#boys have asked me out before. at a total shock to me of course... it's just as difficult to imagine anyone being interested in me

[shoechoe]

other people experiencing attraction/romance really does blindside me sometimes. i'll just be minding my own business in my friend group and then two of them will start showing obvious romantic affection or be like "by the way we're dating" and it'll be like... huh i totally forgot romance was a thing that happens in real life

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 08:12 A.M 」

based on a suggestion! a bit short and i ran out of gojo headers :') i think i've used all them up...

a part of gojo's love entries

“why me not here?”

on one fine morning, your three-year-old son, perched on satoru’s lap, pointed at one picture during your wedding day in the album and dropped the question curiously.

“hmm, why, you ask?” satoru’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “heh. that’s because you weren’t invited. booo.”

your toddler son turned to him with wide eyes as if betrayed, shocked. “...why?”

“we ran out of invitations for you, kiddo. sorry~”

“...” your son, all with his white hair and blue eyes, looked conflicted for one minute straight, before his eyes went glassy. the very sight got satoru almost crack up.

“hey minion, don’t fry your brain over it,” he chuckled, pinching both his cheeks.

his pumpkin merely glared back at him before focusing back on the album. “evil papa!” he accused, pursing his lips into a huge pout. “what papa and mama do...?”

satoru glanced at the picture of you in your traditional kimono, smile forming in his face. “well, i married mama then.”

“what is marry?”

hmm, now that was unexpected. “well...”

“why marry?”

pressed for a decent answer but failed to find any, he blurted the first thing that popped up in his mind. “to... produce you, of course.”

“huh...?” your boy's eyes positively lit with total confusion, staring back at him with so much incredulousness.

“well, simply because it’s wrong to produce you if we are not married~”

“...” your baby son didn't understand, that much is clear with the frown in his little face, and satoru really thought he would question him further until—

“mamaaa!” he bolted out of his grasp and ran to find you. satoru immediately followed him suit in half-panic.

meanwhile, you were about to check out your cart in the online shopping platform in the living room when your son crashed himself to you. “oh my god, what did papa do to you this time?” you caught him and pulled him to your lap, somewhat surprised that his eyes welled with tears.

“papa, bad!”

“yes baby, we know that already.”

“papa said... papa and mama marry to produce!”

your eyes widened in surprise when you heard your innocent baby, and you immediately shot an irked glance at your stupid husband as he approached both of you with a snarky smile.

“he always tells on me, hmph,” he puckered his lips in defiance. “what i told him is true though, i have to marry you first to put him in the oven, no?”

you couldn't believe what he said in front of your three-year old, and were about to sentence his punishment when he suddenly pressed an index finger to your lips, silencing you.

“no, no! you can’t couch me tonight! why? because i’m paying for your cart!”

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙🎀 ̟ calling them "pretty boy"

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | ot7

──Pairing: enha ot7 x afab!reader

──Genre: fluff (might make an nsfw ver if its requested)

──Synopsis: You call your boyfriend a new nickname to see their reaction

──A/N: I'M BACK!! AND I HAVE MANY STORIES TO POST

masterlist

"Hey, pretty boy!"

이희승 | Heeseung

"Hey, pretty girl." He called back, throwing you off and causing a faint blush to spread across your cheeks. Silence followed as the words got stuck in your throat. "What's wrong? Why are you not talking anymore?"

"It's nothing. Nevermind." You turned away and began to leave the room before Hee stopped you.

"No, no, go on. What did you come here to tell me." He smiled innocently, resting his chin on his palm.

You fiddled with your fingers, looking everywhere but at the boy in front of you. He was totally teasing you. "I told you it was nothing, Hee."

"Ohhhh you're saying that because I ruined your plans." He chucked, leaning back in his chair. "Start over. I won't mess up your script this time." He smiled, obviously trying to fluster you.

It was working.

박종성 | Jongseong

"Me?" He asks with uncertainty, furrowing his brows.

"Yeah, who else would I be talking about?" You tilted your head, chuckling slightly.

"Don't be silly." He scoffed, smiling to himself. It wasn't a happy kind of smile though.

"What do you mean!? I'm being so serious Jay!" You smack his shoulder lightly. "You're my pretty boy!"

"Alright." He laughs it off again.

"Stop laughing! I'm not joking!" You wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. "You're the one and only pretty boy, got it?"

"Okay, fine. Thank you baby." He gives you a genuine smile this time before kissing your forehead lightly.

심재윤 | Jaeyun

You call out to Jaeyun from the kitchen where you have a clear view of where he's seated in the livingroom. When he hears you call, his ears seem to perk up like a puppy.

"Huh? You mean me?" He asks genuinely, pointing to himself.

"Yes, silly." You giggle as if it were obvious you were talking about him.

"I'm pretty boy?" he asks again, unsure if you really mean it. Your heart throbs as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"Yes, Jae. Now come here. I need to show you something." You wave your hand, signaling for him to come to the kitchen. He happily obliges, getting up from the couch and nearly skipping toward you with his iconic grin.

Later, he would brag to the others that he was your "pretty boy."

박성훈 | Sunghoon

You call Hoon but receive no answer. His back is facing you as he sits on the couch, scrolling on his phone. You know he can hear you so you assume he's ignoring you.

"Ya! I'm talking to you, pretty boy."

"Well I'm not 'pretty boy.' I'm 'hot and handsome man.'" He says nonchalantly, not even bothering to turn toward you.

"Alright, don't stroke your own ego." You turn your back to him, ready to walk away.

"Hey! Fine! I'll be 'pretty boy'" he says, mumbling the last part.

You give a small 'yay' before running up to the couch and leaning over the back of the couch to kiss his forehead.

김선우 | Sunoo

"Yesss~? That's me!" Sunoo beamed, grinning brightly.

"Can my pretty boy get me my toner pads?" You call from your bathroom.

"Of course your pretty boy can." He immediately gets up to get your toner pads for you. Hr brings them to the bathroom where you are doing your skincare routine.

"Thank you, Noo. You're the best pretty boy ever." you smile, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I know! I'm the cutest!" He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Now, do you want your pretty boy to help you with your skincare?"

양정원 | Jungwon

"What?"

"You heard me." Jungwon just stares at you in shock at your sudden words. This was a new nickname to him. The tips of his ears had turned pink. "What's wrong, pretty boy?"

"Stop saying that." He grumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

"Stop saying what, pretty boy?" You giggled knowingly, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Suddenly, a pillow is being hurled straight at your head.

"Ya! I said stop calling me that! It's embarrassing" All you did was laugh at him.

니키 | Niki

Niki tilts his head in confusion, pointing to himself.

"Yes, you. You're pretty boy."

He scoffs, coming up to wrap an arm around your shoulders. "You're prettier, baby" You throw his arm off your shoulder and look at him with astonsihment.

"What!? No! You are!'

Niki laughs lightheartedly "That's impossible because you're the prettiest." He smirks victoriously.

"Fine, then you're ugly boy." You huff, folding your arms over your chest and turning away from him.

"You're uglier." Silence follows his remark. "I'm sorry, you're not ugly, you're so pretty, baby" He's quick to hug you from behind.

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[nathaslosthershit]

A Much Needed Interview (OP81)

(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.

“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.

‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.

“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”

“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”

“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”

“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time. 

“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”

“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.

“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.

“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”

“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.

“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”

“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”

“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”

“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”

“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”

“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”

“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.

“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”

“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”

The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family. 

Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancée rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.

Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.

“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.

“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?” 

In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.

Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.

[reysdriver]

i need more dad James 🫣🫣🫣🫣

James comes home from a trip to the farm supply store with a wild surprise — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little bit of fighting but it's absolutely not angsty, some parental nervousness ig

words: 1.3k

a/n: I need more of him too lol (I'm gonna use this ask to test out my new au tho so I hope you're ok with that <3)

James came home right when you were starting to prepare dinner, much to the joy of you and both your children. You scooped up your baby girl from her play mat on the ground, then right on cue, your toddler showed up at your side, rushing to the front door with you. 

“I guess you heard the door too, Haz?” You asked your son, holding out your hand for him to take.

As he looked up at you and nodded, he took your free hand so that the three of you were all going together to see James. 

Once you saw your husband at the door, all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach that still hadn’t flown away even after all these years. But then, you noticed how he was leaving very little space between him and the door as he closed it, and how he was covered in little strands of fur even though he was just running a few quick errands. 

Before you could even ask him about it, he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It took you a bit of time to register what was even happening, but as soon as you started to melt into the kiss, James pulled away and flashed you a sweet smile. 

He then bent down to greet both Ivy on your hip and Harry standing beside you. 

“I have a surprise for you and the kids.” James said, mostly excited with a hint of guilt. 

You raised an eyebrow at your husband. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged and touched the door handle, ready to open it. “I can’t really tell you. It’s better if I show you.”

He opened the front door to reveal a ridiculously small horse standing fifteen feet away from you and tied up to the bannister outside. 

It was half your size and incredibly fluffy. You had to resist going over to pet it just because you were so in shock at the fact that your husband came home from the farm supply store and surprised you with a whole horse—or maybe just a third of a horse, based on its size.

A thousand and one thoughts raced through your head but before you could make sense of any of them, Harry giggled loudly and began to run towards the horse in front of you all. 

Panicking, you called your son back and walked him back to the porch. You used your free hand to hold him tightly against your thigh so he wouldn’t run back the animal James just surprised you with. 

“You bought a pony on a whim?” You asked your husband. 

“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “She’s a miniature horse. They’re totally different. The guy I bought it from told me all about them!”

Of course. Now that the horse’s title is settled, everything is fine. 

“James, we need to speak in private. Stay here.” 

His face flushed. He knew you were mad because you almost never called him by anything other than your various pet names for him unless you were upset. 

