angled her head back to look at him, she could see the weight in his eyes, the horrors he had seen. Knowing he had been freed from Hell was her biggest joy, but knowing he had known more horrors in his life made her both desperately sad, and raging with anger.

“Life has been impossibly hard on you” she said as she stroked the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, you can say that… I did some stupid things too” he said with a defeated voice.

“If you do them for the right reasons it’s not stupid Dean” she told him.

“I… I killed people, I used to have this mark, The Mark of Cain” he swallowed hard. “It turned me into a demon” he whispered.

Her throat closed up for a second, she knew of the mark, she read about it when she was looking for a way out of Hell.

“A demon ?” she asked, a little shocked.

“A knight of Hell actually” he said. “I thought of you when I was… I- I was horrible, I hurt so many people… I was the very thing I hunt” he whispered.

“It wasn’t the real you, Dean” she said.

“I know, Sammy cured me. He saved my ass so many times” he scoffed.

“I’m so glad you have him. You protect each other...” she inched down the bed to lay next to him, their noses almost touching.

It was just that easy, being with him, that comfortable. He didn’t move, he didn’t look away, his lips so close to hers that she almost could feel them, his glistening freckled skin roamed by shivers.

“I’m sorry I thought you weren’t real… If I had known I-I would have looked for you, Firefly” his voice wavered with emotion.

She put her hand on his cheek.

Dean needed comfort and tenderness, he was carrying so much, he always had been so brave… Maybe he didn’t want any of the tenderness she could give, but maybe, just maybe, what she was craving to give him would actually be a great comfort for him.

“Dean. We found each other. I’m never losing you again” she whispered against his lips.

“I’m never letting you go either” he moved his face closer to hers, his lips brushing hers.

The tips of her hair started floating a little in anticipation, she could feel the rage she had always contained in herself fall totally silent for the first time, and her powers slightly vibrate at his touch. Her eyes were flicking from his to his lips.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel his, and all of him, whole and alive under her touch.

How many times she had dreamed of holding him like this, just not to hold him together, to keep his head out of his own blood, but just to feel his hair and his skin.

He let his tongue run on his lips, like he did so often, and she thought about kissing him so hard her lips trembled. She thought about the things she experienced without him, even if he never left her mind.

When his beloved lips caught hers in a tender kiss, she closed her eyes again, like she had the first time, to focus on the heavenly feeling of him. But Dean didn't give her time to draw it out.

He moved above her, claiming her mouth deeply, his burning tongue taking advantage of a moan escaping her to find hers. He was so tall and big, his body on hers looked like an eclipse. His broad shoulders rolling to support the weight of his back, giving this man, who already was the most noble, something feline.

“Firefly, I…” he stopped, panting above her. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

He was afraid of breaking her heart, she knew it, he was afraid of making their relationship blurry. He was probably disturbed by their common past. She knew he was troubled, but she wasn’t.

“I think we both need this” she stated calmly. “It’s a harsh night in the middle of a harsh life, Dean. Let’s just make it softer. Tomorrow, come what may.”

“Come what may” he repeated, leaning to kiss her again, his hungry mouth drifting to her jaw and the pulsating vein on her neck.

And Y/n had a thought for that guy she had slept with the first time, how his kisses felt weird and his desire uncomfortable… This was different, and new.

“Why are you smiling like that ?” Dean’s soft voice brought her back from her mind.

“I’m just experiencing something new” she whispered, her hands going under his shirt on his lower back to feel the delicious curve here.

“I…” he stiffed a little. “You told me you had already had sex.”

“Yes, I wasn’t talking about that” she smiled, but his questioning frown didn’t fade right away, his body and mind were still on alert from his nightmare. “You won’t let a smile stop you, will you ?”

“No” he almost growled, bending to nibble at her neck again.

Her hands slipped inside the back of his pajama pants, happy to find no underwear on her way. She pushed him down on her a little by his ass cheek, fingers digging in his muscles there, earning a low moan against her chest when his hips met hers, and his cock got trapped between them.

His body was desperate, hands trying to touch everything at once, grazing her neck and collarbones, grasping her sides, seizing one of her breasts through her shirt… Her eyes opened on the ceiling, and she noticed a few tiny stars floating in the air.

She gasped when she felt his cock twitching, calling for attention on her pelvis, growing between them. That man she had loved for so long, the Prince Charming Sue wished she would find, her Dean… feeling desire for her.

Trying to spread her legs for him, she realized her too large pants, the one Dean had given her, was stuck under his strong and heavy knee.

“Dean…” she whined trying to get free.

“What is it ?” he lifted his head, his warm green eyes searching her face.

“My pants” she started but he didn’t let her finish, moving above her to tug at her pants, taking them off all the way.

She smiled looking down, he was kissing up her legs. Her hands reached his head, pushing her fingers through his still sweaty locks. Once again, his hands couldn’t have enough, short nails digging in her thighs and going up to meet her panties.

He flattened his large palm on her underwear, covering it totally with a smirk she didn’t know yet on his face. She felt small, he felt even bigger.

“Can I touch you ?” he almost groaned against the shivering skin of her thigh.

“Please do” she nodded, shyly spreading her legs.

Of course he was talking about this part of her, he had already touched all the rest….

His hand didn’t leave her panties going down between her thighs when he could, feeling her folds through the white fabric.

And the little stars multiplied.

She arched her back, her core tightening in an exquisite pressure. She gasped in a jerk of her thighs, surprised that touches so soft could bring a pleasure so intense. She had never known that. She was aware of everything that was Dean on her, all her senses high on him, and her body reacting to the electricity roaming her whole body.

Love, she thought. It was love making her insides burst in such delicious flames.

“Oh wow” he groaned. “You’re soaking those poor panties.”

And the new grin she had just discovered appeared on his lips again. The tiny stars were now numerous enough to make the ceiling look like a clear summer night.

His lips travelled up to her lower stomach, his nose tickling the skin here while his lips feisted on it.

“Firefly…” he whispered before his bright white teeth caught the hem of her underwear, to drag it down with him.

She needed him. She painfully needed to feel him, close wasn’t enough, he had to be inside of her.

So she sat with her legs on both sides of his strong thighs, making him sit back on his ankles, his knees digging on the mattress, and grabbed his face to kiss him, to feel her hero anywhere she could. He seemed to need the same thing : his arms grasped her ass cheek, carrying her up his thighs to rest on his crotch.

