#and ty to anyone who actually read all of that

[st4rvedbuck]

I'm currently on ~300mg of caffeine and 32 minutes of sleep. Take some zane npd & bpd proof with yapping. And like..a pinch of glacier. Ty @diino8081 for posting the full comic so i can tweak out momentarily.

Do you see how absolutely insane he is going without her??? He is literally risking death for a 5% chance of seeing pixal again. FIVE. PERCENT. ZANE WOULD ACTUALLY KILL HIMSELF FOR PIXAL. ARE YOU SERIOUS?? You can read how anxious and desperate he is for her. Like i seriously think if Pixal comes back we're going to have a scene of Zane being ungodly clingy.

I actually think we're going to get another Zane fake death where he hurts himself accidentally really badly trying to find Pixal. And it WILL make me go feral. If he's willing to hurt himself for Pixal, who's to say he won't risk other people's lives for her? He already risked Kreel and Lobbos life in this god damned comic that has me in a chokehold. If DR s3 ends up being Zane focused, we're absolutely going to get scenes of Zane being completely obsessed with Pixal.

Do i really have to say they don't have a healthy relationship at ALL???? Pixal said herself she wants to be useful so Zane doesn't hate her. Zane is..fucking batshit over her. They are NOT healthy for each other.

Also, ITS NOT A HEADCANON ANYMORE!! ZANE IS CANONICALLY ATTACHED TO HER!!! IM SO FUCKING RIGHT!!!!! He doesn't care about her. He cares about the idea of Pixal. He doesn't care what happens to him or anyone else he literally only cares about her. He says it himself the only reason he lives is for her. And his judgement is clouded when he thinks of her? THATS. THATS LITERALLY. A FP. COLE I BEG YOU THROW HIM INTO THE PSYCH WARD BEFORE HE TRIES TO KILL HIMSELF AGAIN 😭😭😭😭

While Zane will always be a narcissist to me, there are also some borderline traits he has. It's possible for him to have both, yes, but I don't want my perception of him to be solely mental illnesses. Because I notice a lot of the ninjago fandom tends to see characters less of actual people and more of lists of diagnostic criteria. So I'm trying to find a balance. For now though, I definitely do see him with both. He fits traits of both (I will cover more in the future, but for now just for some examples: fear of rejection, Pixal is literally his FP, excessive need for admiration, poor self esteem). But he is his own person with more to him than just that of course. He has interests and hobbies and is more than a punching bag. Again, I'm trying to find a balance between him being a genuine actual person and him also having a lot of mental issues that do need to be considered when I talk about him. This is one of the main reasons I have yet to write anything with him, because I want to figure out how to not make it seem like i see him as nothing but his narcissism and bpd.

Anyway. Cole calling Zane dear im literally fujoshing out/j (YES I KNOW HES NOT ACTUALLY CALLING HIM DEAR AHUT UP LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING)

[necrotic-nephilim]

I’m here to bother you again!!!

You don’t have to if you don’t want to but maybe dark ship bingo with timjay or brudick????

hELLO i love being bothered by you this is delightful omg thank you, i would love to

Here is JayTim, I can't believe I only got one bingo for them. Ironically I genuinely don't view Jason and Tim as family, even when I'm not shipping them, I think they're tentative allies at best and you can only brother-ify them if you're doing very generously OOC fluff, a la WFA-style. They're absolutely toxic and codependent on each other's existence, Tim wouldn't exist without Jason and Jason is Undeniably Weird about Tim, but not brothers so I can't check off the familial squares. Also, I have no idea if I've been blocked by 10+ people, but it'd be funny if I am. And funnily enough, I don't think Tim or Jason are vanilla in any capacity even when they're not fucking. Especially not Tim, that boy is Certified Weird.

and ofc BruDick I nearly blacked out the whole board because they absolutely are weird and unwell. Some of these only apply to certain AUs of BruDick (like an idea I have rattling in my skull rn with Talon!Dick) but most of it applies to them all the time. I really need to write some fucked up BruDick, it's tragic I haven't yet. Right now the two fics I'm working on are a weird JayDick and a more fluffy DamiDick, but I have Plans™ for BruDick too. They are the OG and deserve their flowers for being the most toxic mess you've ever seen.

[a-flickering-soul]

what r ur alecto predictions

Wonderful question! I have a running list of predictions on Discord that I started September 21st after I read Nona and am planning on updating continuously until Alecto comes out. I actually have split it into plot/character predictions and meme reference/allusion references! It's a little long, so I'll put them all below the cut :)

Alecto the Ninth prediction list (started 9/21/22, ongoing): -Chussy fisting scene PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -The gang goes through the stoma -The wedding that's supposed to happen is between Kiriona and Ianthe because god forbid a single good thing happens to Griddlehark girlies -There IS a God and it's not Jod and Harrow finds them -The wedding is actually between a straight couple just for laughs -The kaitiaki meta is correct (I will CRY if so) -Pyrrha sacrifices herself for Paul or Harrow or Gideon with some allusion to domestic life -Alecto kills herself to take John out -Corona kills Ianthe and then she kills herself -Ianthe consumes Corona and double-Lyctors herself to become the big bad -Griddlehark both die -Griddlehark amnesia endgame -No good Griddlehark ending is what I'm trying to say because FUCK this woman

Alecto the Ninth meme/reference prediction list (started 9/21/22, ongoing): -Griddlehark Orpheus/Eurydice parallels -Superhell reference -If two guys were on the moon and one killed the other with a rock would that be fucked up or what -BOE member named with Rickroll lyrics -"Road work ahead? Uh. Yeah, I sure HOPE it does" quote -Someone references Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese" -The tower will fall and it'll be totally a reference to the Tower of Babel or something like this whole backlash against daring to defy God -Judith stabs someone w/ something resembling a peg -Paul quotes Galatians 3:28 or some bastardization of it -ENDS WITH 1 CORINTHIANS 13:13 -Carmilla by Le Sheridan Fanu quotation -Pyrrha sees someone she loves get killed and she goes berserk and fulfills her Iliad role -ABBA reference

[luveline]

more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!

you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k

Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure. 

You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips. 

“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.” 

You step over it and almost slip. 

“Careful,” someone says. 

You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.” 

Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably. 

“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you. 

“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?” 

“Let me help you with this.” 

Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock. 

“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down. 

“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?” 

“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.” 

You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving. 

He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.” 

“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack. 

“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.” 

You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.” 

“Oh, sure. Of course.” 

“You haven’t heard it yet.” 

You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…” 

“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.” 

You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested. 

You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.” 

“You want to show them off?” he asks softly. 

His voice is velveteen. 

“Is that awful?” you ask.

“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.” 

“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.” 

He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Can I pay you back?” 

You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist. 

Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive. 

“How would you do that?” you ask. 

“Is there anything else you… need help with?” 

A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too. 

“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.” 

He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.” 

[godnectar]

yanderes tying you up and overstimulating their darling beyond their limits >>>>

☆ note : kinda shady and dark depending on how u read it,,, but I still wouldn't mind actually writing something like this if anyone requested it yk 👀... ( inbox here! )

your yandere lover who truly cannot help it. he cannot help it because it just feels so good —you feel so good— that he could never stop trying to make you shiver in pleasure, especially since you can't do anything against it. having tied you up at the beginning of the session, he didn't even notice the way your legs started to shake, or the way your eyes flooded with blissed out tears, too lost in his own world as he continued to kiss, bite, grope and thrust into you.

yandere dilf, pup, househusband, jock, florist, crush, himbo + upcoming nerd, ex-boyfriend, bodyguard, werewolf, and best friend!

your yandere lover who's completely aware of what he's doing. you thought he would untie you and let you go just like that after giving you the most mind-blowing fuck ever? of course not, sweetheart— he's not even done yet at all. why should he stop, when you look so so so pretty while writhing and mewling under him, though? you're certainly in for a night full of worship and pleasure, no matter if you might be a bit too dizzy and exhausted at the end.

yandere professor, bully, sugar daddy, husband, neighbor, assistant, vampire + upcoming tutor, doctor, pharaoh, merman, and boss!

© godnectar 2024. please do not modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my permission.

[cannellee]

omg, i giggle like a schoolgirl whenever i read your abo hcs🤭

can i have bestfriend! mikey who comes over to the reader’s house (not realizing she’s in heat) and ends up mating & claiming her?

ty for all the juicy fics btw 😋

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

୨୧ alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— mikey claiming omega! reader

my masterlist : ☆

cw: sex, cockwarming, breeding kink

(it's only my third time writing full smut like this, so I hope it's not too bad!!)

you knew mikey since primary school, when innocent friendships bloomed easily. none of you knew your second gender yet, and you actually never gave it too much thought.

you grew up pretty close, the proximity of your houses making it easier for you to bond. mikey was carefree and seemed always sure of himself, these traits of his kept your future omega-self nearby.

being with him felt great. he was a kind friend despite his overly direct behaviour, he always got your back whenever school kids were being mean to you.

you guys were with each other through every stages of life. when you turned out an omega, mikey was quick to drive away students who wanted to have a taste of their freshly presented schoolmate. he was protective, never going overboard either.

it was safe to say you thought you guys would remain in a special relationship all your life. and mikey thought so too. for years, he had never seen you as something more than a friend, qualifying the protective position he took as nothing more than an amicable worry.

but lately, something had begun to shift within mikey. a subtle change that he quite couldn't put his finger on. at first, he brushed it off as nothing more than a passing phase, but days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months and he soon began to realise that his feelings for you were changing in ways he had yet to understand.

it started with small things — the way his heart skipped a bit whenever you laughed, the way his gaze lingered longer than before when you smiled - has your smile always been this bright ? he slowly came to crave your scent, unconsciously leaning towards you and watching the way your soft lips would move each time you talked.

mikey felt a pull at his chest just by thinking of his dear friend with someone else. will they be able to treat you right, and keep you safe ? mikey was just worried. he wanted to hear your voice, to hear your secrets and make sure you were not seeing anyone.

it was a week off, so mikey called you. it wasn't unusual for you to talk over the phone, even if you had a house at a five minutes walk away from the other.

but you didn't pick up your phone. and mikey noted how uncommon it was, you always did. he tried a second time and when he was denied again, he just gave up, giving you some time. upon seeing his missed calls, you'll call him back.

but you didn't, and not even a text was sent his way. he tried multiple times after a while and grew worried. you never were this silent online, not answering him for a whole day was strange, to say the least.

so he went out, took a few brownies emma cooked with him to give him a reason to come over, and crossed the street to your home.

he didn't bother making his arrival announced ; none of you ever bothered for such formalities.

clenching the doorknob, he frowned at how it actually opened, half expecting it to be locked. still, he came in, quietly making his way into your house. it was silent and dark, with the windows all wide opened, a cold breeze hitting his skin.

confused at first, mikey softly called out your name, putting the snacks on the kitchen table and getting rid of his jacket, leaving him in his plain white tshirt. "y/n ? are you in there ?"

the absence of response pushed him to keep going, dangerously approaching your room. he stopped mid way, when a few noises came out from the end of the hallway. "y/n ? is that you, everything fine?"

as he stood right behind the door, mikey could now decipher the said noises. soft desperate cries, erratic breaths and an intoxicating smell embalming the air, seemingly seeping from every hole under your door.

mikey took a deep breath, connecting the dots and cursing himself for coming this far to you —you were in heat. the omega he grew obsessed with, was right in front of him, the wall, the only thing keeping him away from his growing urge to just burst in.