You then ushered Harry back inside the house to the living room, where you set Ivy back down on her play mat. 

“Play with your sister for a minute, Haz. If she gets fussy at all, you can come get me outside, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, sitting down next to the one year-old. “Can we play with the pony soon?”

You exhaled, unsure of how to respond. “Your dad says it’s a miniature horse, not a pony. And maybe, if you’re good.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that, so you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and walked back outside, where you found your husband looking extremely guilty as he awaited your return. 

Once you closed the door behind you, he immediately tried to make the situation better. 

“Lovie, I knew you’d be reluctant about all of this, but I swear I can explain—”

“You bought a horse, James! You were only supposed to be going out for a new shovel and some paint, then you come back with a horse?!”

 “Well, I got the other stuff, too, it’s just in the truck. I just got to talking with a man at the supply store and he said he was selling some of those cuties right out of his horse trailer in the parking lot.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “How much did it cost?”

“Not much at all! The guy was selling them for bottom dollar ‘cause he’s moving soon and needs ‘em gone!” James rested his hand on your upper arm and stroked lightly. His voice softened, and so did his expression. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have bought her if we couldn’t afford her. I’m always thinking about our family.”

You were trying real hard not to look into your husband’s pretty eyes because you knew the second you did, you would have no choice but to give in. You stared at the porch swing, the miniature horse, the chicken coop, anything but James. 

And he could clearly tell you weren’t convinced just yet, so he kept going.

“Look, I know we got rid of most of the animals before Harry was born, but those were the more unstable ones, and that was back when we were nervous about everything. Now we’re more experienced, and she’s just the sweetest thing.”

You exhaled, peeking through the window to check on Harry and Ivy playing on the living room carpet. 

“They’re just babies, Jamie.” 

He bit back a smile at the use of his nickname, letting him know you were warming up to the idea. 

“Harry’s already three, love.” He removed his hand from your arm and gestured at himself. “I was just barely older than him when I started riding the real horses, and now look at me!”

He smiled and posed with open arms, which in turn made you smile. 

“I love looking at you.” You said sincerely. “You’re the best.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You giggled, then pulled him in for a kiss. And not just one to distract like when he first came home. A real kiss, and a good one too.

When you pulled away, you left your hands where they were and caressed softly. 

“Next time you want to do something extravagant for the kids like this, talk to me about it first, okay? If you kiss me enough, I’ll say yes to anything.” 

James raised an eyebrow, insinuating things that made you glad the kids were inside. 

Your jaw dropped in mock stun. “Not like that, Jamie! What do you take me for?!” 

The two of you both laughed, and he pulled you in for a sweet hug. “My wife, the mother of my incredible kids, the love of my life. I could go on.”

You would have claimed he was just flattering you as an apology for buying the horse, but you had already told him he could keep it. Plus, he says things like that far more than he had ever bought something crazy and needed forgiveness. 

“So I can go introduce the kids to the horse for real now?” 

Your gaze moved over to the animal a few feet away from you, and you nodded as a response to your husband’s question. 

“As long as you have a saddle for that thing.”

He grinned, then kissed your nose quickly before darting away. “Thank you! It’s in the truck! I love you!”

You laughed to yourself, and shook your head amusedly while you walked towards the miniature horse that you now owned. 

“Hi there, sweetheart.” You greeted, brushing her mane with your fingers. “Welcome to the family. James there can be a bit daft, but I think you’ll like it here.”

[hughiecampbelle]

Supe Preference: Asking You Out

Requested: hi, idk if you write for the supes, but I will try request anyway :D how would the supes ( the boys series) ask a gn reader out? Ty - anon

A/N: I hope this is okay my love! I tried to stay true to character as much as possible, so I'm not sure how romantic some of them are. I tried writing for new Supes too, at least new for me, so apologies if it's not totally in character! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Homelander doesn't exactly ask you out. Rather, on live TV during an interview or event, he grabs your hand and proclaims that you're in love, that you're a couple. Whether or not you're into him, it still comes as a shock. Afterwards he'll ask you on a date where the public and paparazzi can see and take pictures. It's not as intimate as you'd like, but the date goes well. He takes you to an expensive restaurant where you've gotten rid of your suit for something classy and elegant, but he sticks with his regular attire. It's definitely not how you were expecting to be asked out or how you thought your relationship would progress. Ashley thinks it's great! You are both insanely powerful and, for selfish reasons, she wants Homelander off her back. She appreciates that you'll take some of the attention off her.

The Deep probably makes more than a few inappropriate, crude, raunchy jokes about and around you before he properly introduces himself. It's almost compulsive the way his jokes come out. He just can't help himself. He later apologizes and asks to start fresh. Would you want to go out on a date with him? When you say yes, he instantly tells you about all his ideas. You could go to the aquarium or to dinner or to the amusement park or coffee or whatever you want to do. You stick to coffee. It's pretty cute how excited he is. He wasn't expecting you to say yes, so he really didn't have it planned all the way through. He was expecting, like everyone else in his life, for you to call him stupid and move on without answering.

A-Train and you have been dating forever, but you haven't been out on a date in ages. He's still shy trying to ask you out even now. Of course you say yes, excited you'll get some time alone. You might have to reschedule once or twice because Homelander is on the rampage, but when you do get together, he takes you rollerskating. Despite how fast he is in sneakers, he's awful on wheels. He holds your hand the entire time and definitely drags you down when he falls. He stays pretty casual in his clothes and tries to keep his hood up, but it just falls down. You guys find a roller-rink in the middle of nowhere, so you're pretty safe in being discovered. You make fun of his clumsiness and check him for bruises when he falls, especially hard. He makes the same joke over and over: that he "fell" for you. You think he's an idiot, but this is by far one of your most favorite dates.

Queen Maeve asks you out over text. When you say yes, she shows up in her civilian clothes. She makes sure she isn't followed and that Homelander is distracted the entire day. She takes you to the movies. It's dark and secluded, but she knows you love movie theater popcorn specifically with all the butter and the blue raspberry slushies, and you picked the only movie not funded by or produced by Vought. It's a really terrible comedy, but you two can laugh at it anyway. Maeve even holds your hand during the movie which makes her heart beat out of her chest. Afterwards she makes you stay after to kiss you and tell you she had a really great time. It's the first time in forever where she's felt like a real person whose allowed to do real person things. She wants to get your read on it, but you're both excited for a second date.

Firecracker would ask you on a date to some fast food restaurant where you can get the best greasy food and the thickest milkshakes. She'll definitely be sported because she doesn't go incognito and ends up spending a few minutes at least taking pictures and videos for everyone who wants one. She apologizes for them, but secretly, she loves it. You don't mind. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to the date. She tells you about her life growing up and her past with Starlight. You tell her about your own life and how you came to New York to follow your dreams. She tells you about joining The Seven and what she really thinks of Vought. It isn't the most magical date, but you're glad you said yes. It made you feel like a teenager again, getting food with your old crush, trying to play it cool when you're actually freaking out.

Soldier Boy doesn't really ask you out on a date. You two *get busy* in bed and afterwards he asks if you'd want to go to a bar. You say yes and find yourself at a local hole in the wall, a place that definitely doesn't see new faces. Most of the patrons are as old as Ben would be if he'd aged. He looks so familiar to them, but they can't figure out where he's from. An old friend? An old co-worker? Regardless, they don't pay attention to the two of you. You and Ben start trying to out drink one another and though his tolerance is astronomically higher than yours, you keep up enough to impress him. You two probably go back to bed and keep drinking, sharing stories about your lives between sweaty sheets and shared sips of whatever booze he has lying around. It's not too official, but you both kind of think of it as a date.

Bonus! Annie asks you to go bowling with her. Like in the show, she plays it off like she's not very good until you point it out to her. That's when she starts kicking your ass. She's really embarrassed and worried that you'll think she's showing off or just trying to make you feel bad, but you love it. You love her strength. You love her showing off and almost breaking the pins with the ball. You get really awful bowling alley food and beers, and it's a really fun night despite all the drama that comes with being Starlight. It's the first time in a long time she's felt normal and safe and excited to be here, excited to be herself. You're not shy about asking for a second date, though you know you're risking a lot by wanting to be with her. She makes that known before anything else.

[imraespace]

SLEEPING OVER ! - having a sleepover with them

THIS includes : fanfiction genre: fluff, crack NOTE: a sneaky break from writing rin shshshs

PAIRINGS: ISAGI, NAGI WORD COUNT: 1.3k, 1.3k, (2.6k in total)

ISAGI YOICHI sleepover during a storm.

"Are you sure your parents are okay with this?"

Your words caught Yoichi off guard, too deep into his snack, the sudden voice broke his concentration.

The couple was currently out on a date and the sudden thought came into Yoichi's mind,

"Wanna sleep over tonight?"

"Huh?"

It was most certainly out of the blue, but who are you to turn down your boyfriend? You agreed to his proposal but no matter how many times he tells you that it will be okay, that thought in the back of your head can't seem to leave you alone.

Your worried face came into his view as he looked up from his snack to focus on you. The afternoon sun made home onto your face, blinding you a bit but it didn't bother you that much it seems. Before, you two were taking strolls here and there during the day but decided to take a rest at the local park, not many children were around anyways.

In your point of view, his half-eaten popsicle came into your field of vision, causing you to look up and was greeted with his comforting smile.

"Of course they will be okay with it, I already told them about you maybe once or twice.."

"You did!?" You blurted out.

You heard a small laugh coming from the male in front of you as your cheeks grew a bit warm from embarrassment.

"You're worried over my parents, have you told yours?" He asked.

Oh right..

"I.. forgot.. They would be okay with it anyways.. if I lie." You confessed, muttering the last part.

"Huh?"

"Nothing.."

He stared at you for a bit, taking in the small moment. His eyes shifted to the phone in your hand, watching as you searched for your mother's contact.