She moaned loud when she felt him, so hard, pressed against her bare folds.

“I need you” she whined. “Dean, I need you so much.”

“I got you” his voice was deep and warm, his parted lips leaving a layer of steam all over her neck.

They were both too eager to wait a second more.

Dean held her strongly with one arm while he almost got on his knees, pushing his pajama pants down with the other hand before he sat on his ankles again.

She looked down, her delicate hand reaching between them to wrap around him. He was hard and twitching, but his skin was soft.

“Yes…” he moaned.

“I need you” she just repeated while he was panting against her shoulder.

Saying that, she lifted her hips slightly and lined him with her to slowly sink on him.

“Fuck…” he groaned when the head of his cock entered her and kept gasping and moaning as she took more and more of him.

She hummed at the stretch of him inside of her, her walls throbbing softly to adjust.

The little stars started to fill the room a little more, like hundreds of fireflies surrounding them. But, even if they acknowledged them, they both were too engrossed in each other to really pay attention.

Y/n breathed out in relief, like she had needed Dean inside of her as much as she had needed air all this time. Her head fell back when her pelvis reached his, filled so completely by him.

“Firefly” he moaned, like it was now the only word he knew.

His hands, still holding her ass cheek, grasped her tighter and moved her on him, making her grind on him hard.

“AH !” she cried out at the pressure on her clit mixed with his cock moving against her walls.

Her hips started to move along with his hands, in back and forth moves, in circles, until he started trusting up in a trail of growls and she couldn’t move anymore, holding on to him, kissing and licking his neck with a raging hunger.

Hearing his groans and moans, she looked up to look at him, to actually see what pleasure looked like on a man she had seen suffer beyond everything. And it was beautiful.

More than the stars and the sea, more than snow in the trees… It was more beautiful than all she had dreamed of when longing for life.

The expression on his face could have been confused with pain, but Y/n knew better. His mouth was open and his eyebrows were up above his nose, and the little stars were reflecting in his eyes.

Bending on her, he caught her lips, trying to kiss her during their speeding dance, and failing to just pant loudly in her mouth.

Her whole body was shaking with pleasure, she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her, and her body react to it. Her skin was on fire. In a loud whimper, she let her head fall on his shoulder, her fingers sliding along his sweaty neck.

“Look at me” he said. “Firefly, look at me.”

With great effort, she looked up, resting her forehead on his, unable to focus on anything else than the orgasm preparing to hit like lightning inside her core.

She had felt pleasure before, and even came a few times, but what was growing inside of her was way more powerful than anything she had known…

And when it blew up, she silently screamed, her whole body falling back on the mattress as she clenched around Dean, her thighs shaking, her arms limply falling above her head. He was still trusting inside of her, holding her hips up on him.

“OH FUCK” he groaned after a few sharper thrusts.

His hips jerked and his stomach and thighs trembled when he came, falling too above her. He caught his body on his arm to avoid crushing her, keeping her up on his lap with the other hand to not slip out of her body just yet.

“Firefly” he murmured again, in the aftershock of his own orgasm.

“Dean” she answered in her high.

Her fingers went up, wiping the golden dust, vestiges of the little stars’s explosion, off his shoulder, a lazy smile on her face.

After a minute, he carefully moved next to her in a grunt, slipping out to lay on his side toward her. She stayed on her back, in the same position she had fallen too, only her head turned to him to give him a large smile.

“You’re covered in gold” he chuckled softly.

“You too” she reached his head to shuffle his hair, but it was too wet and she only spreaded the dust on it. “Oh oops.”

His eyes were glowing with joy, roaming her face, a small smile hanging on his lips.

She enjoyed every second of this peaceful moment, knowing too well that it couldn’t last. Dean was a complex man, hurt and abandoned too often, he wouldn’t let go to a peaceful tenderness so easily.

What she hadn’t anticipated was how fast his defences would grow back… His smile faded and the bliss vanished from his face. Something she didn’t like shadowed his features : Guilt.

“Firefly…” he sighed.

“I know, Dean” she cut him. “This was one time. This was to feel better. A good moment in a harsh life.”

She didn’t want him to feel guilty because of her. He cupped her face and pecked her lips before he grabbed the band of his pants to put it up.

“Do you want me to leave ?” she asked very low.

“No” he shook his head right away. “No stay… I didn’t say that to… you know, but just so you don’t imagine that I… I just… can’t really be with someone, and you… We… are complicated.”

She nodded and turned to her side to take him in her arms, nuzzling on his chest. She could wait for him all her life, she could even wait for something that would never come, that didn’t frighten her.

“Fall back asleep” she said. “I’m chasing the demons.”

Dean’s Pov

He held her close as he watched her sleep. A little smile on his face as he was drawing patterns in the golden dust that covered her entire body. She was so precious to him. She was too good for this dark and rotten world.

She was too good for him…

He had never felt this way about someone, this intense feeling, as if all the little stars that flew over his head mere hours ago were now blooming in his chest. But this life didn’t allow those kinds of feelings.

A deep sigh left his mouth as he thought of all the people that used to be close to him. Charlie, Kevin, Bobby, Jo, Ellen,... so many of them had met a merciless fate because of him.

Because he was poisonous. He would never let that happen to her.

He looked down at her as he felt her nuzzle deeper in his chest. It was then that he promised himself he would do anything to protect his Firefly. Even if that meant breaking his own heart, because after all...

Wasn’t he the biggest danger for her ?

(Next and last chapter on @roonyxx blog last week)

________________________

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dumpsiteforfics · 3 years ago

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Yearning - Excerpts From a lonely heart : [ Chapter 1 ]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst and fluff

Trigger warnings: mentions of death, suicide, A/B/O, Drugs, Kidnapping, spoilers to criminal minds season 1 to season 6. Also, will include mpreg, at the end.

This is my a/b/o universe for Heid. As the name suggests, lots of yearning and angst followed by a fluff and smut eventually. First chapter might be slower but things will pick up soon. I don't want to make the story longer, but we will see!!

Also, please check trigger warnings and also let me know if you would like me to add more warnings!

English is my third language so expect grammatical mistakes and typos, I don't have a beta sorry. Also I hope you will give it some love!! I'm looking forward to the feedback.