"m-mikey ? is it you ?" despite your weakened state, your friend was close enough for you to recognize a foreign smell inside your house. mikey probably didn't even notice his own pheromones started to spread, instinctively reacting to your erotic ones. fuck you smelled so good.

"I'm sorry I'll leave, I didn't know you were in heat". as overwhelming as his need to claim you was, mikey didn't want to risk your trust.

"n-no please mikey stay!" you were in a haze, too high off of your wish to to be taken to actually have any clear thoughts. and mikey knew that, but he didn't want to take advantage of you.

"I just came here to make sure you were doing fine, and give you some snacks emma made. I'll leave and lock your door, this isn't safe in your state. beside, I don't want you to regret anything, you're not thinking straight" it took a great reasoning for him to actually ignore his instincts screaming at him to just barge into your room and take you right here. breeding you until you're full of cum and exhausted to the point you can't walk straight. dirty thoughts are flooding his mind, the whole situation sending blood to his cock.

"no please, I know I won't ! I'm still clear enough to know what I want, they barely just started today. please mikey". pleas fell out from your mouth. and too overwhelmed by the consuming need for release, you can't even get up to pull him to your nest.

"or is it that you don't want to do it with me ?" mikey sighs heavily, body all tensed up. this sent a growl down his throat, you only whined in response, scared at the prospect of the alpha you desire not wanting to mate with you.

but, of course he does, that's the only thing he can think about right now. and whenever his own ruts hit, he's ashamed to admit your body is the image he pictures each time.

"please mikey, I just really need you right now. I wouldn't do it with anyone else if not you" you begged once more, voice growing even more desperate. a few salty tears rolled down your face at the frustration mikey was submitting you to.

and just like that, mikey was right in front of you. he took in your whole form, shaking and sensitive, desperately awaiting a touch.

you wore only your underwear, the heated room feeling too much. despite your opened windows, some hair stucked to your damp forehead, and the blankets were since then long gone, thrown out of your nest.

you looked heavenly in mikey's eyes. actually, you always looked perfect, not a day passed without mikey admiring your dreamy features secretly. but today particularly, something seemed different.

it was the way your eyes slowly looked up at him, lust and envy clouding your vision, and the way your body seemed to immediately attract him to you, legs spreading as if they had a mind of their own, your heartbeats quickening and scent getting progressively sweeter to tempt him even more.

there was no turning back. after witnessing such a delightful scene, mikey would never be able to turn around, close the door and act like nothing happened. you had him right where you wanted and he was more than willing to comply to your wishes now.

"please mikey, it hurts"

by now, mikey's instincts had fully taken over and an ardent desire burned inside of him, praying him to just take care of the delicate omega laying in front him.

"yes I know baby, and you did really great on your own, waiting for me to find you, all spread out and pretty". you reached out for him instantly when mikey came to join you, you emitted a satisfied purr, happy to finally have the alpha you longed for give in to your demands.

he didn't wait long before starting a short foreplay, kissing, licking and sucking every inch of your skin, leaving tiny bite marks all along your neck, insisting on your scent gland.

he brought his fingers to your entrance while continuing his assault on your neck and collarbone. he massaged it slowly, observing your reactions to know exactly where it felt good. he kept going for a few minutes before stopping, throwing away your bra and finally pushing aside your panty, giving more access to his hands.

and you felt one finger entering you, his mouth now sealed to your nipple. his tongue rolled against it, lapping expertly while drinking in your moans of pleasure. he kept bullying your heterogeneous zones, in hope to hear more of you, to see you completely break under him, just like he always wanted to see you.

"that's it baby, moan for me, let me hear your pretty voice"

and moan you did, especially with how three of his fingers were now sliding in and out of you with a sweet speed you couldn't get enough of. you had tears building up in your eyes and you watched as a string of saliva connected mikey's mouth to yours. his finger felt so great, and his mouth, now attached to your lips, turned you absolutely breathless. but still, it wasn't enough, you needed more.

"please mikey. I want you in me, please I want more" the friction of mikey's fingers felt good, but you were too far into your heat to actually need foreplay. the slick you produced was enough for mikey to just fuck you without any prep.

"I know I know baby, I'll make you feel so good don't worry" he stopped his movements, your fluids coating his fingers. he licked them, looking at your droopy eyelids.

you waited patiently for mikey to undress himself, throwing both his tshirt and your panty aside, before finally getting rid of his bottom. you watched eagerly his length revealing itself to you, a sight which only made you drool. and you could only wait for mikey to give you what you wished for, completely at his mercy.

you were now fully naked, squirming in front of mikey. he contemplated you again, your honeyed scent driving him crazy by the minute, and the way your pulsating core seemed to call out to him was very much a sight mikey could get used to if you let him.

"I've wanted this for so long, God you're so beautiful"

he let his hands travel all around your body, kissing you passionately while whispering praises of how pretty you looked.

"that's it baby, lay nice and still for me. you're doing so good". and you did, waiting expectantly, hungry for his touch and affection. you couldn't care less about your dignity, it just felt great to want him, obey him, beg him. whatever he had to offer your body, you would accept it with a smile on your face.

and with all his restraint, mikey entered you in one painfully slow thrust. you moaned louder, eyes shutting by themselves with the intrusion, and "yes, yes, yes" flowed out from your lips.

he didn't let you any time to adjust, he knew you didn't need any, and immediately started rocking his hips. he let out low growls of pleasure, mouth right next to your ear. you drank them in, feeling pleasure building up inside not only from the relentless pace he was going at, but the satisfaction that your omega had succeeded in making her alpha feel good too.

you were desperate for validation and release, clawing at his back with weak hands, legs spread wide open for your alpha. your tits bounced with each slap and mikey's hips connected with yours in a excruciatingly delightful manner.

with the way your brain was clouded with pleasure, you could only chant his name. if only you knew what your desirous pleas did to him.. knowing you'd let him to anything to you was a major turn on that kept mikey yearning for more.

"you're doing perfect, that feels incredible baby". reassuring you, he maintained his pace, capturing your mouth for a heated kiss before sucking on your skin, whishing for it to leave deep red marks.

fuck, mikey wanted to mark you, claim you and breed you in every way possible. he didn't think he would be satisfied with just one round now that he finally had you under him. he was going to take such good care of his precious omega, fucking you dumb until you can't think of anything else but him.

he felt you clenching around him, your tight hole pushing him closer to the edge. "just like that, good girl, you're gonna make me cum". and you so wished for him to cum inside you, filling you up to the brim with the seeds you desperately wanted.

slapping thighs, wet noises and erratic breaths were the only thing you could here. and the pleasure mikey granted you, the way his strong scent enveloped you and how his fingers found your clit again to help you chase your release made you see stars. not a single thought could make their way into your brain, all you could think about was the heavenly sensations you were experiencing right now and mikey's strong chest on top of you.

you begged for him as soon as you felt it come closer, scratching his back, mouth wide opened and tongue lolled out. your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and you thanked mikey for giving you this much pleasure. "that's right baby, take all of it". his thrusts were getting sloppier with each passing second, announcing your coming climax.

you both came at the same time, with a high pitched moan for you and a deep growl for mikey, which always managed to send shivers down your spine. you felt his cum flow inside of you, painting your insides with a white fluid.

and you took it all, just like he told you, hoping for more praises but too high off of his cock to do anything else. he kissed your temple, looking into your exhausted eyes while slowly going in and out of you. you both tried to catch your breath after bliss took over you.

"you did so good for me angel, such a perfect omega". you chirped happily in response, content about his satisfaction with you. you couldn't talk, heat turned you into a submissive mess.

you let him cuddle you from behind, cockwarming him to make sure you didn't spill any drops of cum, and you stayed put for him to do anything. he kissed your shoulder softly, whispering about how good and obedient you were.

he liked the calming feeling of his cock plugging your wet pussy, taking you like this felt so good and heightened his already possessive thoughts about you.

you were so perfect, you took your alpha so well and now you're staying still for him to pour his cum into you. he wanted to keep you all to himself, fuck you throughout all your heats and never let you go after someone else. the claim he put on you wasn't just out of sexual interest, but genuine love he had for you. and now that he had fucked you, it felt like everything was falling into place, his sense of purpose reaffirmed.

he had you, his lovely and delicate omega, waiting for her alpha to wreck her and turn her into a sobbing mess.

he looked forward to the rest of the day.

"now were not finished baby, we'll need a lot more if we want to go through your heat smoothly, right?"

[dolliestfairy]

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝅄ֹ ׅ♡ ೀ ʚĭɞ ‌ིᨴּ ˒˒۪

(Crazy) Yandere [Nerd] Boy x Soft!Chubby!Fem!Reader ༢𓏲๋ ⊹ ֢

𔓘 Tw : Kidnapping, Extreme Noncon (y'all are strangers bro), Rushed Fanfic, Mentions Of Blood, Virginity-Take, Extreme Somnophilia, Stalking, Extreme Obsession, Impregnate, A little of Bondage, Seriously dude you're fucking with a crazy nerd boy who is a freaking stranger to you like y'all didnt know each other but this madman is really know you to the soul from all his stalking and stuff. this fanfic is quite the Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

𔓘 A/N : y'all.. this are f***king insane bro.. like this is kinda disturbing imo as a writer of this and also a lot of suffocating. Read at your own risk. me myself actually like the extreme yandere fics but this is still the prefix of it. stay safe while reading this because again; y'all are a stranger!! if a dark content yandere isnt your cup of tea then i highly recommend you to spend your shit at other blogs!! ty.