To pass time, Yoichi checked his phone as well and noticed a notification from his mother.

[4:09 P.M.] there are mentions of a storm soon, please come home soon!

A storm? He thought about it for a bit then turned to face you.

"There's a storm coming." You brought up, catching him off guard.

"Did you read my mind?"

"Huh?" You looked over at your boyfriend, accidentally locking eyes with him.

"No, my mom just told me." You simply said.

"Same with mine, can you come over?"

You nodded at his words but then dropped some news.

"She told me to not come home right now, she's scared I might get caught up in the storm.." You muttered, causing Yoichi's eyebrow to raise in confusion.

"Does she not know that you won't have any clothes?" He asked.

"..I told her I'm going over to a friend."

"..."

You huffed at his silence, rolling your eyes and then looked up at the sky.

"You think she will let me go if I told her it was a boy? And on the same day as well?"

"Well.." He muttered, having nothing to back him up.

"I can go, that's all that matters, right?"

"I mean, yeah.. But next time don't lie to your mom!"

"Yeah okay, I won't."

He, too, looked up at the sky, noticing that the afternoon sun that rested on your face is now slowly being blocked by gray clouds.

"Shall we go?" He asked.

You nodded at his words, gathering your belongings with the help of the boy beside you, mostly him taking everything.

Soon, you both made it to his house and his parents were the first thing you were greeted with as soon as you entered the household. You took in the shocked expressions and then Yoichi got to work explaining everything.

In the end, they were okay with it and warmly welcomed you in, sadly it was all covered up by the gloomy weather.

.

.

.

And now here you are, in the middle of a thunderstorm in your boyfriend's room. You stared out of the window, watching the raindrops forcefully make their way onto it, all to just slide down to the bottom.

The opening of a door broke you out of your zone as your head turned in the direction and saw Yoichi entering with a few clothes in his hand.

"I got some of my clothes from the clean laundry, you can use them for the night." He said, walking up to you and shifted his eyes on the window besides you.

You took the items out of his hand, staring at them for a bit then back up at him.

"Thanks Yoi, if you don't mind, I'll get dressed now." You muttered, with a small smile.

He nodded at your words, taking it as a sign to give you privacy and left the room. As soon as the door closed, you walked up to his bed and placed the clothes on it then began removing yours.

Placing the clothes over your body, the thoughts flew in. Every time you think about using his clothes, it always ignites you all over your body. It's not the first time, but the feeling will never die down, no matter how many times, it just grows.

The sound of the rain banging on the roof grew louder with every raindrop, deafening you from everything else. Storms are comforting in a way, the coldness and the sound lulls you to sleep, but this storm.. seems to be a bit different.

As soon as you pulled his hoodie over your head, the power went out, leaving you in complete darkness.

"..Hello?"

You asked out as if someone would respond. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes in the darkness but then thunder was heard, causing a small yelp to leave your mouth.

"Y/n?" You heard from outside the door.

As soon as you heard the familiar voice you ran up to the door, feeling for the knob and finally opened it. You were then greeted with a figure that resembles your boyfriend.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah.." You muttered.

He sighs out a small smile understanding the situation and grabbed your hand, guiding you towards his bed. He sits you down, placing himself beside you, and then reached out for his blanket, wrapping it around you both.

Another thunder was heard, followed by a flash of lightning, scaring you yet again and this time you grabbed onto your Yoichi, shoving your face into his chest.

He wrapped an arm around you as the other holds a flashlight he brought in and decided to turn it on. The sound of the click caused you to peek out, noticing the small light in his hand.

Still, no matter what, you refuse to let go of the boy, resting your face back into the comfort of his chest. He placed the flashlight at the end of his bed and wrapped both arms around you, covering your ears using his slightly larger frame, and slightly tighten his grip around you for comfort.

.

.

The storm grew louder, no signs of dying down anytime soon. As the raindrops filled his ears, he slowly put force onto you, guiding your back onto the soft mattress and rested your head onto his pillow. He shifted his body a bit, looking down at you and made out your relaxed expression and chest slowly rising and falling.

He stared at you, there was no need to protect you from the storm, yet he felt the need to hold on, stay close and cover your ears. Even though his ears are still filled with the raging storm, staring at you gave him a peace of mind, lulling him to sleep. Soon you both were wrapped together, no longer bothered by the storm.

The forgotten flashlight in the background, the beating of the raindrops on the window, and flashes from lightning filled the small bedroom yet the couple rested comfortably in each other's hand, peacefully snoring away.

NAGI SEISHIRO playing video games with him.

".. You're going to die.. moron.."

You heard for the umpteenth time. You let out a sigh, groaning on your boyfriend's bed.

You stared at the back of his gaming chair, wishing he could magically witness your boredom and annoyance behind him, but sadly his headphones were on..

"Why invite me over if you're gonna play with your online friends.." You muttered, glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Yet again, you rolled over on his bed, burying your face in the blanket, and let out another sigh. During your wallowing moment, your ears perked up at the sound of his chair shifting.

You stole a peak, checking to see what happened this time and saw his fist up in the air? Ah wait, he's playing with his friends, he probably won the game..

But what catches you off guard is him actually turning to face you with his signature blank stare, yet this one hid something.. His eyes lingered on your frame, taking in your slumped mood.

"Y/N.. come here for a second.." He muttered.

"Hm?" The sudden request, yet the first one for the night made you waste no time following his words, pushing yourself up and off the bed and slowly making your way towards him.

He stood up from his chair, disconnected his headphones from the PC, and grabbed your arm.

"What are you doing?" You asked yet still gave him permission.

He guided you to sit on his chair leaving you even more confused as to what he's trying to do here. He spun the chair, making you face the PC.

"I'm gonna teach you how to play league.."

"HUH?!"

.

.

.

This.. isn't your first time experiencing this, in fact this isn't the first time Seishiro insisted on teaching you how to play his favorite games, but you always turn down League of Legends, only because..

"This game is too hard to learn! The controls are so different and what do you mean the characters have their own difficulty level.."

"Stop the complaining.. you'll understand it. Promise."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his pinky. Using the chair, you turned to face him with a small pout and locked pinkies but seeing your expression, he took his large hands and squished your cheeks.

"Don't pout, it will be fun."

"Okay fine.."

His hands left your face and then pointed towards the screen.

"Choose your champion."

"Erm.."

Seems like a hard decision.. and he noticed your hesitation.

"If you wanna, I can show you the easiest ones."

"Please do that.."

With the guidance given, you were able to choose a champion called,

"Vex it is, are you ready?"

"Sure.." You muttered.

You heard movements from behind and then you felt his presence, leaning onto the chair, hand reaching out to guide you but then you heard a huff from him.

"What's wrong?" You asked him.

"This chair is gonna get in my way.."

You looked up, noticing his gloomy expression and then the obvious idea popped up in your head.

"Well then.." You started, standing up and invited him to sit.

"You'll simply become my seat!"

"Oh, that's smart."

And so, he sat on the chair and invited you into his lap.

"Now this would be easier.." He muttered, pulling you both up closer to the desk and started back his teaching. But, you were so eager to invite him on the chair, that you realized how much closer he is now. So much for teaching you, you're barely gonna pay attention..

With his body so much closer this time, pressed up against you, hands over yours, guiding you and teaching you the controls, the only thing you got out of his so-called teaching is nothing but misery..

But slowly, you ignored the warm feeling, realizing why he always seemed so angry while playing this game..

.

.

.

After the entertaining teachings, he decided to let you play your first match, with his online friends who had no clue who you even were. You let him do his thing, switched the tab onto Discord, and messaged in his group chat, all while you slowly died every time he leaned in closer and closer.

Just then, the signature discord ringtone was heard, causing you to look up at the screen and stay quiet, deciding that Sei should take control now.

"What's with the sudden call, didn't you log out first?" His friend asked.

To be honest, this is the first time you've even heard them.

"Yeah, but I need you all to hop on league again." Your boyfriend confessed.

"Why?" Another one asked out.

"I'm teaching my girlfriend how to play."

After that bomb drop the call went dead silent.

.

.

"Hello?"

"What girlfriend?" One of them joked.

"My girlfriend? The one that's here right now.." Seishiro muttered.

"..Wait really?"

"Y/N.." He softly said, giving you the go-sign to finally speak.

"Um.. I'm here.."

And then yet again, a silent call.

"Can we just play..?" Sei asked.

"Oh, yeah sure."

So now, finally with a team acquired, Seishiro switched back to the game, waiting for his friends to join the lobby.

"Y/N are you ready?" He asked behind you, tilting his head towards the side to view your current expression.

"I think so.."

You couldn't see, but Seishiro held a small smile on his face, wrapping his arms around your stomach and resting his chin on your head, taking in the moment of you finally playing one of his favorite games.

He thought of you bonding with his online friends but as soon as the match started, there wasn't much bonding happening..

"Welcome to summoner's rift."

You heard, and you did just as what you were told before. Your teammates made their way to their own lanes as you made your way to mid-lane.

Slowly getting through with the minions, you met the other team's mid-laner and the chaos started, as in you died.

"What the.."

"It's okay.."

Yeah, it is.. You told yourself, pouting a bit.

Here you are again, this time you started the fight! Then died.

"..It's okay," Seishiro told you, again.

This time, his hands reached up for the mouse, placing his palm over yours and guiding your movements.

"Let's play together." He said, cheering up your gloomed mood.

"Yes please.."

Soon, the game went your way and you actually began to enjoy it. His friends, your teammates, had some words to say here or there but without Seishiro getting the say in, you talked back. Soon.. you started sounding like your boyfriend.

The way you glared at him as he bad-mouthed his teammates or cursed randomly when he died, here you are doing the exact same thing with Seishiro behind, following your same actions.

He removed his hands, letting you take the lead, and placed them back on your stomach, leaning into you as he took in the game in front of him.