AO3 link : Chapter 1

More about this au: Click here

Should've chosen a different career, Spencer thought for the millionth time. Being an Omega, he had a chance to pursue any career he wanted and as long as he had the qualifications he wouldn't be denied. That, accompanied by his IQ, he had a chance of becoming anything from a Scientist to astronaut, quite literally any freaking career choice. But, here he was, kidnapped by a psychopath and handcuffed to a chair. And to make matters worse, Tobias seemed to have two more personalities residing in him, giving him a chance to torture Spencer in three different ways.

He was already scared to death, he won't lie about it. But he was worried about JJ, whom he had told to split up and now all he can think about was those scary dogs and JJ, all alone in the place devoid of network coverage. He wouldn't want her to be kidnapped with him, no, but he was hoping she was at least alive and safe. Well, at least safer than he was! When he woke up in a dingy cabin, he was immediately assaulted with a disgusting smell which Raphael later told him was of fish hearts burning, and honestly, even with his enhanced senses, he wouldn't have recognised it. He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but he was sure his scent blockers had already stopped working. He was hopeful that the team was at least aware of the fact that Tobias was in fact the unsub and they will start searching for him soon. Because he was getting tired of trying to keep his mind sane.

He was already beaten up, bruised and he was yet to meet Tobias again. And frankly, he hoped he would be saved before he had to meet any one of his personalities again.

***†***

Aaron couldn't seem to calm his heart from racing yet. Ever since he heard the sheriff utter that God forsaken name he wasn't able to think about anything but JJ and Reid. He sent his agents to this psychopath's home, without any backup. And no matter how good at the job his both agents were, one of them was a beta and another an Omega. Omega!! Fuck, his heart started picking up the pace again. He needs to have them both safe as soon as possible, and that was the thought running through his mind as they started clearing out Hankel's place.

When Morgan found JJ, he was relieved for a moment. They were together, so that means Reid will be with her, or that's what he thought. But apparently, they had split to cover more ground and Reid wasn't with her. Making JJ get checked up by the EMTs he started searching with Morgan for their Omega, they both tried to use their senses, but Reid always wore scent blockers, and that meant they will have to use Reid's perfume as their trail. This wasn't always a valid option, because it wasn't as unique as the scent of Alpha or Omega.

But they tried and all they could do was find a place in the middle of a cornfield where Reid must've been caught by Hankel. Aaron closed his eyes. Their Omega was missing, kidnapped by a psychopath, or a team of psychopaths according to the crime scenes. God!!!! He can't do this. He needs to find him!

He quickly gave instructions to the PD to put the roadblocks so that Hankel couldn't take Reid far away as they continued to canvas the surrounding area. Aaron along with the rest of the BAU team will stay inside the house to profile everything they can find to get clues about where Hankel might be keeping their agent.

Aaron just wanted this nightmare to end and find Reid as soon as possible, everything else be damned.

***†***

Spencer wanted to die. He never really thought being an Omega can be such a curse, but it was. He could smell so many conflicting feelings coming from Tobias and it was messing up with his empathic abilities. He was an empath, all omega's were. It made them so nurturing, and now when he had to suffer through the hands of three different personalities of a single psychopath, it was getting so damn difficult.

He didn't even have to gauge the behaviour to understand who was currently talking to him. Each personality harboured such distinct feelings and it was exhausting to keep up with it. His own fear was nowhere near taxing considering all the empathic load Tobias was putting him through. Charles was disgusted by Spencer, he was disgusted by his son Tobias, he thought of Spencer as a weakling and that was visible through his behaviour. But his feelings. The amount of disgust that dripped through his feelings made Spencer sick. He wanted to cower away from it.

Then there was Raphael, who was just pure evil. There wasn't anything else to describe him better. There was this sick pleasure that surrounded his aura whenever he saw Spencer was enough to make him scared. And Tobias. He was just so scared, so bruised from inside. He was so tired of everything and whenever he came near Spencer, all he wanted was to protect him from any harm. And it was exhausting to feel such different emotions for a single person who had held him prisoner.

He wanted to get out of this. He wanted to go back to his home, to his safe place. He wanted to go back into his bedroom, start his white noise generator to seep out all unnecessary voices, he wanted to just sip on his coffee and surround himself in his mother's blanket, reading books until he could lose the fight with sleep. He wanted to go back to not feeling scared and despised and he just wanted this nightmare to stop.

He closed his eyes as he tried to think about good feelings. The only way he could filter away these horrible feelings from taking a hold of his heart was to replace those with positive feelings.

He thought back to the times on the plane he spent playing chess with Gideon, all those talks about how to survive in this career, the way Gideon made him feel safe, and cared for. He focused on the games of cards with Emily and Morgan. He was never so close to any Alphas before, but Emily and Morgan always made him feel safe. They always thought of him as their little brother, and he loved those moments he spent bickering about almost anything with them. He thought about his Betas, JJ and Penelope. They were always so nurturing towards him when technically it should be his nature. He focused on how it felt to be hugged by Penelope and how it was JJ who accepted him from day one, she was the only one that calls him Spence.

And then he thought about his pack Alpha. Stern, strong and unwavering. Just how a pack Alpha should be! He remembered how scary it was to be in his presence and realise that despite your resume you are going to have to prove your worth to this man. And it was thrilling in a weird way. He used to being given anything he wanted almost all his life after he presented as an Omega, so it was a welcome change. He spent those initial months focusing on his work and using his mind along with the skills that people consider as weakness together to excel at his job. And he had realised how he was finally accepted as a team by his boss through little actions. Because just like how his boss never voiced out his doubts about his capabilities to do this job, he never voiced his acceptance. Spencer had to acknowledge it through the short discussions at the end of the day when the rest of the team nowhere to be found, an advice seeked out directly from him when he could've asked almost anyone else, the way his rambled were never stopped unless they were not related to the case, and even then he would ask Spencer about it again when the case was finished.

But soon his shield broke as a terror passed through his mind, not his feelings though, Tobias!

And just like that, Tobias was talking to him and he had a syringe in his hand and now the terror that Spencer felt wasn't just his own.

Get me out of here, please!

***†***

Taglist: @ssa-sarahsunshine @brillianthijinx @thaddeusly please let me know if you would like to be added/removed! ❤️❤️

#heid #heid a/b/o #tw a/b/o #tw: mention of violence #tw: mention of death #tw: kidnapping #tw: drugs #hotchreid #hotch×reid

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fleetwoodmak99 · 4 years ago

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Primed for Sin (2/10)

SUMMARY: This is Arthur's point of view of meeting Elena and the effect it has on him. Arthur doesn't really know what he's gonna do but he doesn't know that she's the one.