W/C : 6,4K for Stranger Fucking 💀

Currently thinking abt nerdy men who looks like they would shit in their pants when someone raised their voice at them, but the truth is; he's really really quite the strong. he's a nerdy man who arent shy at all (or maybe just a little) and he's simply just dont like to be bothered by anyone else. he's also a nerdy man who told himself countless time to just focus on studying and studying, and at the first moment; he actually manage to do it within his daily life, well until he met you.

You; plump, soft looking girl with chubby cheeks and doe eyes. you dont even know how much you affect him didnt you? arent you just dumb? walking there and then with such a tiny skirt that almost showed up your plump ass cheeks. walking down in the hallway with such dress that hugged all of your curves together perfectly. oh if only you find out how every night he would spend his time in his bedroom alone while his hand thrust his own cock up and down, thinking about you. he would be drown in his thoughts about how you would find out all his dark fantasy about you. but.. he do realize he shouldnt be doing this actually, no really, he should just be studying, but the soft laugh and those.. those whimpers terror you gave him just drove him to his edge.

And the fact that he masturbate about you when you both are clearly still stranger - is fucking crazy. he mostly had heard of how'd you talk, whimper and moan (wait.. how did.. he know?) and stuff like that while your own self being completely un guard around him. he swear to his thumbs he hated you for making him felt like this, i mean how could you?? a plump girl just trying to get into her daily life as normal as usual can make some nerd dude mad in love with her without her being aware at all?! he cant do this.. he cant do this anymore..!

And he really cant do it anymore. as he go to your apartement at midnight after finding out where you live. peeking through the window to what you were doing only to find you dressing in a short pastel rainbow dress lingerie with big bows placed in the back of your hair, dancing to some songs.. and oh my god he cant even explain how much he want to ripped those colorful dress lingerie off your body. he has no doubt at all that you have the most beautiful body he would ever sees in his entire life.

As he drown himself in his own thoughts until he heard a telephone ring -- it was your friend! your male friend! as you picked the phone up, talking with your friends, while he sees with his own eyes about the way you laugh softly at what-god-knows your friend was muttering to you. he doesnt and he would rather bury himself alive than admitting about the fact that he was really, really, envy and jealous. as he harshly breath at you, while all his body is literally focus with you. his eyes seeing you from head-to-toe, his ears listening carefully about the conversation you're having as his mouth try to resist to open it again because well um -- he is quite the drooling over there. that was it until you start to walk towards the front door where he was outside!!

As he sees you carefully, while hiding himself in the corner, and focused on the door handle you're about to open. until........

Until he quickly enough to put his arms and placed it onto your mouth, shuting you up until you passed out and bring you to your new home his home. as he open the bondage he placed at your mouth, and pinch your chubby cheeks until he sees your whimpering again. thats it! thats the thing that always drove him mad everydsy everynight. thinking about you whimper at whatever he was doing was like a holy candle for him. he then stood himself up, looking at your half unconscious body, and then start to strip you... to naked.

As he softly ripped all the dress lingerie you weared, and after he got the look at your boobs, he slowly put his hands up at where your nipples on, and start playing with it. while his eyes focused on your face, waiting the reaction he have been wait. and until then... you are moaning. honestly he have been thinking that he was in a dream that time. i mean -- he do have seen you moan by the way he always check on you secretly.. but he never except his own self to be the only one who could capable enough to hear your soft moan. as he sped up the phase of his hands playing your nipple, while his own other hand strat to undress himself.

And until he and your own finally completely naked. and... oh god to be damned. he swear he always sees you at some kind of whore while your other friend sees you just as an innocent normal girl, and he always have no doubt about his feelings That you have such an erotic body and at the end.. he was actually right. you do have a very very.. pleaseable body. as he placed his hands into your half unconscious body, lowering it until his hands touch your private part -- your pussy. he slowly but surely put his 3 long fingers in to play with you, and to be surprised or.. shocked even, that you are so so fucking damn tight! he even sure that your pussy is one of the most tightest thing he'd ever placed his hands on, as he quickly sped-ing up his pace at playing your pussy, watching you moan and whimper become one, he cant believe what he saw. you're literally still half unconscious! but yet you somehow still manage to bring out the sound he would die for with! at this rate he doesnt know if he wants to wake you up or just let you still be half unconscious so when you wake up, you're gonna have a some extra surprised with your naked body that has been covered with his cums. as he thinking about it while he placed his (quite big) cock at your pussy. trying to rip those tight wall of your pussy off. thats what he was trying to do until your pussy start showing a little drop of blood out of it.

Oh.. he get it.. yeah he actually get it. You're a Virgin arent you? oh.. such sweet cheeks.. well too bad yoi're going to give all of your innocents left as his own hands and dicks. the body of someone you dont even know at all. he actually felt (just a little) bit of guilt. but who cares anyway? you're literally still half unconscious! as he said it to himself while he tried his possible to pound your ass up at your fat pussy. going in and up in every corner. at first it was slowly, but then he start to change the position into a mating press just so the cums and the blood are still there. as he quickly but surely speeding his pace up like a mad man. at this rate he was at the edge of doesnt gave a fuck about the fact that you're still half unconscious but then he's also at the edge of shock and unbelief because of how you are still not waking up at his pounding.

And all of those pounding ends when his cock start to dried out with how your fat pussy suck all his cums and sperma in. pulling his cock out of your pussy only to see the view of the inside of your pussy, being drown with his cums. as his hands hold your body up just so all the cums he had restored isnt goung to spill. and until then he slowly put his hands down, letting your body down into the mating press position, watching your pussy spilling all of his cums like a fucking waterfall. (his cum waterfall) and then he placed his palm hands at your cheeks softly, while quietly muttering about how he would take care of you, and keeping you safe and that you wouldnt need to be scared of him (even after all his done to you) as he placed his other hand at your undressed belly, and then stroke it with such gentleness because he knew that right now, right at the almost-morning time, that you're going to be swellen with thousands - thousands of his sperm, and at the end of the month, he would see you placed your own hands at your bellies who at that time was full with his kid. oh how he cant wait... he just hope that you wouldnt be freaked out about the fact that you just found yourself in a unrecognizeable place with a literal fucking stranger who is now has placed a baby inside of you. yes, a baby -- his baby.

TSUKISHIMA KEI, ITOSHI RIN, MEGUMI, Itachi, Shikamaru, Nanami, Neji, Tobirama, Deku, KUNIMI, Muichiro, SEMI EITA, Konoha Akinori, Venti, XIAO, AL-HAITAM, Akaashi, KOZUME KENMA, & hatake kakashi.

did i forgeting anyone? insert ur fav!

Dolliestfairy's © Works. Do Not Repost My Creation at Any Platfroms Without My Permission.

[cl6teen]

all i want is you ❀ cl16

in which charles thinks he can stay just friends with you after a breakup (spoiler alert: he cant)

read part two here.

contains: social media au, ex!charles leclerc x fem!reader, angsty charles and yn living her best life, mentions of charles’s new girlfriend, charles is a confusing man

note: something small just to feed the kids yk, pls don’t read into the twt dates i was too lazy to change them

📍south of france

liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly, lilymhe, and 100,675 others

yourusername this travel thing is kind of fun 🇫🇷

tagged kikagomes

view all 1237 comments

lilymhe my wifey is so pretty

alexalbon okay then just date atp

yourusername wdym? we already are

alexalbon why do i put up with this

lilymhe because you love us duh

pierregasly no photo credits or tag? i’m (deeply) hurt

yourusername oh please you complained the whole time and then made me and kika take photos of you

pierregasly that is not a crime

kikagomes my stylish icon 🤍

yourusername te amo te amo

carlossainz55 coming to spain next i hope?

yourusername who knows 🤭

landonorris actually she’s coming to the uk with me next

carlossainz55 😢😢 yn you betray me

yourusername you know you’re my favourite carlos

landonorris ouch

charles_leclerc very pretty

yourusername thank you charlie

luvleclrc it’s so sweet that he still comments on her photos

user i miss them real bad

4ouryn are we getting any more travel vlogs soon?

yourinstagram im working on it! it’ll be out around this friday :)

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, landonorris, and 1,235,166 others

charles_leclerc good times at home

view all 7,455 comments

user charles leclerc the man that you are 😭😭

user seeing him with a baby is just what i needed on my tl

yourusername two cuties at sea!

charles_leclerc so you think i’m cute 🤔

yourusername only because of the baby in your hands

charles_leclerc you hurt my feelings y/n

user omg charles still flirting with yn is so crazy

user idk if it’s flirting per se, they’re just friends now

user they were so cute i still don’t get why they broke up

user charles broke up with her bc he wanted to focus on racing

carlossainz55 somebody wants to be a daddy

charles_leclerc don’t put words in my mouth mate 😅

user is this a joke ? 👀

pierregasly i see what he’s doing

charles_leclerc ??

landonorris he’s cooking

alexandrasaintmleux so handsome

liked by charles_leclerc

twitter

📍 lake como, italy

liked by alexalbon, kikagomes, carlossainz55, and 97,333 others

yourusername loving italia 🇮🇹

carlossainz55 next stop madrid?

yourusername we’ll see, won’t we

landonorris i better be invited

carlossainz55 you know your way here mate

user omg the ferrari flag

yourusername deep down everyone is a ferrari fan :)

user should we read into that

yourusername no lmao

lilymhe travelling with you is the best

yourusername what would i do without you

alexalbon everyday i wake up

user no charles like or comment :( i guess he really is dating that girl

user justice for yn literally

user they still follow each other tho but i feel so bad for both girls

kikagomes i have no clue how anyone could break up with you, like seriously

yourusername me too, but life is too short to worry about things like that babe

user 👀 charles shade??

user i think we should stop tying y/n’s identity to charles in general

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 updated their story 2 hours ago. landonorris updated their story 1 hour ago.