Without his help, being so deep into the match, and bossing around your teammates, you won your first match ever!

Your bright smile made its way onto your face and with that, you shifted in his lap and gave him a big hug.

"Can we play again? This time I want you as my teammate." You confessed.

"We can.. You need your own account."

"I'll make one."

And with that, the night ended with you becoming a secret league player and Seishiro buying you skins for Vex and other champions you've never played, but only mentioned them once or twice.

"I had no clue your girlfriend was bossy.."

"That sucks for you." Seishiro joked, in his own way. You flashed him your bright smile as you sat on his bed, using his laptop to look through whatever skins he got you. He turned back to his monitor and simply said,

"She's not even mean.."

"Yeah right."

IMRAESPACE || MASTERLIST

[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.

[m3talmunson]

It started with babes. Babes is completely platonic right? Nothing out of the ordinary there. Eddie was known for being over dramatic, why would nicknames -or in this case, pet names- be any different?

Babes wasn't even that over the top, so why was Steve blushing like a school girl after it was said in passing?

Steve definitely knew why, although, he was going to pretend he didn't. But he knew, about himself, about Eddie. A couple months after spring break '86 Steve had a very enlightening talk with Robin about his feelings. Towards Munson. Those completely and totally platonic feelings.

And a couple weeks later, as though Eddie was so in tune with Steve's discovery, Eddie came out to Steve at a campfire with Robin and Nance. Those two had wandered off, Eddie made some comment about "Good for Robs," before realizing his mistake. That was, until Steve said "Yeah, good for Robs," and Eddie just had to ask.

"You know about her? Y'know..."

"What? Eddie? Of course! She's my best friend."

"And you're ok with it?" Eddie was kind of shocked. Great 'King' Steve wasn't going to sick the dogs on Hawkins Local Lesbian? And it seemed like he had known longer than Eddie?

"Yeah, when you survive hell and back enough it's pretty hard to hate anyone for being gay." Steve left off the part where he was also into guys. He knew Eddie was ok with that, clearly ok with Robin, but Eddie might not be ok with being the guy Steve was into.

"Oh. Well," Eddie didn't know if it was the couple beers he had downed, or his newfound safety with this big ol' group of misfits, but he was comfortable asking Steve, "What if I was like Robin too?"

"Are you?" Steve asked. He wasn't going to get his hopes up over hypotheticals, but he could admit he had feelings for the older boy. He wasn't sure what feelings to be honest,but he was figuring that out as he went. He just knew they were more than platonic.

"Well, technically I'm the opposite of Robin, y'know. Not attracted to women. But yeah, I am." Eddie stared into the camp fire, torn between hoping that it would eat him alive, or that it would simply stare back.

"Okay, thanks for trusting me." Steve responded, plain as day.

He had asked Robin, if someone were to come out to him (granted they were not just drugged by Russians), what would she have wanted to hear. And he finally got the chance to use it, seeing the way Eddie's shoulders dropped in relief.

"So you're like actually ok with it?"

"Like I said, been to hell and back with you, who you love doesn't mean a thing over that."

" Yeah," Eddie said,"But most straight guys don't like it when gay guys flirt relentlessly with them."

"We'll keep that one between us then, won't we?" Steve wasn't entirely ready to correct Eddie on the straight thing, so he just didn't acknowledge that part. He chose to ignore the blush rise on his face, blaming it internally on the heat of the fire.

He also tried to ignore that at that point, the nicknames picked up.

It started with babes. Then baby, which made Steve's brain flutter. Then sweetheart. Eddie only used that one when he wanted something, and yet Steve still loved it. Stevie was one of the fan favorites. Not really a pet name, but used just as lovingly as one. Sometimes Eddie held out the end, in a sing-song voice. Made Steve weak in the knees. Eddie knew what he was doing.

It was babe that made Steve do something about it. Eddie used sweetheart, baby, Stevie, around everyone. In front of the kids, on his various trips to Family Video (whether to buy or annoy, who knew). But babe. Babe was just for Steve and Steve alone.

So of course, the only logical order of events was for Steve to start using them back.

It started with babe, the obvious choice. Fight fire with fire, or whatever. The meaningless pet names ended with babes too.

Because after Eddie kissed Steve to shut him up, they suddenly had meaning.

[reiderwriter]

The Thought of You Leaves Me Weak 🎰

Chapter 2 of That's What You Get

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive.

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: Pushing through your hangovers, you and Spencer retrace your steps from the night before to see if your shotgun Vegas marriage is legal - and find out some extra personal things along the way.

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, author has a pronounced disinterest in the reality of getting an annulment for a Vegas wedding.

A/N: We're here! Part two! We're still stuck in Vegas for now, but they'll be back to their new normal soon, and now they have a time limit~ Thanks to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented on and signed up for the series taglist from my first post, I hope you all enjoy part two just as much!! Let me know what you think in the comments or over an ask, I'll be replying all weekend :) Here's the taglist link for anyone else who wants to sign up!

Requests are open as well, and you can find some more of my work in my masterlist.

After the initial shock wore off, and the hangover was left to permeate a bit, you and Spencer remembered you were actually FBI agents and had the ability to do something about your predicament.

“I should probably head off to my own room now,” you said pulling yourself out of Spencer’s arms. “Freshen up a bit before we head out to see what’s going on.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He nodded, then continued. “You know our first stop should probably be the Marriage License Bureau of Las Vegas. If we are legally married, we’d have had to have obtained a marriage licence between 8am and 12am yesterday, they don’t open later than that.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You nodded to him, “Would they even have served us the marriage licence if we were as intoxicated as I think we were?”

“This is Vegas, Y/N. All we’d need is a valid form of ID and to be willing, and we’d have to have been carrying the ID to get into the bars.” You raked a hand through your hair. Of course you had to get married in a shotgun ceremony in the only state where it probably didn’t matter what your alcohol intake had been.

“Well, we were obviously both willing.” You say, gesturing to the bed, and then curse yourself inwardly as you see the downturned look on Reid’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, I wouldn’t have handcuffed you without at least verbal consent.” He replied, pulling a shirt on finally.

“Right,” you let that revelation sit between the two of you, as he turns his back, continuing to get himself ready for the rest of the day. If you were honest with yourself, you’d have admitted to always having an attraction to your coworker, but nothing you’d solidly act on. Yeah, he was beautiful, and you’d enjoyed joining in the teasing everytime Morgan had called him a pretty boy, because he was. But you’d never let your thoughts drift to what he might be like in bed, and now you were regretting that because you had nothing to base your theories of the last night on except that you’d woken up in handcuffs.

Really, if someone had asked you the question about what you could possibly expect from Spencer Reid in the bedroom, the furthest you’d be able to imagine was some incredibly professional, missionary sex. If you thought a little harder, you’d remember that the man had once highlighted his distinct lack of “alpha-male” qualities on a case once, so, really, if anyone was going to be locked up in handcuffs, surely it would’ve been him.

You try to shake that mental picture from your head, but doing so just aggravates your headache, so you have to sit with the image of Spencer Reid tying you up and making you beg.

“You okay, Y/N? You look a bit pale,” he looks a little bit concerned for you when he finally turns back, and you can only imagine the look on your face if you’re eliciting that much concern.

“Yeah, yeah, totally fine, nothing’s wrong. Why are you asking?” you stutter out.

“Because you said you were going to shower five minutes ago, and you haven’t really moved all that much in that time.” You curse yourself again, and you force yourself out of your head.

“Oh! Yeah!” you move off towards the door, grabbing everything you’ve left in a trail to the door, retracing your steps from the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in like twenty minutes?” You didn’t even wait for his reply before pushing the door open and sprinting to your room, not even caring that you hadn’t put your shoes on.

–X–

If you couldn’t be trusted to make simple choices when drunk, such as the choice to not be married to your coworker, you probably also couldn’t be trusted to make simple choices when hungover, such as a place to meet your now husband where the rest of your friends wouldn’t see you in your post-sex haze from the night before.

Which is how you found yourself cowering behind a plant in the lobby desperate to avoid being spotted by Agents Rossi and Hotchner who apparently were up and in suits for some godforsaken reason. You tried to get Reid on the phone, but he wasn’t picking up, and you had a flash of him asking you how to put his phone on silent mode from the night before hit you like a tonne of bricks.

“Shit, shit.” Nothing else useful came out of you though, so behind the plant you were waiting for them to approach the elevators so you could continue as planned. While you were in the bathroom, you’d finally noticed the blooming bruises running up the length of your neck, and you found yourself slightly impressed by Reid once again.

He’d managed to tie you up but still pay that much attention to you, and you were equal parts cursing him and desperately hoping the memories would come back to see just what other secrets he was hiding behind that unassuming frame. With the lack of contraception, you really couldn’t be sure that the two of you had had sex in the traditional sense, but you certainly seemed to have had some fun last night, and not being able to remember drove you insane.

Thankfully, the two agents made their way to the elevator without noticing you, and you let out a breath of relief as soon as the elevator dinged, ready to take them as far away from you as you needed. Unfortunately, once again, anytime fate dealt you one good hand, it followed it up with the worst ever, and as the elevator doors opened, there was Reid. You made a mental note to check your bank balance after this, sure that if you had ended up gambling with Reid, you’d most likely bankrupted yourself with this luck.

“Reid, good morning,” Hotch greeted him, and even from your unconventional perch, you could hear the panic in the younger man's voice as he began struggling for excuses to answer questions that hadn’t even been asked yet.

“Hotchner, Rossi, what are you doing here? Well I know what you’re doing here, you’re waiting for an elevator, and I know what you’re doing in the hotel because we’re all here in the hotel, but I mean what are you doing? In general?” It was almost as if he were asking himself that question at the end, trying to work out why the words were even leaving his mouth.