WARNING: Delusions, masturbation, smut, stalking, smoking weed and mental illness (Borderline Personality Disorder and PBA)

Please kindly do not read this if these offends or triggers anyone. Im always here to listen if someone needs it.

Hey again. This is part 2 of idk how many parts to the Primed for Sin story. Like I said before idk where I'm gonna go with this but this chapter is gonna be more dark when it talk about stalking and mental illness. I decided to have Elena too have stuggles with mental illness as well because I felt it better represent what I'm going through with my own mental health. So I apologize if I offend anyone or if anyone feels misrepresented.

Primed for Sin Part 1

Arthur could feel his whole body ache as he sat on the couch in the apartment he shared with his mother. His legs bounced as he sat back on the couch. One of his hands coming up to his mouth to take a drag of a cigarette while the other one held the boys toy train. He could feel another one of his laughing fits hit once again.

He couldn't help the raging fits of laughter that escaped him as he felt the sharp pain of anxiety shocking his body. He remembers the events that had happen earlier that day.

He tried to think of something else, anything else but he couldn't stop himself from thinking of how beautiful that girl was when she had smiled at him earlier. How she smelled of peppermint, it reminded him of Christmas. Even though he never really was able to really celebrate it, something about the season always brought him comfort.

He felt his pain starting to ease as the laughter once again started to die down for what seemed to be the millionth time today. Ever since this morning he's been having laughing attacks left and right. He squeezed the toy train even harder. His thoughts beginning to roam again. He didn't know anything about that girl but he knew he needed to know more. No, craved to know more. There was nothing that would keep him from her. He already knew this, he just didn't know how far he would take himself for it.

He imagined that she would be the perfect good girl for him. She's already seemed to be a mother figure which delighted Arthur. Maybe one day she would be round with his child.

No. Stop it Arthur, he thought to himself. There will be plenty of time for that. For now, he wanted to know more about the boy she was with. Who was he to her? Her son? Has she been with another man? Is she a virgin?

The thoughts ran rapid through his head as he started to spiral. Nothing made him more upset than thinking about another man's hands on her. So he did what his thoughts told him to do. He gathered information on her. Anything he could find. The easiest way to do this was to follow the woman as she goes about her day. He knew it was wrong, the small voice in his head told him so but there there even larger voices telling him to go through.

After a few days of this, he was able to find out more about the sweet girl. Her name was Elena Wheeler. She worked at a comedy club, one that Arthur had gone to often. She did singing gigs on the side while she bartended for the most part. Arthur noticed she like to cover 50s songs as well as write some of her own songs. Arthur would find himself relax while enjoying her voice each night. She would work this job most days while the boy would go to a behavioral center for children.

The boy on the other hand wasn't her son but her younger brother, yet she was the one who had custody over him. This was most likely so he too wouldn't end up in the system.

This gave Arthur some relief as his virgin theory might be true. He'd watch the two of them interact with one another. Almost being jealous of the way they played together. He wish he had that with someone. He will, soon.

It was obvious that the boy had some major abandonment issues. He would cry every time she would kiss him goodbye. Only calming down hours later when he's starts watching a cartoon or until she returns. But Arthur could also tell that Elena had some issues of her own. She too would be antsy every time she was away from the child. Never allowing herself to rest until she knew she was ok.

Arthur would watch her through the window of the complex building. One thing he did notice immediately was the constant hits from a bong. He was honestly surprised how much she could smoke. If she were drinking, he would actually be concerned for her. The girl was small and shouldn't take much to get a high yet there she was coughing up a storm from hitting it so much. Michael was in the other room watching his Thomas show. Arthur couldn't help but wonder why she did this so much. Maybe she was lonely too.

Arthur was able to keep track of her favorite things, what upset her, what made her happy. Everything and anything. He would notice her moods would change frequently. She would be happy one minute and crying the next especially when she was away from Michael. He could see her trying her best to hold it together for the little guy. He really did. His heart leaped just watching it. His heart leaped even more when he saw he watching the Murry Show being played most nights after putting Michael to bed. She's perfect.

Arthur started to understand her more when he was able to get his hands on some of her records. He won't say how but let's just say he has his ways aka breaking and entering. He was glad he did when he saw an entire file dedicated to her.

She had been diagnosed with Boderline personality disorder when she was 18. She herself had been in behavioral centers for having difficulty controlling her anger. She also lived in foster home for most of her childhood it seemed since both her parents abandoned her when she was around 4 years old. Even though her parents had started coming in and out of her life when she turned 18, she never really gained anything from it.

It saddened Arthur to see she had had to struggle so much but that just seems to be a common theme around here in Gotham.

_________________________________________

After a long day of clowning around at his extremely emotionally draining job. He had done his nightly routine of watching Murray and cooking for his mother. After what seemed like an eternity, his mother had finally drifted off into sleep. He felt himself finally relax and with this he let his mind wander.

He wanted to see her. Just see her face. That's all he needed. Even if it was through a window in the freezing cold in the ally way behind the building. Luckily she didn't live on a high floor. That was enough for him to take action.

Arthur quietly grabbed his coat and shoes as he slipped out the door and into the cold. He shivered as the coolness hit his body.

Finally making it to his usual spot for that last few days and set himself up, only looking up when he was finished. His eyes focused on Elenas apartment window. It was dark with the only light coming from the TV in one of the bedrooms. He figured she had put Michael to bed because he could see her all alone, he paused, in only a gray tank top and black panties.

His heart started to race and he could already feel his throat starting to react. The laughter was ready to pour out.

Maybe this isn't a good idea, he thought to himself as he started to reach down to grab his things.

Yet he still couldn't tear his eyes from what he was seeing. Her tangled in the covers with her short brown hair all messy from moving around. It certainly was a sight to see. His cock agreed as it immediately started becoming hard.

The small voice in his head told him to stop. He knew it was wrong to watch her but when her hand started to move up and down her bare leg he knew he couldn't turn away. It was like she knew he was there almost. Like she was putting on a show just for him.

He grew harder and harder the more he watched. Watching her eventually making her way down to her panties, slipping her hand just inside. It didn't take long for her face to start turning and her body to start squirming. It didn't take long before he became hard enough it started to hurt leaning against his pants. He wanted to relieve himself so bad. More importantly he wanted to relieve himself in her but knew that couldn't happen right now.