📍madrid, spain

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, lilymhe, and 433,125 others

yourusername troublemakers in madrid

view all 5544 comments

landonorris who are those studs in the first photo

yourusername so humble !

alexalbon potential summer soft launch?

yourusername who knows

user ugh why is she always with those two, i swear she wants them so bad

yourusername ew no those two are my sons 🤱

pierregasly who’s the daddy 🤔

landonorris don’t say it like that yn 😭😭

carlossainz55 i’m older than you though, no?

yourusername no carlos it’s like, in spirit

user WHO IS THAT MAN???? is that carlos?? lando??

yourusername no! but he’s certainly someone 🤭

user that’s charles right?

user he’s in monaco right now, it couldn’t be him plus he’s got a gf

lilymhe okay mysterious girl

yourusername i love to keep people on their toes

lilymhe but seriously text me and tell me who that is

kikagomes girl me too

user shout out to yn for reuniting carlando!!

liked by yourusername

yourusername updated their story 5 mins ago

carlos’s phone 📞

charles

are you with y/n right now

i know you are

carlos

then why ask m8

yes i’m with her, why?

charles

is she mad at me

carlos

that’s a stupid question, but i don’t know man, she hasn’t brought you up

and lando and i aren’t going to

what’s the phrase?

poke the bear

actually, i shouldn’t compare her to that

but i would be mad if i were her

charles

who’s that man she posted the other day??

you’ve been with her during her entire spain trip yes? what does he look like, do you know him?

carlos

he is a good friend of mine yes

i somewhat set them up, things have been going good, they’re both here at our dinner

charles

aiii carlos! why would you set them up??

how could you do this to me??

carlos

did you forget that you broke with her? to focus on racing?

which would be fine if you didn’t get another girl just a month after?

i don’t even know how she could stay friends with you, but she asked me to find a guy for her

i am a good friend, so i found someone

if you’re jealous, you shouldn’t have broken up in the first place

charles

i’m not jealous at all carlos

carlos

then why are you stalking her account and asking me about a man she is seeing?

if you’re so concerned, text her yourself

charles

argh you’re no help

your phone 📞

charlie

hey

i miss you

a lot

[gabriellessworldd]

Never get yo bitch back!

☆ Part one ☆

plug!connie x black fem reader

wc- 2.3k!

☆ warnings ☆: this is part 2, if you haven't read part 1 you should read that first. Not proof read! this might be a lil longer than i intended. mdni! small small time skip (3 weeks since the party, fb is included), mentions of guns, smut again lol i'll write some fluff soon maybe angst who knows 😜, pnv, degradation, oral (f&m receive), choking, spanking, praising, Connie get a lil mad

"what..what the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

The seven letter question still fresh in your mind 3 weeks later. Sure what you and Connie did was wrong, but what Eren did was way worse.

(fb to party night)

Connie stood there tying his sweats nonchalantly while you fumbled to put your clothes frantically. Eren looked heated, his fists clenched while he poked his tongue at his cheek. "One of y'all fucking say something." Eren's eyes darted between y'all, "Oh cállate perra, no actúes como si te importara ahora." oh shut up btc don't act like you care now Connie started walking towards Eren and he stood up straight looking Connie in his eyes "Whatchu gon do bitch boy? You can have the slut I don't care" Connie chuckled and punched Eren in his jaw. Eren grabbed his face and swung at Connie's nose, leaving a trail of blood running from it.

The boys traded hits each of them landing until Eren paused and spoke, "You know what, ion even know why I'm fighting about this shit, I cheated on yo ass wit Annie anyways." He looked at you with a smug grin on his face. That's when Connie finally had enough, he pulled his gun from his waistband and pointed it right at Eren. "Say some dumb shit to her again and I swear to god ima shoot you bitch." Eren then pulled his gun out and pointed it right back at Connie "Cmon then pussy you ain't gon do it." You watched the situation unfold, stunned by Erens words. Neither Connie or Eren was backing down and all you could do was watch. No one was still at Jean's house besides Ony, Armin, and Jean. They all decided to come upstairs after hearing the commotion and were shocked to find Connie and Eren pointing guns at each other.

"You wanna know something else Y/n, I fucked her a month ago nd her pussy was wayyy better." Eren looked at you over Connie's shoulder, making sure you heard him, and at that moment you realized that you meant nothing to him at all, the year of unconditional love and being his #1 supporter meant nothing to him. 'pop!' You looked around in horror when you heard the sound of a gun go off, you never expected either of them to actually shoot each other. You looked at Eren and watched him clutch his side, blood staining his pure white tee.

"damn Connie what the fuck bro" Ony was shocked "I mean at least ian kill him" Connie said slipping his gun back in his waistband and popping his blood stained knuckles "We gotta get him to the fucking hospital" Armin sighed and rolled his eyes before speaking again, "Y'all couldn't just talk this shit out like normal people?" Jean looked at Armin puzzled "Y'all worried about them fucking talking it out, he just shot him in my damn house man" He started pacing back and forth while clutching his head, slightly tugging at his hair "Got his ass gushing blood on my carpet." Eren looked at Connie "Fuck you bro. you deadass shot me" None of them were taking this serious at all, this felt so normal like it didn't phase any of them.

Armin and Ony helped Eren get in the backseat of Armin's car, "Sorry man but he ain't fucking up my nice cream seats." Ony said shrugging. Connie grabbed your hand and lead you to his car, while Jean stayed at home to clean. Connie hasn't said a word to you or looked you in the eyes since he shot Eren, just staring into the distance, deep in thought. It wasn't like he had never shot anyone before, this was his lifestyle, he was used to it at this point, and after being involved in this shit for so long, all of them were. He was scared that you would think less of him, that you wouldn't want to be around him, that you would find someone else who wouldn't shoot his homeboy for you. But honestly when you saw how far he'd go for you, it made you crave him even more.

"Thank you, Constance" you looked at him with a peaceful expression on your face, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and his face softened when he heard you speak, "Anything for you, hermosa"

(back to present)

"Y/nnn I'm back" Connie yelled, coming in through your front door sliding his yeezy slides off while setting down a bag of cfa and a bouquet of beautifully arranged roses. You'd given Connie a key to your apartment 2 weeks ago after he started visiting you everyday. Something about you made Connie feel at peace, the way you smile at him, how your eyes light up when talking about your interests, the way your face tells how you're feeling, even the way you would glare at him for not cleaning up after himself. Maybe it wasn't just something, it was everything about you. He loved being able to visit you anytime, you'd always make him feel cherished, like you cared for him so deeply.

"Hola mi hermosa, how you doing?" Connie walked towards you and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you softly. "Hi Con, I'm good. What'd you get to eat?" You stretched, body feeling stiff after laying in bed most of the day. Connie went and grabbed the stuff from the table by your door, "Here, also these are for you princesa." He handed you the roses and you looked at him with teary eyes, "Con, these are so beautiful. What are they for?" You grabbed them from his tattooed hands "Damn I can't just do something nice for you" He chuckled wiping the small tears from your tanned cheeks.

You both finished eating and were laying in your bed when you heard the front door open. You and Connie both got up, he grabbed his gun from off the nightstand and walked in front of you. Standing in your living room was none other than Eren Jaeger with the box in his hands you'd labeled 'trash', it was all his belongings that had been left in your house, and after that night you stuffed it all lazily into the large box. "Just came to get my shit, ian looking for y'all asses." Eren chuckled to himself and looked at you and Connie, a large scar across his left cheek from when Connie punched him with his rings on, a reminder of that night.

"Hurry up and get the fuck out my house." You spat out looking him up and down "Damn Y/n, you so rude to me now. Can't even answer the phone for me no more" Eren looked at you smugly, he knew you had him blocked, he just wanted to fuck with you. "Shut the fuck up bro just grab yo shit nd dip" Connie crossed his arms and leaned back on your counter "Can you mind yo fuckin business?" Eren rolled his eyes and picked up the box. "Give me yo spare key too" Connie didn't want Eren coming back again. Eren threw the key at Connie and walked to the door, "Y/n, you know what my number is, let me know when his bitch ass ain't home" He winked at you and closed the door behind him. "The fuck?" Eren's lil comment made Connie's blood boil.

Connie grabbed you by the throat and pulled your head towards his. The kiss was anything but sweet, it was so sloppy, so nasty, it put french kissing to shame. He sucked and bit on your neck leaving marks behind, "You look so pretty like this mama". Connie picked you up and carried you to you bedroom, he dropped you on the bed "you know I love you, right?" Connie looked at you with a cold stare, "uh yea, why Con'?" you grew anxious and shuffled on the bed. "Cause im finna fuck you like I don't."

Connie stood over you, pulling your small pj shorts down revealing that you didn't have on panties. You laid back on the bed as Connie got on his knees and fixed himself between your legs, resting them on his shoulders. Connie spread open your soft folds with his middle and index fingers coating them in your slick, "So wet for me mami, ay dios mios" oh my god You let out a soft gasp when his fingers grazed over your clit. Connie dived in, sucking on your clit, starting off fast in hopes of you becoming a wet mess quickly. He pushed both fingers in, pumping slowly. "mm Con' faster please" He listened and picked up the pace drastically, curling his fingers hitting that soft, spongy spot "a-ah! fuck Con' right there!" You cried out feeling him lick and suck on your clit again. His left arm was keeping you secured so you wouldn't move your legs. Your hands were tangled in his short hair, gripping as much as you could. "Cmon mami, I wanna taste you" Connie continued the rough pace making your legs gently shake. You could feel the familiar tingle in your lower stomach, Connie noticed you were close, feeling you slightly tighten around his fingers. "Ah! Con' Fuck! 'm gonna" Your words were cut off when a final pump of his fingers clouded your vision. Connie lifted his face, entire bottom half covered in your wetness, "Tan deliciosa, como siempre" so delicious as always

Connie relentlessly fucked your face, his heavy balls slapping your chin with every thrust. His fingers were buried in your hair, keeping your head in place. "Ah fuck mami, feels so good" Your teary eyes looking up at him as he continued his brutal pace, gagging you. Connie paused giving you a false sense of relief, "t-take it all ma" He pushed your head down, forcing you to take all his length. "mm fuck ma i'm cumming" You felt the hot spurts travel down your throat and swallowed, leaving behind a slight burn. "Such a good slut for me hm?"