You couldn’t swoop in and save him without the others seeing your new necklace of hickeys and handprints, so you just had to watch him combust adorably in front of the two seasoned FBI Agents.

“Calm down, kid, don’t pull a muscle in that brain of yours, it’s a highly valuable FBI asset.” Rossi joked with him as they switched places, Rossi and Hotch going into the elevator and Reid slinking out.

“Dave and I just finished breakfast. I’m afraid you may have just missed it, Spencer, but there’s a buffet on the third floor that’s supposedly open all day.” Hotch said.

“Actually, I think food isn’t a great idea for me right now.”

“Oh, wild night, kid? No, wait, let me guess, you tracked down a Star Wars convention?”

“I’m more of a fan of Star Trek myself, you know the technology they appeared to have on screen in the show is really fascinating in that it’s-”

“Oh, how unfortunate, door’s closing. See you later, kid.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you watched the elevator climb up to the higher floors of the accommodation and left your perching spot.

“Spencer, over here.” You waved to him a little, and he turned to the sound of your voice, visually relaxing the moment he set his eyes on you.

“You don’t think they noticed I’m acting weird, right?”

“Reid, everytime you mention anything remotely pop-culture-y to Rossi he does his best to erase the conversation from his brain, okay? And Hotch looks like he hasn't slept in a decade. I’m sure they didn’t notice anything.”

“What? I thought Rossi loved our talks, he always says that I’m a riveting conversationalist.”

You just nodded along with him and patted his arm pitifully, leading him out of the lobby and into the waiting streets of Las Vegas, Nevada.

–X–

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting outside of the Marriage License Bureau, waiting to see if your fate was sealed.

“Okay, so what’s our strategy?” you asked, removing your seatbelt and moved to open your door, jumping out of the SUV you’d commandeered from the parking garage.

“Strategy? Why do we need a strategy?” Reid joined you quickly, exiting from the passenger side, satchel in hand.

“Well, I mean, what are we going to ask them, what are we going to do when we’ve found out if this is real or a hoax or not.”

“Y/N, I think you’re overthinking this. This is Nevada, I’m sure they’re used to any questions we might have.” You took a deep breath looking at the doors of the building and tried to rationalise your thoughts. You were going to be fine, it’s just a marriage, nothing too big.

Pushing the doors open, you were floored by the sheer amount of couples on the premises.

“Shit.” You’d cursed more in the last four hours than you had in the last year, almost beginning to worry that it was becoming a habit.

“Please take a number and wait for your turn to be called, our current waiting time is three and a half hours. If you leave the premises at any point, your place will be forfeited,” a bored looking worker with a small microphone called over the crowd as you entered.

“Hi, sorry, is there a help desk of some kind?” you approached and asked her, a sinking feeling growing in your gut. “We just need to see if our wedding licence is valid.”

“Then please take a ticket, and we’ll see you soon.” The other woman replied, frustratingly monotone.

“No, you don’t understand, we’re leaving the state in three hours, we can’t just sit around, we need answers now, legal advice, something.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but if you continue to speak to our staff members in that aggressive way, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” another member of staff now joined the first.

“Aggressive? I am not aggressive,” you said but you could hear the agitation in your own voice, and the tightness in your shoulders.

“What she means to say,” said Reid from behind you, dropping a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Is that we are FBI agents, leaving town on another case soon, and we would really appreciate your cooperation? I have our marriage licence here. If you could just look over it, it’d only take a few seconds of your time.” The tension rolled off of you in waves, and you melted into his touch as he gladly stepped up to continue your communication.

“Okay, yeah, that definitely seems like a legit licence. You FBI agents, you say?” the first woman questions you, and not trusting yourself not to reply passive aggressively and ruin her cooperative mood, you bite your tongue and just nod.

“My coworker who worked the graveyard shift yesterday mentioned we had a few of you come through. Congratulations on your marriage.” She handed the licence back to you and the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew.

“Is your colleague still here? We just had a few questions about some logistics. We’re out of state, you know?” Reid smiled and you were so thankful for him, for the comforting hand he’d trailed down your shoulder and rested at the small of your back as you stood fidgeting next to him. It took you a minute to realise you were playing with your new wedding ring, already so used to it being there on your finger that you hardly noticed its presence.

“Her next shift starts at 12, but if you’re as desperate for information as I think you are, I’ll have her come see you when she comes in. She’s usually five minutes early anyways.” Reid thanked the woman, and fifteen minutes later, a younger woman with a bright smile was greeting you in the lobby and leading you to a private room in the back.

“Doctor and Mrs. Reid, welcome back! Sandy said you had some follow up questions after yesterday?” she greeted you, and your head started pounding again.

“You remember us?” Reid asked, the confusion knitting his brow as he walked ahead of you.

“I don’t tend to forget husbands as handsome and romantic as you, Doctor.” Something flared in your gut then, anger or protectiveness, but it felt green and red, and you pulled Reid’s hand into your own as she guided you to sit at the table at the far side of the room.

“We’re looking to fill in some gaps in our memory from last night,” you spoke, now not caring to hold back any annoyance in your voice. This woman had written out your marriage licence and yet here she was flirting with your husband. With your Reid. With Reid. Again, the curses jumped to your tongue.

“Ah, I see. One of those.” She shot a smile at Reid, and you shot a look at him as well, but he looked oblivious at her interest and you caught yourself letting out a sigh of relief before turning back to the woman.

“You didn’t realise we were drunk?” you asked her.

“Oh no, we realised. We just assumed you were finally taking the plunge after everything you said. And everything you did, too.”

“Everything we did?” you pushed out, your voice ten times higher than usual. You coughed to make it seem like your throat was just dry, not also housing your entire heart.

“You don’t remember? You two looked so in love. You were all over each other, kissing, touching, whispering and giggling. Honestly, it was just nice to have a couple in love here at 11pm that weren’t trying to have sex in the waiting area.” The blush crept up your neck, and you tried your best to force it back down. Obviously, it didn’t work.

You were about to ask another question, probably about how you would go about getting an annulment, when she finally continued.

“And then when you got the licence you were so happy and you called your friends to come and celebrate with you. You asked for the nearest chapel and we have all that information out in the hall and you said your friends were going to come meet you, so you took off.” She shrugged a little, taking a swig from her coffee. You couldn’t help but feel that even after all of that, she was still eyeing up Spencer, so you squeezed his hand a little bit harder at that, your other hand gravitating to his bicep too, your entire body leaning into his.

“Friends?” Spencer was the first one to wake up to that statement, and your agitation reached its peak.

“Yeah, the two teammates you mentioned. You told everyone they were meeting you at the chapel, that you’d all been here working a case and they were the two that responded to your calls that night.”

“Did we mention any names?” you asked.

“No, just that they were FBI Agents. Is there something wrong?”

–X–

You threw the doors of the building open as you gasped for air, the panic fully setting in now.

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer yelled after you, following you onto the pavement. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you tugged on your hair, mindlessly fretting with it, unconscious to the pain. He finally reached you and pulled your hands into his, forcing you to look up into his eyes.

“Y/N, it’s fine. We’re going to be fine.” He soothed you quickly, and you hiccuped through the small sobs you were now letting out.

“Spencer, two of our friends know that we got married last night, and we don’t know who or how much they know, and now we know that our marriage is legal and you’re stuck with me and I got us into all this mess because I’m an adult who doesn’t want to tell her mom to back off.” By the end of your speech he was cradling your head in his hands, as your tears flowed down your face in messy trails.

“Hey, look at me. You told me this morning that this was not my fault, and I’m telling you now that that doesn't mean it's yours. We’re in this together, okay?” he waited for you to nod before continuing. “Besides, no matter who it was, our team mates love us. They’ll understand.”

“What if we get reassigned? This is a conflict of interests, right, me and you working together like this?” You’d worked so hard to be accepted into the BAU, you didn’t want to let this be your exit, and you sure as hell weren’t letting them fire Spencer for it.

“We’ll talk to Hotch and Rossi, they don't want to lose either of us, and if we get this dealt with quick enough, maybe we won't even have to report it. We could keep it quiet for a while, right?” You knew all of his words made sense, they were the best course of action for the two of you. He’d probably run all of the scenarios through his head while you showered this morning, which is why he was so level-headed. But there was a discomfort that you just couldn’t shake.

“You mean we could get this…annulled?” you asked cautiously, looking into his eyes to gauge his reaction.

“If you want, we can walk right back in there and have it done soon, I’m sure that employee would help us, she seemed friendly-”

“No.” You practically shouted, not wanting to come face to face with that woman again, and watch her flirt with Reid as he signed the annulment paperwork. “I mean, there’s no time, right? We should probably head to the chapel to figure out who our witnesses are and then we’re heading back to Quantico.” You did to rationalise your decision, praying that the jealousy (jealousy?) that you felt didn’t show in your voice or face.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Well, we have 21 days from now to file, before the annulment period passes and we’re looking at divorce, which is not favourable for either of us, but we can file from out of state.” You nodded along with his words, glad for the lack of questioning, and that he didn’t clock the hopeful glint to your eye.

“Okay, great. Yeah.” You had calmed down enough now for your proximity to become awkward, and Reid noticed as soon as you did, pulling his hands away from you and taking a step back. Maybe it was the hangover, or just the overwhelming series of emotions you’d been through successively, but it felt wrong suddenly having him so far from you. Shaking it off, you grabbed your keys out of your pocket.

“She said we picked up the information about the chapel from the lobby, right? Can we narrow down which one it is with the photo?” You suggested, suddenly not able to meet his eyes.

“Oh, right, yeah. We’d have had to have been able to get there on foot, too. I’ll go and ask them if they recognise which one it is,” he made to move back in, but you shouted a resounding ‘no’ before he could take another step.