He couldn't take it anymore when she started to grab at the sheets of the bed. He pulled out his cock that was already leaking with precum. Arthur didn't get a lot of action so when he did he just couldn't contain himself.

Arthur placed his dick in his hand as he started to slowly pump himself. He tried to match the same movements as her, trying to think it was her hand instead. He imagined they would be gentle and soft. His were the total opposite.

He imagined her saying his name. Whispering as she cums or screaming it as he fucked her. He knew he wasn't gonna be able to last long with all these dirty thoughts roaming his head. To his delight she couldn't seem to either. Elenas back was arched as her hands started to tease her breasts underneath her tank top.

He was right as her body started to shake, her chest move up and down swiftly as she starts to come down from her high. This gave Arthur the silent ok for him to cum as well. And when this boy cums, he cums everywhere. He just can't hold himself back. Shamefully cumming in a nearby trashcan so no one would see.

He quickly cleaned himself up, looking up and down the ally to make sure no one is watching. He couldn't help the connection he felt with her. She was so sweet the first time they meet and she's perfect now weak against her mattress.

Ok its time to make a move.

#arthur fleck x you #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x y/n #joker #arthur fleck smut

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jonah-aesthetic · 4 years ago

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That One Pt. 2 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: After Jonah Takes Y/n to his favourite ice cream parlour and takes care of her. She’s conflicted on her feelings for him, is he who everyone thinks he is? Or is he hiding himself from the world?

Word Count: 5K+

Author’s Note: More POC characters and pictured links. Sawyer may or may not be in this one. I feel like this part wasn’t good, but enjoy. Not edited.

Rating: 16+

Part 1

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Mentally preparing yourself for the aimless flirting you let a sigh leave your lips.Turing toward him, your breath hitched as you looked up into his green. predatory smirk etched into his pink lips, you wanted them on yours. Nope you mentally hissed at yourself, you didn’t you couldn’t. That’s what you told yourself because you did want him. every inch of him tangled within you. But you couldn’t give him that satisfaction, so you bite at his ego every chance you got. Jonah was after you, everywhere you seemed to go he fell into your path.

“Babe? Really?” Glaring him town, didn’t seem to work since he held a few inches from you.

“You love it, now lets get you home.” His hand is gentle resting between your shoulder blades. Beginning to guide you to the door, swerving you through the crowd making sure no one bumped into you. “What if I don’t want to leave?” The alcohol in your veins doing the talking for you.

“I didn’t think you did, Ivette has Daniel.” Jonah states still walking you do the door. You sighed in response, he was right you didn’t want to stay here if it wasn’t with Ivette. And frankly you didn't mind leave especially with your aching feet still in those heels.

“Leaving so soon?” Julie’s sickly sweet voice was recognisable anywhere. You immediate turned at the first word, Jonah in tow following your every move like it was his job.

Julie wasn’t alone, two others flanked her side. You met them before at brunch a few weeks ago. Rachel on her right, gleaming with her beautiful Korean features. Savannah on her left, beaming with her fiery red hair.

Julie had on the exact replica of your dress, but hers was a crisp white. Gorgeous contrast against her mahogany skin, “Yeah I’m not feeling it, Jonah is giving me a ride home.” Your tone innocent as you smiled at them. He leaned into your side at the mention of his name, His arm now snaking around your waist in a protecting manner. Shuddering you felt the need to push him away, but not in the presence of her.

“So the rumours are true, you two are together?” The prodding question came from Rachel. Watching the way Jonah clung onto you, maybe it was an excuse to hold you and maybe it wasn't.

“I would of never pegged you two together.” Savannah chokes on a laugh. Where was Ivette when you needed her?

“It’s the unlikely to fall in love. Isn't it?” Jonah asks, almost making your eye balls pop out of their sockets. Yet you still held eye contact with Julie hoping she didn’t see the way you just slipped up.

“Yes I guess it is.” Julie stares you down, trying to uncover the lie wrapping in the truth. Rachel and Savannah sharing curious glances, shit.

“Have a good night Julie, I know I sure will.” You mange to get out, blaming it on the liquor still hanging in. Surprised etched into their features watching the way Jonah guided you for the door again.

“Glad to see that your chicken pox cleared nicely!” Julie hollered from behind both of you, halting in your tracks, Jonah walked right into you.

“They did, thanks.” You choked on the words in your throat, not sure on how to reply to her.

Jonah helped you into the passenger’s seat of his Jeep. Thanking him you slid into the leather seat and rested your back against it. He shut the Jeep door, eyes connecting with his for a brief moment before he jogged to the drivers side. Collecting himself inside looking to you, distracted by the phone in your hands. Seeing no message from Trey still, why would their be? It’s 3:09am.

“What?” You ask finally noticing his stare,

“Chicken pox?” He asks amused,

“It’s a long story, due for another time.” You curse yourself for implying you wanted to see him again.

“I knew you wanted to see me again.” He teases turning the key in the ignition, the jeep wakes and begins to roll. Lurching forward as Jonah presses on the gas. Balancing his foot off the clutch, smooth enough for there not to be a jerk in the motion of the Jeep.

“Thank you, for going along in there. I don’t think Julie likes me that much.” You change direction of the conversation. Jonah’s cologne reaching your nose, cinnamon and honey. Not an ounce of alcohol lingering in, you smile lightly. It must of been pop whirling in that cup of his earlier.

“Julie palekin, never liked her much. The money her daddy has morphs her personality. “ Jonah says, gripping the steering wheel firmly, switching gears with the climbing speed. Green eyes on the road, glancing at you every so often. “I didn’t mind playing your boyfriend again. I’m getting good at it don’t you think?” The smirk is back onto his lips, teasing you till you die must of been his mission.

“This is the last time, Marais.” You say now turning your attention towards the window. Sky pitch black, littering with beautiful stars. Watching the street signs as Jonah passes them. Staying quite noticing you wanted and only the hum of the radio was heard.

Gale

Peterson

Everett

Boston

Instead of making a left turn towards campus Jonah turns the Jeep right, into the city. You sit up confused, eyes holding worry as you felt the anxiety creep in. “You’re going the wrong way.” you note, looking at Jonah, “Relax I know where I’m going.” He says humorously watching the way you reacted.

“Where are we going exactly?”

“You’ll see.” his voice calming

Less then ten minutes later Jonah pulls the Jeep into a deserted parking lot. Chocolate spot was written in glowing brown lettering a top the building. Glowing light poured through the windows indicating it was still open. Parking he cut the engine. Turning to Jonah, he had this intoxicating smile, one you hadn’t seen before. Nothing like the wolfish smirk that was always plastered on his lips.