You were currently on your back, legs pressed next to your ears as Connie fucked you nice and slow, one hand stabilizing himself while the other was pressing on your stomach. "a-ah Con' please, go faster" You knew saying this was like a challenge, but still you wanted to feel the sweet sting of him stretching you out. "hm princesa, you gon be a good girl and handle it?" Connie sped up just a bit, pressing on your stomach harder. You nodded your head, "Use your words, you a big girl right?" The condescending tone of his voice made the statement bittersweet, "fuck! yes Con' i-i can" He laughed at your eagerness "alright mama, get on all 4's f'me"

Connie pressed on your back, deepening your arch. "Stay just like that baby." He rubbed his tip down your folds collecting the arousal, and pushed in without warning. "Ah!" You jumped from the sudden intrusion, "unh uh you said you was gon be a good girl" He smacked the fat of your ass, the sound echoing. Connie started thrusting, going fast just as you had previously wanted, but this pace was nothing like you imagined, "Fuck mami, throw that shit." He smacked your ass again and you obliged, "C-Con' s'too much, I can't" Your right arm went out behind you, trying to push Connie "Nah mami, t-thought this was what you wanted, right? Gimme yo other arm." You leaned forward on your chest giving Connie the left arm, he held them both tightly behind your back with his left hand. "Oh fuck Con'!" He smacked your ass again before snaking his right hand around your throat, squeezing, and pulling you up. "Fuck ma, take all this shit. Keep goin" Connie never let up his pace, fucking you dumb. "Ah Con' Fuck pleasee" You whined out, throat feeling tight from the lack of steady air. "Such a good slut f'me. You wanna cum?" His words made you tighten around him and you nodded your head as best as you could with his hand still around your neck, "What I say about that shit?" Connie sped up, "Mm yes Con'! fuck let me cum please!" Your whole body was tingling at this point, and all you wanted was to cum. "Work for it then, 'm almost there mama just wait a lil bit" Connie rutted his hips into you chasing his high, "F-fuck mami" You were desperately trying to hold off, feeling that knot continuously tighten with every thrust. "Go ahead mama." His words were like music to your ears. You finally let go, the last thrust sending you toppling over, Connie right behind you. The warm liquid filled you up, and he pulled out, spilling some out of you "Mm princesa, hiciste un desastre." you made a mess

Connie helped you shower, and changed the sheets on your bed after putting the old ones in the washer. Connie wrapped your hair up and put your bonnet on, "yea ima have to get you a new wig" Connie giggled making you look at him and roll your eyes "Alright my bad, but for real ima send you some money so you can go get all gorgeous nd shit" You looked up at Connie's face "You bein for real?" You never had somebody offer to take care of your beauty needs. "Hell yea mama, nd I'm hoping that you gon be so excited wit me that you'll dye my hair after." Connie smiled, then he started laughing, "Awl shut up Connie, matter fact get out my bed." You rolled your eyes and soon ended up laughing too. Connie kept his arms around you tightly as y'all drifted off to sleep.

☆ taglist ☆: @universal-s1ut @luccis-coochie @mccookiemonster @taylarxse @empressdede lmk if you wanna be added!

Hi lovebugs!! did I feed y'all well? 😉 I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, what y'all wanna see in part 3? Also I appreciate all the notes, especially y'alls comments cs y'all are so sweet! Also can we talk about me reaching 100 followers and all the likes cs I never expected any of this, it's very crazy to me nd I'm so glad for all the love and support! (I said "y'all" wayyyy too much lmfao, it's the country girl in me 🤠)

-with lots of love, gabrielle <3

[gh0stsp1d3r]

cowboy rafe in this 💫

AHHHHHHHH. Ty for this because YEAA

What the hell are you wearing?

Warnings: suggestive , cowboy!rafe wit that southern charm. Pet names (darling)

“Rafe, where are you?” You shouted, opening the back door and going outside. You walked around, until you heard his voice.

“In here, darlin’!” He called out from inside the stables, you crossing your arms as you walked into the stables.

“Hey.” You murmured to him, watching Rafe groom his horses mane and fur carefully.

“Hey. What’s up?” He asked you, taking the brush away from his horse and turning to you now, leaning against one of the doors.

“Are we still going on that date tonight?” You asked him, he wiped his hands onto his jeans, standing straight now

“Course we are. Why wouldn’t we?” He asked you, furrowing his eyebrows while putting his hands on your hips and pulling you flush against him. Your hand landed on his chest, you shrugged.

“Dunno. Seemed like you’re busy. I didn’t wanna interrupt but-“

“I’m never too busy for ya.” He cut you off quietly, leaning down to peck your lips. “I’ll get dressed in a few. Gimme a little to clean up, yeah?” He told you, giving you another kiss.

You nodded at him, leaving the stables and going back into the house and into your shared room, trying to find some clothes other than your pajamas you currently wore.

You decided on a nice white sundress, sitting on your bed with a book while you waited for Rafe to come out the shower.

He came in, towel lowly wrapped around his waist and his hand in his hair, he paused when he saw you, letting out a low whistle, making you look up at him with a giggle and warm cheeks.

“Jesus…” he mumbled, going over to you before you held out a hand, stopping him from coming onto the bed with you.

He feigned hurt, gasping and putting his hand over his heart.

“Baby, can we actually get to the date before that?” You shook your head, smile still on your face.

“Fine. Only cause I know you gotta reservation and all that shit.” He sighed, going over to the closet now, searching for some clothes.

He picked out some jeans that he knew you loved, along with a belt, along with what looked to be like a regular white shirt.

You were so giddy, you hadn’t even realized the wording on the back until you both were at the door.

You had your boots on, Rafe with his. He opened the door for you, and that’s when you quirked an eyebrow.

“What?” He asked you when he saw you stop your movements, trying to look at his back.

“Turn around.” You told him, he just shrugged and did so, small smirk on his face as you read it out loud.

“Got any cowboy in ya? Want some? Jesus- Rafe, what the hell are you wearing?!”

“You like it?” He asked you, turning around to look at you.

“I- I mean… I guess yeah, but- you can’t go out like that!”

“Says who?” He raised an eyebrow. “And before you say it, I ain’t tryna sleep around with anyone else either.” He pointedly spoke, watching your face.

You groaned at him. “You’re so embarrassing sometimes.” You told him, rolling your eyes at the boy, pushing past him and stepping outside.

“You gettin’ flustered over a damn shirt? Cause I mean… we can stay here ‘nd…” he was at your side quickly, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you right into his side.

“Don’t even think ‘bout it, cowboy.” You told him, grabbing his hat and putting it on backwards, right over his eyes.

“Damnit. Here I was thinkin’ I was getting lucky tonight.” He said, shaking his head and twisting the hat back around, opening the passenger door to his truck, and helping you into the seat.

“Who said you weren’t?” You shrugged, smiling at him as he got into the drivers seat and started the truck.

“Woman, I love you.” He said, smiling and leaning over to kiss you again.

[enwoso]

hey, could you try write something platonic for arsenal x reader with anger issues and the team getting the brunt of it? maybe like kim/leah having to deal with them or learn to calm them down? something along those lines idrk hahahah

NOT YOU — arsenal wfc x reader

this went in a different direction then what i had originally planned. sorry if some sorts don’t make sense i wrote this while i was half asleep. but enjoy x

warnings: talks of an absent father, few swear words

masterlist

the team was worried about. more specifically kim and leah were worried about you. they had never seen you act the way you had in the past. usually you were always laughing and joking around with kyra, pulling pranks and overall just being a pest.

but something had switched, little things were making you snap more quicker than usual, you were making harsh tackles on your own teammates as well as making rude remarks to anyone who tried to talk to you which wasn't totally out of the normal but your actions were speaking louder than your words at the moment.

the team knew you had a short fuse but it had never been this bad before. something had lit your fuse.

the girls had tried everything to try and figure out what had happened but nothing seemed to work but by the day, your anger was starting to build and leah and kim were worried it was about to spill over and were worried for whoever was on the receiving line for when that actually happened.

"we need to try and figure out what is wrong with y/n, she's gonna seriously hurt someone otherwise" kim said as she walked back from the training fields with leah by her side, who immediately agreed with the scot.

a hushed talk of the other girls in front on the two talking about your negative attitude. the two giving each other a look knowing the longer your temper and bad mood continued the more it was going to affect the team.

you were walking behind everyone else, by yourself letting your thoughts override as you walked along the gravelled path of colney. your boots hanging from your hand as the wind hit your bare legs.

you were last to walk into the locker room to grab your bag as well as being one of the last to leave. checking your phone to look at the time but being met with several messages from your dad.

rolling your eyes at them as your scowl deepening as you didn’t even bother to read any of them knowing it whatever he had written but be a whole load of waffle, as the man couldn’t tell the truth if smacked him in the face and said ‘i’m here!’

you and your dad had a complicated relationship, actually scratch that, that was putting it in nice terms. to you he was a deadbeat dad, or you could go as far as saying a sad excuse for a father.

chucking your shoes on and tying the laces when you felt a showed stand over you, noticing the shoes you knew who it was before you even looked up.

“y/n, can we have a chat?” kim asked calmly, as you looked at her not saying anything instead nodding for her to continue. knowing that this chat had been coming as you’d noticed the looks and chats she’d been having with leah and a few of the others girls — knowing that it would most likely be about you.

“you don’t have to tell me but i can tell your not yourself y/n and we’re all here for you and we just want to help you if we can but- your behaviour is starting to affect the team” she began as you just sat on the bench not showing the scot any emotion. kim was walking on egg shells as she spoke, you being able to sense her trying to pick her words carefully.

“you going to seriously injure someone if you carry on lashing out at people. so if there anything we can help with?” kim spoke in the same spoke tone, you leg bouncing up and down your head was a mess and the last thing you wanted was to have someone pity you.

you didn’t like pity.

you shook your head, “nope i’m all good!” packing your bag up and slinging it on your shoulder.

“are you sure- cause we-“

“kim! i said i’m good! just leave it at that! leave me fucking be!” you spat storming out the room. the door slamming as you walked down the corridor. regret and guilt filling your body with each step, but you were sick of people asking you if you were okay, babying you.

why couldn’t they all just take the hint when you said you were fine?

“y/n.” her voice echoed along the corridor, making you freeze. “c’mere” leah spoke in a stern tone, as you turned around half of the blondes body poking out of one of the meeting rooms.

dragging your feet to where she was, taking in a big breath as you walked into the empty room. taking a seat in one of the chairs as leah turned on her heel the door clicking shut as she stood tall in front of you her arms folded across her chest, almost intimidating you.