“I’ll do it! I should probably apologise for earlier anyway, right?” you chuckled awkwardly, pushing the doors open and leaving him behind with that confused look set against his skin once again.

–X–

“I’m telling you, we delete the footage from the previous day at noon, I can’t help you.” You’d tracked down the chapel pretty quickly despite all of your options, and now found yourself arguing with a pretty lackluster Elvis impersonator, desperate to figure out any more details about the night before.

“What about staff members that could verify? We just need a vague description.”

“Everyone’s a part-timer here, lady. The people on shift today won't be back for another two days or so. Come back then, okay?” He showed you to the door then, and if you hadn’t gotten drunk and married in Vegas the night before, this would certainly have been your lowest moment.

“Nothing?” Reid asked from his perch on the car.

“They delete the security footage.” You signed in frustration, and he showed a sympathetic smile on his face.

“How do you want to play it, then?” he asked. “Two of them are already going to know, should we just come clean to the entire team, see if they could help?”

“No, god no. As much as it’s my current reality, I don’t really want to have to respond to Mrs. Reid until Morgan gets new material, and no one’s going to be this easy of a target any time soon.”

“Technically speaking, you’d have to apply for a legal name change to become Mrs. Reid, usually couples do it a few days either side of the wedding and start the process of updating all their legal IDs so they can travel internationally for honeymoons without anyone asking questions.”

“Not the point, Reid.”

“And I knew that. Sorry.” It was hard to stay annoyed at him with that small smile stretched across his lips, and you suddenly found yourself wondering just exactly how he'd felt against you.

You’d kissed at the chapel, at the wedding licence office, in his hotel room, and you couldn’t for the life of you remember if you’d been the one to lean in first, or if it’d been him, or if it’d been both of you and what that meant. Did he like you, did you subconsciously want him in this way? Did this even mean anything? And what had those handcuffs been about?

He couldn’t answer most of those questions, and honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted the answers, but it’d been a day of awkward conversations, so you thought you might as well let your curiosity rule you for a few more minutes.

“Spencer, would you mind me asking a personal question?”

“Sure, we are married now. Don’t they say that the number one thing to remember in marriage is communication?” He tried to joke, but you couldn’t laugh as you got ready to spit some of the most horrific words you’d ever strung together out.

“Spencer, do you…do you often use handcuffs? In bed, I mean?” you were bright red, stood outside a 24 hour wedding chapel in the heart of Vegas and you couldn’t believe this was your life.

“Oh.” He was the same shade of red as you, and he stuttered through his next few incoherent words before you found his reply.

“I’ve not done it with the handcuffs before, but I guess I’ve…thought about it? It’s definitely in line with my… Do we have to do this here?”

“Would you rather talk about this on the jet?”

“Do we have to do this at all?” He groaned, shutting his eyes and you could feel the horror at his own actions spreading through his body.

“We are married now. Communication is key, remember?” He sighed and acquiesced, running a hand through his hair before turning back to you and forcing the words out.

“I know you probably didn’t think this about me before, but I am pretty controlling in bed. I don’t like feeling… hopeless, and it just manifests as dominance, okay? It’s been a while since I had a partner though, so the handcuffs were new to me, but I’ve tied girls up before. Now can we stop this conversation here before someone on this very public street hears us?”

“Okay, yeah sure. That actually makes a lot of sense really.” You said, nodding and moving to get into the car. You tried to keep your thoughts to yourself, knowing that the knowledge of his preferences was going to plague your dreams for the next few nights.

“You don’t have to lie, Y/N, I know I don’t seem like the type.” He got into the passenger side next to you, and you ignored looking at him in the mirrors desperately as you started the engine and made your way back to the hotel.

“No, I mean it makes sense that it happened to us. I don’t think we would’ve ended up in bed together if we weren’t so… compatible.” You let the silence sit between you as you let him take in your words, driving to the orchestra of midday strip traffic.

“Oh.” He said. “Oooh.” He finally caught on, and you felt your head turning in his direction, but you forced it back towards the road, convincing yourself that you really didn’t need to see his reaction, to study his expressions.

“Well, at least we know that we both enjoyed it then.” You weren’t sure if he was just oblivious, or trying to get a reaction from you, but nonetheless, your heart clenched at that, excitement rising in your stomach.

You convinced yourself that it was probably just the alcohol, and drove in silence back to the hotel, ready for your departure.

--X--

🏷️ @w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @bluecandycake @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @daddy-dotcom @zaapsite @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @kapeyama @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @sharkcat1928 @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @alyssaxstan @ghostheartbeat @zada-quinn @beguiling3lavender @Casss2111 @zatannas-wand @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @kspencer34 @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ Please? ✦ 」 au! Bungo Stray Dogs: Atsushi Nakajima

a/n: been thinking about this for a while now, hope u enjoy!<3 mwah :*

genre: au! no abilities, college or grad school. da nasty w/ subby, camboy! atsushi 😏

content warning: f!reader. MDNI! male masturbation. atsushi typical low self-esteem ruminations + self-degradation (both in a kinky and non-kinky way). edging. online relationships (they’re twitter moots teehee).

summary: atsushi's always a good boy on camera, esp when he’s thinking about this one girl from his class ♡

– that girl is you… but of course, you don’t know that yet.

That light fixture. Those cedarwood floors. The white, speckled wall behind him. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this was one of your dorm rooms – but it couldn't be, right?

You're on your bed with your headphones on, blinds shuttered close, door locked. Your plush blanket is pulled up to your thighs. The room is dark, save for your phone screen, casting a glow on your face.

This is a private matter, after all.

"Is this thing on?"

In front of the camera is him, a mutual you've made from the n.sfw side of twitter, though this is the first time you're seeing his face of all things. He's unbelievably cute, in the most endearing sense of the word, with boyish features and a charming smile that makes you blush. "Hey guys," he says, and his voice sounds somewhat familiar, though you can't quite place your finger on where you might have heard it before. "I know it's been a while."

The numbers in his live go up by the second, chat animated now that he's active. His eyebrows scrunch together as he leans forward to read the comments. Most of them are already demanding he perform something lewd, but some of them surprisingly sweet, asking him how his day's been or complimenting him. He pays neither any mind – rather, his focus goes straight to you.

You almost jump as you hear him call out your username, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, it's you!" he says with a cheeky grin. "Everyone say hi and follow them too~"

Naturally, you've seen his nudes before – he's amassed quite a following on Twitter posting his body. In fact, you were shocked when he had decided to follow back someone like you, who only ever reposted content or mused online about what kind of things you'd like to have done to you.

So, having a big creator like him even know you exist – let alone mention you on his live – has your face flushed with heat.

Thank god he can't see you through the screen.

"ofc:)" you type, watching as his followers greet you in the chat.

Then, you hear him sigh and relax into his chair. He pushes back the sweep of silver bangs, fingers playing thoughtfully with the strings of his sweatshirt as he browses through the comments on his computer screen. Your eyes widen when he murmurs in a voice so innocent, "So... you wanna see me stroke it now?"

He sounds so damn innocent – he's definitely got that 'boy-next-door' act down, and you can see why his streams get so much attention. You've never watched a stream before, so he has you pulling your blanket over your head, totally embarrassed as his voice drops to a whisper. "Mm, well, I wanna..." he muses, and through your headphones, it feels almost like his breath is in your ear. You watch as he trails his hand lower, down to the waistband of his gray sweatpants. "Been thinking about it all day, actually."

The numbers in his livestream go up.

You can feel desire pooling between your thighs as he teases himself, as he traces the outline that's becoming more and more apparent through his sweats. He's gazing down at himself sensually, watching himself grow with these half-lidded eyes, lips parted slightly and curved in a lazy smile. There's something angelic about his face, however sinful it might be to think so. "Can I tell you guys a secret?" he asks sheepishly, and you can almost make out a faint blush on his cheeks as he glances away from the camera, fingers dancing around the lean muscle of his abdomen. "There's this girl in my lecture hall that I can't stop thinking about.

I really want her... Pretty pathetic of me, huh?"

The chat goes wild with comments. Some users sexually degrade him, calling him filthy names; others say they'd gladly swap places with his classmate. He glances at the screen briefly, swiping his tongue across his lips as he browses through before choosing a few users to respond to. "I know, I'm a bit of a loser for that," he says with a soft laugh. Then, in a more serious tone, he adds, "But really, I could never... just thinking about her, honestly... she's just so...

Ah, sh-shiit..."

Freeing himself from his boxers, you're met with the sight of it in all of its glory, tip leaking with precum and pulsing with need. His breath hitches in his throat when he first wraps his fingers around it. You hear him hiss from his own touch; he looks away shyly as he strokes it once, as he gathers the moisture on his hand and pumps it up and down. Then, clamping his other hand over his mouth, these soft, sweet moans fall delicately from his lips as he thrusts his hips up to meet his fist – as he strokes himself faster and faster.

Just as soon as you think he's about to cum...

"Nngh, f-fuck – ..." he seethes, letting go of himself completely.

Holding back what sounds like something between a moan and a sob, he buries his face into his elbow, stammering out curses in between ragged pants; you catch a glimpse of desperate eyes before he throws his head back, palming the oversensitive tip until his body's shaking, pleasuring himself in a way that makes his hips lurch forward, in a way that brings him so close to the edge that he's just about ready to fall apart. "So good... wanna... c-cum..."

– and the chat floods with messages instantly.

x69princess96x: 'don't' _daddywuvsu_: 'you haven't earned it' milf9_32193: 'no way!!! 🙄' user704829103: 'beg for it'

"Please–" He's so tense that you can almost feel it through the screen. "Please... please, please..."

Then, his eyes flash with something you've never seen before in someone before – pure, animalistic want as his eyebrows knit tightly, as his lips part in need, as he pleads for release –

and he's looking straight at the camera, so sickening sexy. "Please, need it…"

You find yourself aching in your core, clinging to your screen with widened eyes when suddenly, you hear your username unraveling from his lips. "How about you... You'd... you'd let me cum, right?"