“Where are we?” You asked cautiously,

“ if you read the letters, that with probably give you a hint.”

“Funny, I meant what exactly is the chocolate spot?” Curiosity dripping in your words.

“An ice cream parlour, now hurry up or l’ll leave you here. Fair warning Cheryl has a mean alarm.” Jonah says before climbing out of the vehicle, who is cheryl?

You sigh for the millionth time thinking it was best to follow him. Rather then wait for his slow ass in the car. By yourself at 3;30 in the morning. Before you could reach for the handle the door opened for you. Causing the lights in the car to flash on again. Looking up you were met with Jonah’s beaming face.

“I can open the door myself.” You whisper pointedly at him, green eyes watching as you tried to move your legs. Seething at the burning sensation blossoming onto the pads on your feet. With the adrenaline and the fading affect of the liquor, you felt the entire pain that these high heels endured.

“What?” Jonah’s voice holding concern, as he came to your side to aid you in any way he could. Too blind from the pain you hadn’t noticed how close he was willingly to get. Breath mingling with yours.

“Heels,” You mustered through you teeth.

Without another word Jonah knelled in front of you, moving your knees towards him to have your legs dangling out of the jeep. “Ouch!” You yelped at the sudden bolt of pain rushing up your legs, “Sorry.” Jonah mumbled before his warm hands started working on the buckle around your ankle. Jonah’s eyebrows knitted together, concentrating on the task at hand.

You watched him, wondering what it’d feel like to rake a hand through those curls. What it’d feel like to read a book and have his head tuck safely in your lap.

Unclasping the buckle he firmly gripped the back of your calf. His other hand on the bottom of the heel as he soft removed the death trap you called a shoe. Pulling the straps out of various wounds, opening the cuts. You seethed gripping the door frame of the jeep till your knuckled turned white. “Fuck. you’re bleeding. How did you manage to walk out of there without twisting your ankle?” He asks looking up at you, placing the heel on the floor of the vehicle.

“Adrenaline and alcohol.” You say with a shrug.

“That’s it.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t respond only stared at you for a little longer. Then his attention on the other cages foot, Doing the same. But this time he counted down from three before removing the shoe. Giving you time to mentally prepare yourself of the stinging yank. “There, your cute little toes are free, Although they’re sporting some nasty battle wounds.” Jonah smiled before standing up again, your feet feeling free and light as ever.

“My hero, what would I do without you?” You asked mimicking a princess, not thinking.

“No need to thank me m’lady it was all my pleasure.” Jonah plays along and bows to you in the process, you both burst into a fit of laughter. Enjoying the way they meld together perfectly. The laughing died out as your mind wandered off

Stop, don’t give in. Not to Jonah Marais. But this guy in front of you didn’t feel like that Jonah everybody knew. The one who go himself into heavy trouble giving him those brutal bruises you forgot about. The one who had everyone falling at his feet, the one who goes through them like it was a damn race. This kindness he was giving you was a trick. It had to be right?

“Let me help you out,” Jonah offers his hand out to you. Spotting gorgeous ink crawl up into his sleeve. You nod too sacred your mouth would betray you. Placing your hand in his, warm sensation worked it’s way up and you fought the urge to pull away. You grip stead in Jonah’s giving a small smile before you started to jump.

Your feet never hit the cold paved ground, Jonah crouched capturing you in his arms. He groaned lightly as you screeched in his ear unaware of his devious plan. One arm against your back and another under you legs in a bridal style manor. He chuckled at the way you reacted to him, wide eyed as your heart thumped wildly in your chest.

“If I told you, you would’ve bite my head off.” He explained himself, closing the jeep door with his back. With a loud honk, it locked.

You only glared at him because he was right. You would’ve objected the idea of him carrying you inside. Would’ve risk infection then agree to be in his arms, especially with the intoxication. You didn’t trust yourself this close to him, where you breathe danced with his, where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. Where you could feel his words vibrate within his chest.

Walking inside you were memorised by the place, you could easily tell the theme was retro. The floors were tiled black and white like a chess board. Both the booths and chair were a pastel teal and pink. Down the aisle of the tables was a vintage jukebox, teal and pink neon lights ran along it.

“Jonah my boy! Come in! Come in!” The words covered in a french accent. Behind the counter stood and older man, short and pudgy. Black hair with bits of grey sprinkling in, dark brown eyes resembled the earth. A bright smile towards the both of you.

“Hello to you too Marcel.” Jonah chuckles walking to the counter,

Marcel’s smile became brighter as he spots you in Jonah’s arms. Eye’s sparkling, “Oh who is this sweet thing? Must be your girlfriend.” It was more of a statement then a question, “No, Marcel this is y/n, she’s just a friend.” Jonah explained and you swore you could here the drop in his voice.

Jonah Finally places you into a cotton candy booth. After shows you all the ice cream choices behind the glass casing. Ordering and catching up with Marcel which didn’t seem to be much as he seemed to come her often. Almost as if he knew the parlour like the back of his hand.

The leather began to stick to the backs of your thighs, bare feet on the cool marble floor. You over hear Jonah asking for the first aid kit as you looked around the place a little more. Noticing a group of younger kids, laughing and leaning into each other, show each other videos from their phones. Probably fourteen or fifteenth. Another couple sat at a centre table, beautiful smiles as they talked. Must of been one of those deep conve-

“Jesus Jonah!” You hiss at him,

The sting ran up your nerves, scrunching up your face as you tried to yank your foot from his death grip. It only tightened making sure your foot didn’t slip. You wondered how he’d react if you kicked him with your free foot, on to his ass.

His expression bored and slightly irritated, holding a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol above the cut. It gleamed bright red from the light above, vaguely cleaned.

“Stop being a wuss and let me disinfect.”

“It fucking Burns Marais!”

“I know.”

“Give me some sympathy.”

He sighs, placing a cotton ball down a small serving plate Marcel donated for the cause. Jonah reached into his back pocket, his eyes never straying from your. “Here.” He places a black bandanna that has seen better days then this in your hand. You grimace and look at him, “What’s this?” you mumble. He rolls his eyes at you, “Just bite down on it! It’ll help with the pain.And before you ask yes it’s clean.”