“what’s going on? this isn’t the y/n i know.” leah said in the same tone she’d spoken to you in just a few minutes ago. you stayed silent, a part of you scared you may lash out at the blonde too.

leah knew you best out of anyone on the team, she was the one you trusted most out of the team even if she was several years younger than you. she was the one that took you under her wing when you first started training with the first team.

with that though meant the blonde could read you like a book. you couldn’t lie to her like you easily could to the others as she would know the minute you opened your mouth.

“maybe this is the new y/n” you spoke in a hushed tone, shrugging your shoulders as leah raised her eyebrows confused at your words.

“no. no, this isn’t you. has something happened with your mum?” she asked, as she watched your body language closely as that was the closest she was getting to you actually giving the blonde some clues as to what had happened.

your shoulders tense up a little more. leah knew about your close relationship with your mum how she was your number one supporter, the england captain having quite a good relationship with her, herself.

you shook your head, “no, my mums fine” you paused before continuing.

"my dads’ been back in contact." you mumbled as a sigh of defeat come from you. the room filling with silence as leah came and sat down next to you putting her arm around you not saying anything yet as she knew you hadn't finished what you wanted to say yet.

"begging to be back in my life, that he's so proud that i'm his daughter, that he misses me blah blah blah, coming back into my life once again when it’s convenient for him." the bitterness was obvious in your tone of voice as you spoke, it told the whole story for itself.

leah knew about the your history with your father, how he had treat you and your mother when you were little before leaving your mum to carry on your upbringing as a single parent when you were just four.

but then every few years he would pop back up into your life, wanting and begging to be apart of it. that he had changed and wasn’t the same man he was when you were five.

but you had learned the hard way, that people like him. they don’t change.

so the first couple of times when he would spring back up when you were younger, he would promise you the world. that he would promise take you out for the day and spoil you with anything and everything you want claiming it as his way of making up for lost time but it would always end the same way.

you sitting on the bottom step of your stairs, hair all nicely done, dressed in an outfit you would spent hours figuring out what to wear. you would sit there for hours, the sound of the clock ticking away. all for him to just not turn up and then make a lame excuse up as you cried in your mums arms.

so the last time you saw him before the past week, was when you were 15 just after making it into your first youth camp with england as well as joining the arsenal academy, your dad had told you that he had met someone in america and that he was moving there.

a small part of you was a little hurt but the majority of you was happy as sad as it sounds but he was never really a dad to you.

“i thought he was living in america?” leah asked as you hummed, a mock laugh coming over you “me too, until he showed up at my door at 6 in the morning!”

“thinking he was going to just have a place to stay at mine as if he didn’t just leave for 5 years no messages, no calls. then when i said no he started trying to manipulate me, saying how im such a bad daughter-“ you breathed out feeling leah squeeze your shoulders, her hand rubbing up and down your arms for comfort.

“have you spoken to your mum about this? does she know he’s back in london?” leah asked quietly as you shook your head. “no, she doesn’t need that stress right now.”

“i don’t know what to do le, everytime i go home he’s there. i don’t even fuckjng know how he got my address.” your voice cracked, all the emotions you’d been holding in for the past week finding flooding over.

you were conflicted, cause whilst you had spent so many years hating your father for never being there or if he was it was only when it suited him and not when you really needed him. you wanted to believe he’d changed but his actions spoke louder and then his words.

but then again he was your dad, where you got your blood from but that was it, you didn’t really know him at all and he didn’t really know you.

you both only really knowing of each other.

“it’s okay, y/n we’ll figure it out together i promise.”

[honkytonk-hangman]

SunKissing

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of sex but no actual smut xx

Notes: again, ty to @roleycoleyland this one is dedicated to you &lt;3 Title from the Hailee Steinfeld song <3

Masterlist

Jake had stopped listening to the others the moment you nervously walked through the back gate. He’s off on the other side of the yard, so Penny reaches you long before he does, smiling kindly as your eyes flicker to her, then down at the covered plate in your hands when she gestures to it. Jake shakes his head internally. He’d told you that you didn’t need to bring anything, but of course you had anyway.

You smile sweetly, but unsurely as Penny welcomes you, and Jake is glad it’s her who saw you first, not one of the others. He hadn’t told anyone about you yet, let alone mentioned that he had invited you to this post-deployment barbecue Mav had all but ordered.

Eight and a half months Dagger had been at sea, which is honestly one of the shorter deployments Jake had been on, certainly not one he’d have usually complained about, except that this time, for the first time, Jake had somewhere else he wanted to be aside from in his jet.

There were very few things Jake liked more than flying, and almost nothing in the world was worth it to him to give it up. Yet, the past eight months hadn’t gone by in their usual halcyon blur of adrenaline and speed, instead, Jake had found that the time to dragged, the days clung and the weeks hanging on like they had made it their personal mission to torture him.

He didn’t get to make phone calls that often, but you’d given him your email before he’d left, and despite staring at an empty document for three days too long, he’d sent you a short, somewhat conservative update, only to breathe out a sigh of relief when not too long after, he’d received your reply.

Jake hadn’t done this before, not even with his family. He preferred the months at sea with no ties and no tethers to anything or anyone on land, completely unattached and free from responsibility. That was the Hangman promise after all, ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’, which had been working out just great for him the past couple of years, right up until he met you.

It was at the Hard Deck of course, where he’d first sidled up to you, all charm and casual cool, certain that he’d found his night's paramour, only to be thanked for the offer of a bought drink, but dutifully informed immediately that you wouldn’t be going home with him. Jake hadn’t been completely taken aback, sometimes he set his sights on a woman who was taken, or just plain not interested, and that was always fine, but that hadn’t exactly been the case with you. You’d simply gone on to inform him that you didn’t do one night stands, which, in Jake's mind hadn’t made you off limits yet, so he’d bought you a drink anyway, this time free of expectations, and to his own surprise, after starting a conversation with you properly, he hadn’t wanted to end it. 

Only after you’d checked the time and told him you’d needed to go had Jake realised just how much he’d enjoyed your company, and so taking a step out of his own usual comfort zone, he’d asked you out on a date.

You’d been unsure at first, like you could read his usual antics all over his face, and told him that you didn’t sleep with people on first dates either, but Jake only laughed at your bluntness, and assured you he’d just wanted to see you again, sex or not. Even now, he’s not sure how much of that was just a line, but in the end he supposed it didn’t really matter, because only three dates and eight and a half months later, it was the most truthful fact about him.

For the past two-hundred and fifty-nine days, Jake had wanted to see nothing but you, and when that couldn’t happen thanks to his deployment, he’d settled for weekly emails. He’d never admit it to anyone, but for the first time in his entire life as an aviator, Jake had come to look forward to your weekly updates more so than he even looked forward to flying.

You’d been so surprised when he’d called you less than an hour after getting boots on the ground at last, even more surprised when Jake had immediately invited you to the Dagger’s welcome home party that night. Which is the reason why you’re currently looking around nervously, and letting Penny take your plate from you.

Jake is fully checked out of the conversation by the time he starts moving, ignoring any calls after him as he makes a beeline toward you, finally drawing your attention when he’s only a few feet away. Much like him, you seem to cease all other focus when you see him, your eyes never leaving him as he quickly closes the distance between you.

“There you are,” Jake all but gushes, sidestepping Penny and immediately wrapping you up, pulling you in firmly with both arms in a hug he doesn’t intend to let go of any time soon.

“Jake!” You barely get out before you’re engulfed. Jake feels his eyes prickle just a little bit when your arms link tightly around his neck, but he forcibly blinks the sensation away, focusing instead on how good it feels to hold you again.

“I’ll take this inside…” Penny says softly, knowingly, but neither of you really notice her slink off. You also don’t notice Fanboy nudge Phoenix, or how the rest of his squad slyly stop their talking to watch the two of you with various levels of interest.

“God, I missed you,” Jake hears himself say before he can really stop and think about it, his heart thumping rapidly away in his chest at the possibility that you didn’t actually feel the same. You laugh a little, and sniff, burying yourself deeper into his neck.

“I missed you too!” You say muffled into the collar of his shirt, tightening your hold on him slightly. Jake lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and squeezes you closer.

“You alright sweetheart?” He asks quieter than before, feeling a few spots of wetness seep through his shirt, as well as hearing the way you sniffle again.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you try to reassure him, despite the shake to your voice. Jake can only hum, and adjusts his hold on you so he can sweep one large hand up and down you back in soothing motions, something he’s pretty sure he’s only even done once before, to his mother before he left for the Academy damn near seventeen years ago.

Jake just holds you there for a few minutes more, until your sniffling finally stops and you begin pulling back. He’s glad you don’t go far though, keeping your arms around his neck still as you lean back to get a proper look at him. He doesn’t comment on the redness of your eyes, but he does have to blink rapidly to stop his own prickling once again.

“God, look at you!” You say softly, not really explaining what you mean, but you’re smiling brightly, so Jake doesn't care. He sorta gets it, when he runs his eyes over you. You’d gotten a haircut since he saw a picture of you last, he thinks you might’ve changed the way you did your eye makeup. Just little things he wouldn’t have noticed had he seen them day by day, but all at once carry over to be much more noticeable.

“I’m glad you came,” he tells you honestly, leaning back in to press a quick kiss to your mouth, which turns into two quick kisses, which turns into a third, longer, more substantial one. Behind him, someone wolf whistles, and Jake can’t help the grin that covers his face when he pulls back and gets a look at your flushed features.

“Come on, lemme introduce you to these idiots, or they’ll get even more annoying.” He rolls his eyes, but really, Jake can’t get enough of the way it feels to sling his arm casually around your waist and tug you into him as he guides you back to the otherside of the yard. He smiles widely, taking immense pleasure at getting to show you off for the first time in front of his friends. He loves the way you sink into him, hand resting naturally against his sternum, the place where you are feeling like exactly the place you belong.

In fact, Jake believes so firmly that the place you belong is right by his side, he doesn’t let you leave it all night. He’d gotten a lift to Penny and Mav’s with Coyote, so he drives your car back for you, taking your hand and bringing it across the console to rest on his thigh, coving it with his own and giving it a squeeze every twenty or so seconds as he sees fit.

“Come back with me?” He’d asked before pulling out of the curb side parking, glancing over at you meaningfully. It had been you who’d squeezed his hand then, and smiled softly at him in the dark of the early evening.

“If you want me to.” You’d said to him. Considering right up until his deployment you’d been taking it slow, he understands the trust your acceptance really imparts, and feels a warmth spread through him at the mere suggestion.