© BSDAWGZ Don’t steal or plaigarize cos that’s mean… and if you enjoyed the fic, please reblog! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que!

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 36. basketball incidents.

(wc: 1962)

“jeno, please explain to me one more time why we are here?” haechan asked from beside jeno. his gaze was fixed on jeno’s side profile as he awaited the boy to answer the same question he had asked before. jeno sighed. “look, i just wanna cheer them on. can’t i be supportive?” jeno explained in hopes of getting haechan off his back. he looked at jisung who walked on his right, the boy totally in his own world.

“yeah right, just admit that you’re upset that the basketball club gets to have friendly matches against other colleges while you guys don’t.” haechan chuckled and picked up his pace, leaving jisung and jeno a few steps behind. jeno scoffed. “i’m not upset.” he assured jisung, wanting some sort of validation from him. jisung hummed, still occupied in his own thoughts. “if you say so.” he muttered. “i do say so!” jeno rebutted.

“you guys came!” chenle’s excitement grew when his eyes landed on his group of friends who entered the indoors place. ningning nodded. “of course! you were so excited it was cute. wouldn’t want to miss something that makes you so happy.” she explained and chenle shied away, a sudden embarrassment overcoming him. “i’m gonna ignore that cute part, thank you for making it. i’ll make sure to win.” chenle placed a hand on ningning’s shoulder with a happy grin.

“where is sungchan?” you asked, looking around the basketball court in hopes of finding the said the boy. “he went to go and buy some water for later. can you believe that he was planning on ditching this match? he must’ve lost his mind..” chenle revealed with great shock, a frown growing on his face which resulted in all of you smiling at him. “i don’t know why you’re surprised, he doesn’t even like basketball. you just wouldn’t stop harassing him about joining.” you laughed out.

“i wouldn’t call it harassment.. more like a.. friendly suggestion” chenle reasoned. by now the other team had entered the place too and you took that as a cue. “we should go and find a seat before they’re all taken, make us proud chenle.” mark announced, motioning for the few empty seats. chenle nodded, sending him a thumbs up before continuing to stretch.

“do you think they will win?” ningning asked mark and you as the three of you sat down. you smiled, looking over at chenle who had ran over to sungchan when he returned. “you think chenle will ever let them lose? over his dead body.”

“jisung, don’t look but the hawk is in the nest, i repeat, the hawk is in the nest.” haechan yanked jisung backwards, harshly whispering into his ear, making jisung stumble a few steps back. “what the hell?” he grumbled back. “haechan, what are you talking about.” jisung wiped the hot breath that lingered around his ear away with the back of his palm before he gave haechan a confused looked. “i said, the hawk, is in the nest.” haechan repeated slower this time, head nodding towards the direction of the benches further ahead.

following haechan’s gaze, his eyes found the first row that was taken by a few people. his eyes widened for a second. “mark is here?” jisung asked, surprised. haechan threw his head back with a harsh sigh leaving his mouth. “yes, and look who is next to him.” haechan grabbed ahold of jisung’s jaw, turning his head a few centimetres to the side.

jisung felt his breath hitch for a moment as you turned your head to look at mark, probably laughing at whatever he said. “the hawk is here.” haechan repeated once more. jisung shook his grip off his jaw, throwing haechan a small glare. “why are you calling her the hawk, don’t be weird.” jisung said and his eyes made its way back to you and your friends.

“gosh, have you ever heard of an analogy? sorry for offending you.” haechan responded back, turning agitated by jisung’s reaction. a mischievous grin grew on haechan’s face a few seconds after as he continued to stare ahead and jisung knew better than to let haechan speak any further after that. “no, don’t even do anything.” jisung warned but haechan shrugged nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“whatever, i’m gonna go and take a seat with my good friend (—). jeno, stop sulking and come.” haechan snapped his finger in front of jeno’s bitter face. “stop glaring at the basketball players.” haechan rolled his eyes, grabbing jeno’s arm ready to drag him along. “what’s even fun about basketball?” jeno bitterly spoke and haechan dismissed it. “yeah yeah, tell me all about it.” haechan mumbled and the two walked away.

“no- guys..” jisung tried to protest but had been unsuccessful. his friends had already made their way towards the first-row seats, making sure to make their presence known to both you and your friends. jisung watched as they greeted the others before haechan pointed a finger towards jisung’s direction.

panic surged through him and his feet had started to move on its own. before he knew, he stood right next to haechan, dragging the boy back by his cardigan. “aaand zero, see! i told you it would take 7 seconds exact for him to get here.” haechan wiggled out jisung’s grip, taking a seat in the second row, right behind ningning. jeno followed, taking a seat behind mark. “the fact that you can predict that is insane. how many times have you annoyed him?” jeno questioned.

jisung stood dumbfounded at the opening of the rows, eyes wavering between all of them until they landed on you. you were already looking at him and smiled when your eyes aligned. “hi.” you greeted and jisung couldn’t stop his own lips from shyly tugging upwards. “hey.” looking down at the spot next to jeno, he realised it was right behind you. slowly lifting his head back up to see both haechan and jeno grin at him, jisung scoffed. maybe jeno and haechan did know how to play cupid after all.

you had turned your body sideways to face him, focusing all your attention on him. “so what brings you here?” jisung awkwardly started. you chuckled, tilting your head a bit. “well, two of my friends play in the basketball team. why wouldn’t i be here?” you teased and jisung felt himself tense. what kind of stupid question was that, he mentally scolded himself.

“and what brings you here, football player?” you asked him and jisung smiled before nodding towards the person on his left. “jeno wanted to watch and dragged us along.” he explained. it felt like the whole room had turned silent, even though that was the total opposite. you hummed, your gaze still lingering on jisung. he let out an awkward cough, averting his eyes.

“how’s your throat?” jisung asked softly, but loud enough for you to hear. “oh, yeah my throat is alright now. your scarf is really warm, i might never give it back.” you laughed and jisung copied, looking back up at you. his top teeth were shown as he flashed a quick smile. “that’s okay, you can keep it. you’ll probably need it more than me.” jisung told you. and it probably looks better on you, jisung thought.

“seems like chenle really is hard-carrying his team.” mark commented as the match progressed. it had been around 20 minutes and the score was 2-3. as expected, chenle was the star player, priding the school by not missing a single shot handed to him.

“he runs the basketball club like the navy, he thinks he’s the coach.” you explained, watching chenle run around the field, throwing his hands around so his teammates would send him the basketball back. for a friendly match, he behaved like he could take down anyone in his way any moment.

“i wonder how much longer this is going to last.” haechan yawned from behind you. you couldn’t help but crack a smile, craning your head to look at the boy who was slumped in his seat. “theatre boy can’t even pay attention for twenty minutes?” you joked and haechan groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “there are other things i can pay twenty minutes of my attention to. watching men sweat as they run around with a ball in their hand isn’t one of them.”

“right! just a stupid game.” jeno butted in, folding his arms. all of you had turned to look at him. “jeno.. please, give it up.” haechan rubbed a hand over his face. he was already extremely bored, he couldn’t deal with jeno’s bitterness at the moment. the rest of you laughed, turning back to watch the game while you kept your eyes on haechan for a bit longer.

“better be watching, chenle will definitely ask you to point out your favourite part of the match.” you grinned at haechan who frowned in return. “why would he do that? we’re acquaintances at most, i’m not here for him!” haechan asked perplexed. you shrugged and leaned back, about to turn around again. “he loves praise, don’t be surprised.” was the last thing you said before you turned around.

you barely had time to register what happened. all you heard was ningning screech, and all you felt was your body being pushed aside by your shoulders. you instinctively closed your eyes, expecting to feel your body land on the seat next to you. you never did, instead the grip on your shoulders stayed until you opened your eyes. you looked to your side, taking notice of ningning’s body leaning into mark with wide eyes.

“are you okay?” you knew it was jisung, yet you weren’t expecting to hear him right next to your ear. you turned your head further to the left, face only a meter away from jisung who had gotten out of his seat, almost crouching behind your seat. the two of you were leaned in an awkward position and jisung soon lost balance, falling on his shins while simultaneously letting go of your shoulders.

you sat back up, looking behind you to see the basketball that had flown past you to the empty space between the first and second row. you looked over to the court to see chenle with his jaw dropped. he quickly mouthed something but you dismissed it and stood up to look at the row behind you. “i’m fine, are you okay?” you asked jisung who had just gotten back up, dusting off his jeans.

“yeah.. that was embarrassing..” he whispered as some of the audience was still looking over at you two. you nodded, scratching your neck. “it really was yeah, thank you for that. i didn’t even see it.” you thanked jisung as the both of you sat back down. he didn’t respond back and you watched as he looked at your arms for a few seconds before nodding. you were convinced you saw a tint of worry in his eyes, but didn’t want to look too deep into it.

“it’s okay, next time, be careful- n-not that it’s your fault of course! but still, don’t get hurt, you know?” jisung stammered, a sudden fluster washing over him. he barely looked you in the eye as he spoke, instead watching of his knee bounce up and down. “thank you, i will be careful.” you bit back your smile, reluctantly turning around to continue watching the match.

“holy shit.” haechan muttered with wide eyes. “wow.. never mind, maybe i do have a favourite part from this match.” a smirk had grown on his face, a smirk both him and jeno sent jisung as they nudged him. “fuck off.” jisung retorted back, trying to control the way his body was heating up.

previous — master list — next

notes ; LONG CHAPTER, IM SORRY! tldr ; they all go to watch chenle and sungchan’s basketball match and a ball almost hits y/n but jisung saves you, yippie 🤗

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[magicalqueennightmare]

Not Exactly the End

Billy Butcher x Reader (Blaze)

You and Butcher have been at odds since the fight against Homelander and Soldier Boy. Things have changed but can you two work together without things blowing up?also known as Butcher is facing dying and comes to spill his guts to you which ends up in a fight and so much more.