You shrug, what did you have to lose? Folding the tattered fabric you did as told. you gave Jonah a thumbs up and an eager nod like you were ready for war. He shakes his head and chuckles, thinking you were the cutest thing this world had to offer.

Did he always have a piece of material rotting in his butt pocket for situation like this? If so, where the hell was it ten minutes ago?

You whimper into the cloth. Feeling the burning returning as he began disinfecting your wounds again. He glanced up for a few seconds seeing he discomfort in your eyes. Then the focus back on your foot.

You watched him. The way he took care of you within the last hour, you were surprised he was still single. He serenaded girls left and right with is band and his gentle touch. He never got to you, what was the point if it was just a night? what was the point if it didn’t turn into something more? Yet with all these thoughts you wanted him but you kept telling yourself no. Wha-

No. You blamed the thoughts on the alcohol still swimming in your system.

By the time Jonah finished each cut and bandaged them, Marcel brought your ice cream cups. Sliding them across the table with an innocent smile, capturing yours you stared in awe at your favourite flavour. Confusion etched into your eyebrows though, the ice cream behind the glass was hard and this was soft ice cream.

“Marcel mixes in a little bit of milk before blending it. And out comes this delicious soft ice cream.” Jonah moans sliding into the booth across from you. Mint chocolate chip ice cream already caught on the side on his lip. “Try it.” he pushes excitedly.

You do, digging out a fair amount and capturing the spoon in your mouth. Jonah watches every muscle you make. The ice cream hits your tongue your taste buds exploding. It tasted like the feeling of hugging a puppy, like pure happiness. His green eyes brighten and a genuine smile spreads onto his lips.

“This is absolutely amazing.” You beam,

“My thoughts exactly.” Jonah shoves another spoon of ice past his lips.

Jonah Marais

The radio played a gorgeous melody of Good Nights by Whethan. Hand full of gleaming rings tapped against the smooth steering wheel. Jonah hummed the lyrics thinking about sampling this song one day. Right hand curling on the gear shift, levelling the the clutch and the acceleration. His foot slips and drops the clutch causing the vehicle to jerk.

It was an instinct when his head whipped to you with concern glinting in his eyes. But Jonah sighed in relief at the sight of you. Head rested on the window, legs tucked into your body tightly. Your eyes closed and lips slightly parted, letting snores escape. Smile spread on to his lips. You were asleep in his passenger window.

Fuck you were asleep. How the hell was he going to get you through the corridors of your dorm? He didn’t feel comfortable going through your purse. Because if he did that would give you another reason not to trust him. Jonah couldn't risk that right now. The only choice was to bring you to his place. Not the fraternity, but his own personal space.

There was minimal traffic at four in the morning, Jonah weaved through it with ease and got to his apartment quick. He collected you in his arms with ease as if you were the missing piece to his complicated puzzle. You never squirmed at Cheryl’s loud honk when she locked.

Walking into his generous apartment he immediately shushed Sawyer, his three year-old Labrador. Nonetheless the asshole still managed to muster a bark, “Shut up, it’s me dingus.” Jonah whisper hissed at him, shaking his head at his dog before carrying you to his bedroom. Sawyer trailed with the light jingle of his collar and tag clashing together.

Laying you down Jonah turned for his closet, walking in as he strip out of his gross clothing. He found a pair of sweats and pulled them on, letting them rest on his hips. Coming back into the room he was startled to see you siting up. Coddling Sawyers head in your thighs, massive smile on his lips as his tail wagged.

“Hey,” Jonah greets,

Y/n turned to him a sleepy smile on her lips and a dazed look in her eyes. Half asleep, she was still cute as ever. Sawyer must of had the dumb courage to wake her up with a kiss like she was Snow White

“Have you meet Sawyer?” She asks, not realising that was his dog.

“Yeah, he’s a good dog.” He lied.

“Yes he is. Yes he is.” y/n speaks to sawyer in a baby voice, her attention on the dog again. Jonah laughs before turning back into the closet. He yanks one of his old band tees of the hanger, he smiles and shrugs. y/n can rep it for the night even if it was just in his apartment.

“Put this on, I don’t think you want to sleeping in that dress,” Jonah Throws the shirt at y/n and it hits her right in the face. “Shit!” he mumbles resisting the urge to laugh and escapes the room before she had the chance to curse him.

He digs up a blanket and a pillow from the hallway closet. Coming into the den he makes a makeshift bed on the soft leather couch. This would be the first time sleeping on them since he didn’t being girls to this apartment. It was his personal home, he didn’t want them poking around when they woke. Seeing parts of him nobody got to see. Y/n was different. Jonah honest didn't care if she saw or even took a souvenir on her way out.

walking back to check on her, Jonah tapped two knuckles on the door frame. There was no answer so he waited, still no response. Assuming she fell back asleep he entered his bedroom and smiled, y/n cuddled into Sawyer like she was meant to be there. As if Jonah saw her every night in his bed and still got those butterflies.

Small snores came both of them, their chests expanding with every breath. Walking in he spotting her green dress and bag a few inches away from the bed. First he morphed the dress in a ball and shot it into his hamper like a basket ball. Secondly he set her purse on the nightstand for her to find in the morning. He started for the door, but halted at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue.

“Jonah?”

“Yes” His words were urgent as he whirled to face her. Face half tucking into sawyer’s back as sleep swam in her eyes like a pool. “Could you please stay with me till I fall asleep?” Her words held a form of desperation, he was utterly confused by it. Thee y/n was asking him, Jonah Marais who she wasn’t too fond of to sleep in bed with her? He had to be dreaming because she would never say that in the bright of day. Although she was half asleep in his bed and never questioned it.

“I don’t know, you already have Sawyer.” He gives her time to reject him,

“Maybe it’s a little greedy, but I want both of you please? Just until I fall asleep and then you can leave.” She offers, but as soon as he’s beside her he knows he wont want to leave.

“Y-yeah I guess I can do that.” he stammers on his words.

“Thank you.” She mumbles with a small smile.

Jonah nods not sure how to response to her, he circles the bed and climbs into the right side. Heart pounding against his rib cage. He glances over already seeing y/n on her side and one hand cradling her face. Jonah gets into the same position, close enough so that her breath hits his face.

“What does it feel like to perform with the guys?” She asks a question Jonah never thought she cared about.

“Ecstasy. Singing these lyrics and fingers dancing on the guitar. It just gives me adrenaline like nothing before. Like i’m on top of a mountain and there’s nothing I can’t do. Like searching for paradise and finally finding it. It feels like home, as if I meant to do this for the rest of my life.” Y/n is quite watching the way Jonah beams talking about playing with his band.