It’s ironic to Jake that eight and a half months ago he would have be raring to go at your agreeing to come back to his home after a party, but now, with so much time between you and with Jake still firmly in recovery mode from his deployment, sex is really the last thing on his mind. It’s even more ironic to him that once he’s tucked your car away in his garage for the night, and dragged you inside, it’s him who puts the breaks on things escalating, something he’s fairly certain he’s never done before in his life.

“Mmphf… baby, wait, wait…” Jake hears himself say breathily, forcing himself to pull his lips away from yours entirely. He’d been kissing you the moment the front door was shut, shoving you gently against the wall so that he could really savour how you tasted after all these months, but your hands grasping at the front of his shirt, pulling him in, begging for more nearly has him giving it to you right there in his entryway. He refrains, though, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, though indulges the both of you by pressing himself into you, letting you feel his weight on top of you.

“What’s wrong?” you all but whine, brow furrowing sweetly, like perhaps you thought he wanted to stop because of something you’d done. Jake lifts his hands to cup your jaw, tilting your chin higher and plants two more less-than-chaste kisses to your already swollen lips.

“You’re not going to believe me when I say this,” Jake starts, a wry smile already pulling at his lips and he rolls his eyes at himself this time. You blink up at him questioningly. “Lets just go slow for tonight,” he says, your disbelief confirmed when you stare at him utter in confusion, your frown deepening. “Listen, darling’, I’d love to continue this line of thought you’ve got,” he can’t help but lean against you harder then, something in his abdomen stirring when your eyelids flutter and he sees you swallow thickly. “But… I’m exhausted, honey… let me just hold you, alright?”

He says the words without much question to them, knowing that you’d respect his request without thought. He’s rewarded for his honesty by you mirroring his hold on your cheeks, your own hands cupping his face as you coo.

“Jake, you don't need to entertain me if you’re tired, I can go home…!” you try to tell him, but he ends that idea with a sharp narrowing of his eyes, his hands gripping you harder.

“Baby I haven’t seen or touched you in months, I’m planning on calling you out of work sick tomorrow,” he jokes, though, the thought does strike him as actually a good idea. You laugh, and for a moment he feels slightly light headed because of it.

When he regains himself again, he drops his lips back to yours slowly and maybe a little too hotly, but he doesn’t regret it. “Come on,” he says eventually, tugging you from against the wall, but keeping the line of your body flush to his. “Let's go to bed baby.”

–

You wake in the early hours of the morning with a small start. At first you don’t recognise your surroundings, which makes your sleepy brain panic, but a few seconds later, a dim light to your left reminds you of where you are and who you’re with.

You peel your eyes open and find Jake lying next to you, his head resting in his palm as he leans up on his pillow, phone in hand, his brightness turned all the way down you suspect. You wake further upon realising he’s wide awake, and clearly has been for some time, but at feeling you begin to stir, the arm he still has draped around you tightens, like he’s trying to soothe you in your sleep. He looks up from his phone then, and it makes your heart flutter something wild that even when he thinks you’re asleep he’s remaining attentive.

“Shh, close your eyes baby,” he whispers, clearly not realising you were fully conscious now. You shuffle closer though, curling into his side, and using the opportunity to take him in fully. Jake always looked beautiful, and you aren’t shocked to discover he was even more so at this hour of the day, with his hair completely mussed from your earlier making out, and his features totally relaxed in a way you’re almost certain you’ve never seen before.

“Why’re you awake?” you ask with a yawn. Jake sighs and runs his hand up and down your back a few times.

“Did I wake you up?” he replies, frowning. You shake your head and stifle another yawn.

“What’re you doin’?” you try again. Jake puts his phone down, tucking it under his pillow.

“Lookin’ up mattresses,” he tells you, pulling you in closer, so you’re facing one another. Neither of you raise your voices above a whisper, and despite everything that has happened tonight, this moment feels more intimate than anything else.

“Jake, I wasn’t bein’ serious!” you faux-scold, but he only shrugs. His hand brushes absently over your spine again, and you’re once again surprised by just how touchy Jake has been since his return.

Before he left, the two of you had been out together a whole three times, only two dates of which had ended in brief, but breathtaking kisses, but despite that, you’d initially been a little surprised when he’d told you he was leaving for the better part of a year, and then proceeded to ask for your contact information. To be perfectly honest, you’d expected Jake to break up with you, not somewhat flusteredly explain to you that emails were the best form of regular contact at sea, and ask if it were okay if maybe he sent you some.

You reach a hand up and smooth down some of his hair. Jake leans into you and closes his eyes.

“The springs in this thing could kill someone,” he whispers, shuffling so that his knee slots between yours. “And if my bunk on the carrier is more comfortable, then I definitely need to upgrade.”

You watch him closely. Usually, in the past, you’d had trouble telling whether or not Jake was being honest with you, but for some reason right now you have absolutely zero doubt he was lying.

You suppress your smile, but only because if your emails over the last eight and half months had taught you anything, it was that Jake found it hard sometimes to be vulnerable just for the sake of it, and often hid it under the guise of other thingsv. You don’t believe him about finding his carrier bunk more comfortable, but you understand this is his way of making room for you, asking you in his own way to stay, much like his asking for your email had been all those months ago now.

Jake shifts and peeks one eye open at you.

“Maybe we can go to the store tomorrow,” he says lightly. You hum, and try not to give your insight away.

“The weekend perhaps? I don’t finish until late tomorrow,” you tell him, only for his head to begin shaking.

“Nope, not working tomorrow,” he insists, at last opening both his eyes when you can’t help but giggle.

“Oh, you were being serious!” you laugh, just as Jake draws you closer, so his breath ghosts over your lips teasingly.

“I won’t be so tired in the morning… and maybe you can help me test out the new mattress.” his voice is low and sends a thrill down your spine at his implication.

“Well, I can’t let you test it out on your own…” you concede, just as he leans in and presses a kiss to your jaw, shaking his head.

“After eight months of ‘testing it on my own’, that would just be cruel.”

You can't help but laugh, scrunching up your nose and lightly smacking his chest. Jake grins, and kisses another spot along your jaw, higher this time, making you barely suppress a shiver. He chortles to himself and adjusts his positioning to wrap an arm around you. You settle in against his chest and for a few minutes the two of you just lay in comfortable silence.

“I want you to be comfortable here,” Jake whispers eventually, making you pull back a little to look up at him. He’s still referencing your much earlier comment about his old mattress, but you really had been mostly joking.

“As long as you’re here, I will be.” you tell him  in just as quiet of a whisper. Jake shuffles, and shifts his eyes away from you, to look somewhere over your head.

“But I’m not always here…” he says even quieter than before, still not looking at you. You want to question why you would be at his house when he was away, but it strikes you then, that perhaps in the future, that's exactly what he wants.

You pull back even more, but only so you can cup his cheeks and force him to look back down at you. Kissing his lips briefly, you lean in and brush the tip of his nose with yours.

“Then let's go mattress shopping in the morning.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

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.

[kat-mobile]

Hi! I saw that your requests were open so I'll just drop this off here ~

Jake seresin and female reader just with some morning fluffy type cuddle stuff - maybe a little spice if you're comfortable with it !

ty<3

Do you think we'll be in love forever?

A/N: When I tell you that I used to be obsessed with this man, like full on obsessed. Once in summer 2022 I spent 12 hours on tumblr reading jake seresin fanfic 😭. To my anons I am working on all your tommy shelby requests, I just did this one first because it's my first Jake request and I love him very much!! Hope you like it ❤️❤️

You were rudely pulled from your beauty sleep by the shrill ring of Jakes alarm, the clock on your nightstand showing it to be 5am, way too early for anyone in their right mind to be getting up. Sadly though, your boyfriend was not in his right mind as he actively chose to get up at this absurd time everyday to get to the gym before making his way to base. You groaned, rolling over and away from the clock to bury your face into your pillow and block out the noise as he reached over you to turn it off. At least he actually woke up today, he has a terrible habit of sleeping through alarms, always the extremely loud and early ones. He had to slap the top of the clock a few times but eventually the room fell quiet again and you prepared yourself to be pushed away so he could get up to dress and leave.

However, this morning he surprised you by pulling you close and winding his arms tighter around your waist, lowering his head down and smushing his nose into the crown of your head whilst he was at it. San Diego was hot this time of year and lying flush with the human furnace that is Jake Seresin was not helping, but you didn't have it within you to move, letting your pleasure overshadow your discomfort. It wasn't long before you started to drift off back into a state of sleep, safe and content in Jakes arms, but the pilot quickly grew bored. Humming a tune into your messy bed head and gently tapping along to a beat only he could hear against your hip bone, he finds ways to pass the time, always having to be doing something, always has to be moving.

Jake is someone who likes a schedule, he likes to know what he's doing and when he's doing it, it helps to ease the stress of the job. But if jake is skipping his daily routine of leaving you to lay in a cold bed in favour of the gym... well let's just say you're not complaining.

You know that soon enough Jake will still have to leave your carefully crafted bubble, needing to arrive at Base for half 6, but you push that thought to the back of your mind and shift your body to twist to face him. Keeping your eyes firmly shut but leaning up and stretching your neck to pepper little, soft kisses along the underside of his jaw, you bring a hand up to ghost along his side, returning his embrace. Kissing upwards until you finally meet his lips, legs intertwining with his, a lazy smile stretches across his face. He has to get up in roughly less than twenty minutes but for now he's more than happy where he is, holding you close and slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, being lulled by the sound of your gentle breathing. 

[chaepink]

Embarassing... | sub!kenma kozume

wc: 460+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, dry humping, teasing

note : i feel like this isn't that good cause I didn't know how to end it

"S-stop its embarrassing." You smile at the red boy who was trying to cover his face with his hands.

"Aw baby, what's embarrassing? The fact that you're rutting on my thigh like a bitch in heat or the fact that we're doing this in the locker room where anyone can walk in and see us? Oh! Or is it that you're clearly hard from that tent in your pants?" You say, in feigned confusion, watching the poor boy turn even redder from your teasing and vulgar words.

He whines as you giggle. It was so easy to tease the guy and you almost felt bad. Almost.

"Come on, use your words and tell me." With a thigh between his legs that kept on moving, your hands tightly gripping his waist, and his back to the lockers, it was like he was trapped. With no idea how to get out of the situation, he peeks through his hands but quickly closes them again right as he saw the domineering look on your face.