“That’s what painting feels like to me, or did.” She says into a yawn that made him chuckle.

“You don’t paint anymore?”

“Nah passions don’t pay the bills. It’s what my dad always said. So here I am trying my shot at the medical field, the family profession.” Y/n yawns again as he eyes begin to droop.

“What’s the point if your hearts not in it?” He starts to pry,

“Not all of use have trust founds, we have to work for it.” He voice sounding more tired by the second.

“Your dad’s a plastic surgeon.” Jonah notes, blood boiling at this new information.

“He worked for all of it and now so do I.” Her eyes fully closed, knowing she was about to pass out any minute now.

“That’s...” He trailed off not knowing what to say to that, y/f/n was pushing her to become something she’s not. That sentence tasted metallic in his mouth, if y/n was his. He’d purchase an entire panting studio just for her and call it Jonah’s muse. because she indeed his muse,

Light snores soon erupted in the air, looking over he couldn’t stop smiling at the sight. You looked younger when you slept, resembling an angel. No a goddess. You looked so fucking attractive with his band tee on. His face was technically on your body as well as the rest of his band mates. Jonah would still take that as a win.

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Y/n

The afternoon sun woke you up, warmth spreading along your body. Eyes still fluttered closed you roll over bumping into warm flesh. Your brain gives you a few seconds to bask in the warmth of Jonah. Then it clicks. There’s a body in your bed, recoiling at lighten speed you hit the floor. Pain sparks through your tail bone and a delicate headache pounds into your skull.

Sitting on the floor of a foreign room you begin to remember last night. The party. Ivette handing you off to Jonah at said party, well Daniel did. Jonah driving you home, scratch that to an ice cream parlour. His gentle hands tending to high heel wounds. Devouring the most amazing ice cream. Jonah driving you home. That’s it that’s all you remember, it doesn't explain how you got here.

Looking around frantically you caught sight of a dog you’ve never seen before. Watching you at the foot of the massive bed covered in black silk sheets. Two doors, one and exit to the hallway. The other was most likely a closet with piles of clothes spilling out. Large windows lined the room and a glass desk resting at the best view.

Heart missing a beat as you helped yourself off the floor.Taking cautious steps to the bed, spotting Jonah sleeping peaceful. On his back with sprawled out arms. Beautiful ink scattered along his right arm and the left side of his chest. Soft features as the sun engulfed him in the glorious light. It’d take no effort to crawl back into his bed. Rest your head onto his chest and listen to his heart beat.

You couldn’t.

You flee taking your purse with you on the way out. Unlocking the door and taking the elevator down. Struggling you fetch your phone out, praying that it still had life left to live and call Ivette. Wasn’t till this moment you realise you only had on a t-shirt. It was most definitely Jonah’s, massive fit reaching the mid of your thighs. Oh and let’s not forget the fact that it had his entire band on it.

The phone barely rang twice when Ivette picks up. “I need you to pick me up, like five minutes ago. Jonah took me to this ice cream parlour last night and next think I know I’m waking up in his bed. I don’t know where my dress is.” You rush your words out in a panic.

The elevator dings, you dash out getting a weird look from the door man. Stopping in your tracks with a modified expression on your face. you just walked out into the busiest street downtown. Not only were you wearing an oversized band t-shirt, no it wouldn’t stop there. You were also Bare. Foot.

“That doesn’t make sense Jonah never came home last night,” She says tiredly on the other line. Still waking up in Daniel’s bed, not a surprise there.

“His apartment! I’m pretty sure I know what Jonah looks like. He had a golden Labrador ring a bell?You got me into this mess, now get me out.” You looked like a whining toddler, mind splattering as you complained to her.

“A Labrador? Did you take something? Send me your fucking location.” That was Ivette’s mom voice, which totally meant she was going to curse your ass as soon as you got in the car.

“Sawyer.” a hushed male voice said in the background. there was a rustle on the other line. Ivette covered the mic, but you could still here them.

“What?”

“Jonah’s dog. He probably took her to his personal apartment.”

“I thought he lives here with you guys.”

“He does sometimes, but he mostly lives there. That’s beside the point, I know where it is.” A few more words are shared before the ruffle is back. She uncovered the mic.

“Daniel knows where you are, we’ll be there in thirsty. Stay put and don’t take anything else.” Ivette explains as if you didn’t here every word they spoke.

“I didn’t take anything.” Before the words are heard Ivette hangs up and cuts the line without saying goodbye.

Roughly forty minutes later Ivette’s range rover pulls to the crib so fast the rims almost kissed it.“Finally.” you mumbled to yourself, it’d probably would’ve been faster if you hailed a cab. But the bill would’ve been brutal.

The passenger window rolls down uncovering Ivette giving you a knowing smirk. Daniel gives a small wave from the driver’ seat, you flash him an irritated smile. His blue eyes almost pop out of their sockets before he’s attention is on the road.

“I really love the dress, every iconic. Don’t you think Daniel?” Ivette’s voice is teasing and sickly sweet.

“ Yeah. Those shirts were a demo, test run for real merch. It never got launched so only we have those shirts.” Daniel Pipes in looking at the fabric that clothed your body.

“Not only did Jonah take you to his apartment but he gave you his prised possession,” Ivette continues the teasing know that it got under you skin.

“Shut up.” You say sharply, annoyed on how long they took to pick you up. Should ran upstairs and woke Jonah up.

“What can’t take the teasing?” Ivette asks as you climb into the back seat. The scent of sweet cherry enters your nose as the leather circles around your body.

“Not when I woke to Jonah and Daniel taking forty minutes to get here!” You spit, the anger eating you alive. You stare at the back of his head and shoot daggers at him. Brunette roots starting to grown under his bleached blonde hair.

“They also have our last name and birth year on the back.” His words sound forced as he tried to fill the tense air. You shake your head and scoff. “Of course they fucking do. It’s almost like having a hickey on my neck shouting to the world I belong to someone. This is worse because everybody on campus knows who Jonah Marais is!” They go quiet and you begin stare out the window done with your little rant.

Daniel presses on the gas abruptly causing the vehicle to speed forward. Your back hits the seat with the impact. He goes through traffic like this is some NASCAR championship. You begin to wonder how the shirt got on your body. You were going kill him you just didn’t know how yet.

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Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the second part of That One.

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Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

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