"E-everything," he sputters, hands still covering his face. "Everything?" You raise an eyebrow. "Really? Then why are you so hard? And don't think I haven't noticed you speed up, don't you dare cum without permission." You say the last part with such strictness, it makes Kenma even hornier if that was even possible.

A whimper leaves him as he slows down. He's about to open his mouth to beg until footsteps are heard outside the door.

"Kenma? Are you still in the locker room? It's been 10 minutes."

You abruptly stop and look at the door, making Kenma whine from the abrupt stop of pleasure. Right as he starts to reply, an idea sparks in your head and you quickly move his hips against your thigh, in a sharp, rapid motion.

'Yeah i'm- hmph!" He tries to send you a glare but you can't help but giggle quietly because the glare doesn't look menacing at all. It really just looks as if he's pleading for you to stop. "Just looking for my ah- m-my water bottle!"

"Oh okay well be quick, practice is about to start." You hear the footsteps leave and you grin at Kenma.

"You know what actually? Let's finish this up quickly so we can finish this at home."

"B-but what about practice?" You coo at your boyfriend. He really does love volleyball if he's worried about skipping practice right when he's humping your thigh.

"Kenma, baby." Your boyfriend blushes at the sudden pet name.

"You won't be able to walk for a while when I deal with you at home plus they'll see us leave the locker room and guess exactly what happened in here. So let's get out of here while we can, okay?"

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[seeingivy]

you're losing me

satoru x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: based on a request I received! i've been trying to get back into the writing groove since finals ended - and this very detailed request was exactly what I needed - so ty my sweetie pie <3

--

“Would you guys like to order?” 

You swallow hard, looking up at your waiter, who has stopped by for the third time now. You’ve been sitting here with the first years for almost forty-five minutes now, waiting for Satoru to arrive for the dinner that you two kept promising them. Yuuji and Nobara have all but exhausted the free bread supply while you waited, much to Megumi’s dismay, who keeps claiming that they’re going to be too full to eat their dinner and complain about it for days. 

“Um-” 

You pause, checking his location one more time, before you sigh and give a polite smile. Satoru’s location still isn’t reading - meaning, he’s still stuck on his mission - and not coming to dinner. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” you respond, gesturing for the three of them as Megumi starts narrating everyone’s order to the waiter.

The three of them turn to you - with matching stiff smiles - when he walks away as you swallow hard and prepare yourself for the awkward barrage of comments you know are coming. 

“He’s not coming?” Megumi asks. 

“Yeah. He’s still at his mission and I have to take you guys back early anyways, so we’ll just eat without him.” 

“Maybe you can take something for him to go?” Yuuji asks. 

“No, that’s alright. Um, his dinner from yesterday should still be there. He’s good.” you respond. 

You don’t miss the look that the three of them give each other and swallow down the defense of him that you always have prepared. Not that you don’t still vehemently believe in it, because you do, it’s just that it tends to make those prolonged, pitying looks last longer when you do. 

But Satoru really is busy. There’s no one like him - he quite literally changed the balance of life as anyone knew it when he was born - so of course there are certain missions that only he can do. And there’s a certain…safety that comes with picking Satoru each time. Because they know that he’ll come out on the other side of it, with exactly what they need. 

Which means that he comes home late sometimes. Despite your best efforts to stay up - which always end with you upright on the couch, with your neck curved in a weird way - only to find that you’re safely tucked into your bed the next morning. 

Satoru always comes home at some point, making sure to tuck you into bed, but has to run off so fast that you don’t catch him in the morning. 

“Gojo-sensei’s really neglecting you, huh?” Nobara utters, earning a jab from Megumi in his side. 

You smile. 

“No. He’s just busy.” you respond, awkwardly breaking the bread in your plate. 

“You’re right. He has missions and has been really hands on with the second-years.” Megumi responds. 

You shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Exactly! Especially since they’re all about to be nominated for first grade sorcerers so…now is more important than ever.” you add. 

“It’s okay. You should just make Gojo-sensei feel really bad. Isn’t he rich? Then he’ll buy you a nice ring to make up for it.” Nobara adds, giving you a wink. 

You snort. 

“Okay, Nobara. I’ll try it.” you scoff. 

“No, seriously! He should feel bad - you’re probably drinking wine alone at night, blasting some sad songs before you get so tired from crying that you fall asleep. You deserve a gift!” Nobara adds, earning her another jab from Megumi in her side. 

You roll your eyes. 

“I do not blast sad songs before I go to bed. That’s actually pathetic.” you respond. 

“Or therapeutic. I’ll send you a playlist. Trust me, you’ll get so mad that you’ll actually get a gift from him out of it.” Nobara responds, your phone beeping in your pocket from her message. 

You look over at Megumi, giving him a knowing look, before you return to your dinner and let Nobara target her incessant rambling for someone else. At the end of the dinner, Nobara flashes you a big smile when you set Satoru’s credit card down on the table, which was an accident because you had just left yours at home. You settle down her rambling by buying them all dessert on it before you send them home. 

--

Satoru, though he would never admit it out loud, had been dreading coming home for the past week. And he’d wring his own neck out a few months ago, for even thinking it, let alone the fact that he’s been entertaining the fact for the past few months. 

But what he has waiting for him when he’s coming home, leaves him with that deep seated, guilty pit in his stomach. Because he always trods into your apartment hours late, to find you curled up on the couch, having dozed off. 

Satoru knows you - too well almost - and that despite his protests, you tried your best to wait up for him every single day. His heart warms at the fact that you want to spend time with him, but it’s quickly overshadowed with guilt when he sees the dark circles under your eyes. And it makes it ten times worse when he slips out in the morning for his mission, only to see you squirming into his side of the bed, now left cold. 

And the worst part? That you can’t even bring yourself to be mad about it. Because Satoru would feel with anger, that it would be fully deserved, but your full understanding and love for him just makes his guilt a thousand times worse. Because without fail, you always leave ehim a dinner plate out, reminding him to eat his vitamins and rink water before leaving. 

But today was different - quite possibly, the first time he’s rushed home in a while. Because his mission finished early and his meeting got cancelled, meaning that he would be home when you would be awake. He’d made arrangements, quickly running past and picking up a bouquet and ice cream on the way home, nearly sprinting all the way up the stairs. 

Satoru pads into the apartment, feet leading him straight to the bedroom, where the light is pouring from the bottom of the closed door. He hesitates, caught off by the fact that you’re singing, before knocking on the door together. He’d missed the sound of it, of your quiet singing that he’d often wake up to while you were showering. 

Satoru can recognize that you’re listening to Taylor Swift almost immediately - with how much you and Nobara play it around him - and he’s almost positive that you must have the cat cuddled into your nap, explaining all the lore to him like he’s found you doing hundreds of time. 

"Do something, babe, say something" (say something) "Lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "Choose something, babe, I got nothing (got nothing) To believe Unless you're choosin' me" You're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me Stop (stop, stop), you're losin' me I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore

Satoru swallows hard. He knows that it’s just a song. That the sentiment could easily not be reflecting what you’re feeling. 

But he’s also acutely aware that it could be what you’re feeling. And it’s something that you aren’t telling him, because he knows that you odn’t want to be another thing that he has to deal with at the end of the day. 

Satoru groans, leaning his head against the door, as he panders with his options. Because that’s the last thing that he wants you think. It’s the farthest place he wants to be in his relationship with you, because he wants you to always come to him. The fact that you could have been holding onto these feelings, for god knows how long, makes his stomach churn as his feet quickly lead him into the kitchen and has him scribbling a note to place in the bouquet of flowers. 

--

You shoot Nobara a text as you pad out into the kitchen, your cat following you on your heels. 

you: i like the playlist! 

nobara: how much have you had to drink? 

you: i did not drink. and i am not sad. 

nobara: now who said that? projecting much…

You roll your eyes as you half debate opening up the dinner you had left out for Satoru last night or ordering takeout and leaving him leftovers to eat tomorrow morning 

“I already ordered us something.” 

You turn around, to find Satoru closing the space between you, the flowery smell filling your nose as his lips meet your forehead in a warm kiss. 

“Satoru. You’re home, I didn’t even…” 

He presses his lips firmly against yours, his right hand flesh as your cheek, sending a wave of warmth down your spine. You smile into the kiss, resting your forehead against his, as he returns a soft smile back. 

“I missed you.” he murmurs. 

You deflate, warm tears filling your eyes at his presence - bright blue eyes, the smell of his shampoo, and his warm arms around yours - as you loop your arms under his and dig your face into his neck. You can feel him leaving a few pecks in your hair, his voice soothing as you try your best to will away your tears. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry, I just really missed you.” 

He pulls back, giving you a warm smile, as he reaches for the flowers on the counter and places them in your hands. You give him a bright smile, twisting them in your hands, as you fully inhald the flowery smell. 

“For you.” Satoru responds, in a sing song voice as he reaches forward to pinch your cheek. 

“You didn’t have to, love.” you respond, swiping the tiny little envelope from the bouquet. 

“Yes. I did.” he deadpans, placing his hands on your shoulder before swinging you around and placing you flesh against his chest. 

You open up the little envelope to find a little note inscribed with his messy handwriting, as his lips find their way to your cheek. 

My sweet girl, 

Your endless empathy and patience don’t go unnoticed. You’re far more than I deserve and I want to make it up to you, though I’m sure I’ll probably spend the rest of my life doing that, if you’ll let me. 

We’re going to go away, just the two of us, for a little while. I don’t care where we go, you can choose where we go and what we do tomorrow. Just know, that in earnest, I’m choosing you, even if I don’t make it clear all the time. 

I’ll choose you, always. 

Love, 

Satoru

You smile hard, twisting around, so you can look up at him. The tears are flowing from your eyes tenfold how, as Satoru lifts his hands to your cheeks, trying to push you into smiling. 

“Why are you frowning, princess?” 

“You’re so sweet, Satoru.” 

Satoru shakes his head dismissively, as he pushes you into his embrace fully, increasing the pressure of his hold around you. The two of you stand there in the kitchen for a while, softly murmuring to each other, in the pale light of the kitchen. 

When you and Satoru pad into bed later that night, you send Nobara another message before going to sleep. 

you: nvm. remind me to take ur advice more often.

--

an, again: no one crucify me I haven't written anything for like a month

the satoru as taylor swift series masterlist

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