NSFW warning and cursing, some violence but it's the boys

You didn't have to look to know Butcher was watching you. That was all he did anymore. The two of you had barely shared a total of fifty words since what happened in Vought tower but damn him, his eyes tracked your every movement when there wasn't a current job.

You were currently moving around MMs apartment helping to patch up Frenchie and Hughie. Annie and Kimiko were helping but you'd had a little more first aid training than them so you took the reins times like this. You hummed the music Frenchie had playing under your breath as you finished the line of stitches on his arm "Ma petite flamme, what would I do without you?" You grinned at him "Lucky for you I'm fairly hard to kill so you won't have to figure that out"

You cut your eyes towards Annie who was going over some paperwork with MM "Did we get what we needed or not?" Kimiko looked up from the stack and nodded before signing "Of course we did" you laughed and signed back "You're overconfident of our skills sweetheart"

You were exhausted if you were telling the truth but the job wasn't done until everything was secure and everyone went home. Of course home now apartments in a not so decent building to stay under the radar but everyone was close,the roof didn't leak and the heat and air worked.

The information that was retrieved was passed off to Grace's contacts and every T was crossed and I dotted so that meant everyone could go home and crash. You walked out behind Frenchie and Kimiko considering your apartment was on the same floor as theirs. Annie and Hughie were on the top floor and as for Butcher when he did sleep it was either MMs couch, the couch at the office or the rare times he went across town to where he called home. There was an empty apartment one floor up from yours that had been rented for him should he feel the need to use it but he rarely did.

---------------

You bid Frenchie and Kimiko a goodnight and went in search of a hot shower and your bed. You were just about to crash when you heard a knock at the door. Was probably Kimiko wanting to watch a movie and Frenchie had already crashed, you walked to the door with a smile as you opened it "Did frenchie already crash again?"

Instead of Kimiko standing at your door Butcher was leaning in the doorway. "Butcher?" You asked in shock and he nodded "Can we talk?" You half laughed "What exactly is there for us to talk about?"

The bastard had the nerve to shove past you into your apartment and even closed AND locked the door behind himself before turning to face you "Luv,me and you both know there's plenty for us to talk about" you were trying to hold your temper, you'd been doing good recently at controlling your powers but felt your fingertips warm slightly as you shook your head in disbelief "Weeks have passed Billy and you haven't said over two words at a time to me. What the fuck do you want me to say here?"

"I know you want to tell me how much of a fucking cunt I've been. Give it to me Blaze. I fucking deserve it" here he was, shoving into your apartment and demanding you talk to him but couldn't even use your actual name. "About what exactly Butcher? About how from the time I started working with you and the boys you talked shit about me being a supe despite the fact that I had no fucking say over it?"

You took a step towards him and saw his eyes flick down to your bare legs then back up to your face. He nodded slowly "Yeah" you laughed loudly without a hint of humor "No. We're not doing this. You're not coming in here and baiting me into an argument. Say what the fuck you need to. I'm not standing here and spilling my fucking issues to you"

"I've got a year tops Y/N" you froze mid step "What?" He nodded again. You weren't sure what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Loss? All of them rolled through you at once. He wasn't yours, he never would be but he was something wasn't he?

You gripped the anger, a familiar emotion you were more comfortable letting control you "You're such a fucking idiot. I told you not to fuck with compound V" you took a step towards him and he stepped back but you shoved him backwards and he slid into a wall but kept his feet under him.

You shoved a finger in his face and was proud of yourself when it nor your voice shook "I told you there had to be another way but you couldn't stop could you? You had to a bigger asshole! You've been horrible to me Butcher, to us all yet we've stood by you! We've fought with you! We've fought FOR you! You just couldn't let us in, you couldn't let us help. Why? Why if supes are so horrible, why not just put me, Kimiko and Annie on the front line? Why ever fucking touch me? Why get worried Ben had hurt me? Why get jealous of Ben? Why lie to me and all us and not tell us how much V you'd shot up? Why didn't you just fucking kill yourself when Becca died?"

He shrugged "I'll be dead soon enough" you had just enough presence of mind to not use your full strength when you slapped him but the sound echoed through your apartment "Damn you Billy. You never should put this team together. You never should've expected us not to care about each other. I know you're an uncaring asshole but MM is your friend, Hughie is practically a stand in for your brother and Frenchie backs your every play. We haven't lost any of us yet, how the fuck am I supposed to keep them together?"

Out of everything he could've said in that moment the words "I'm sorry" shocked you the absolute most. You took a step backwards "Don't apologize. You'd made it abundantly clear none us mean anything to you. The worse part is Homelander isn't even dead. You've killed yourself and he's still walking. What justice does that give anyone?"

"Y/N.." You'd never heard him say your name gentle, even in bed but this time he did. "Just leave" you pointed towards the door but this time he shocked you by moving fast as hell for a human. You must have really been off your game considering he had your back against a wall before you realized it.

Billy was strong for a non supe but you could move if you wanted. He was holding you by your upper arms. You glared up at him "I could move you" he smirked "I thought you liked it when I manhandled ya luv?" You felt your cheeks threaten to warm but bit the inside of one to ensure they didn't "Just say what you needed to"

He released your arms and put one hand on your hip instead,his other hand coming up to grip the side of your face "Supe or not I would've been dead a while ago if it weren't for you. You protected Becca, best you could even against Homelander who scares the hell out of ya. You're one hell of a woman" you swallowed hard before meeting his eyes "I know all of this. What's your point?"

He laughed lightly,more of a chuckle "Whyd ya look at me when you told Soldier Boy the deal was off?" "He hurt a kid and was a threat to people I care about. Whether you believe it or not there are things more important than revenge"

Butcher watched your face as you spoke. Why hadn't he seen it before? Yeah you were amazing in bed and a demon in a fight but you were also gorgeous and had that gentle spark in your eye. You still cared about people, despite everything you'd been through. If he hadn't let revenge eat him alive, if he hadn't fucked everything up....

"I never deserved a second look from you" the words slipped out of his mouth before he could put thought behind it. You laughed, snatching your head out of his grip to drop your gaze "If you want sex just say so. I don't need sweet talking" he gripped your chin, harder this time but just enough to make sure he had your attention before crashing his lips against yours.

-----------

The kiss took you by surprise. One minute you were sure the two of you were going to start arguing, the next his tongue was in your mouth. You moaned lightly,internally cursing yourself for how well you'd let Billy Butcher learn you.

He used the hand on your hip to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. You finally let your brain win over your hormones and pushed against his chest lightly knowing that was all it would take for him to back off. He broke the kiss and met your eyes.

---------------

You were at war with yourself, he was dying. He'd finally admitted it. You cared about him if you admitted it or not. You wanted him but did he want you simply because the one he wanted was dead? You held his gaze as you said "I'm not Becca nor have I ever tried to be a replacement for her" you were breathless from the kiss but had to say it "I don't want a replacement for her. You're two very different women. If I would've let myself be happy after her though you would've been it"

He didn't blink, didn't look away. "Fuck it" you muttered,shoving his heavy coat off his shoudlers before pulling him into another kiss. Your hands smoothed over the soft black sweater he wore as his hands went from your hips to just under your ass. He bent his knees just enough to pull you up into his arms, your legs circling his waist in a well practiced dance between the two of you.

------------

He walked across the room to where your bed sat against the wall, never breaking away from your lips. He laid you down gently and kicked his boots off before climbing in the bed, lips finding yours as his hands slipped under the tank you'd put on for bed.

You gasped when he pinched your nipple, causing your back to arch off the bed. He broke from your lips down to your neck, attacking the skin there and teasing each and every spot he knew would have you a dripping mess under him.

Your hands went to the hem of his sweater and he broke away from your skin long enough to snatch it and the shirt he'd worn under it off and toss it across the room. You smirked slightly as your fingers danced across his chest "Eager are we?" He raised one eyebrow "I'm gonna fuck that smart mouth outta you" you raised an eyebrow of your own before slipping your tank off, leaving your breasts bare to him "Prove it Butcher"

----------------

"Fucking hell" he muttered before placing a sloppy kiss to your lips. He moved from your lips down your neck, kissing and bite hard enough you were certain you'd have marks regardless of your healing.

When he made it to your chest he rolled the nipple of your left breast between his teeth and used his fingers to tease the other. You let your fingers rake through his hair, tugging lightly when he caught your nipple sharply with his teeth "Fuck, Billy"

He looked up at you and the look in his eyes alone was enough to make your stomach flip "How many times did he make you come?" You licked your lips, breath already ragged before answering "Five" he nodded "Six it is"

You felt his fingers tease at the waistband of your shorts "You know the rules sweetheart. You say anything near the word stop and it's stopped" you nodded and he bit down on the breast closest to him "Words Y/N" "I know" he smirked and pulled the shorts down your legs and tossed them.

You instinctively tried to press your legs together in an attempt to hide just how wet you already were but Billy positioned his shoudlers between them and without taking a chance of hurting him you couldn't close them,his damn shoudlers were too broad "Don't hide from me. I want all of ya" you swallowed hard but let a smile slip onto your face and that was all the go ahead he needed.

A light sheen of sweat covered your entire body, your legs were shaking around his head and you'd already came twice but Billy was a man on a mission.

"Billy...Butch...fuck please" you couldn't form a coherent thought at the moment. The pleasure building in your core was threatening to topple over yet again and he'd yet to take his damn pants off. He added two thick fingers in with his tongue and that toppled you over the edge, forcing another orgasm out of you as you screamed his name.

He leaned back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. A proud smirk played across his face "Ain't tapping out on me are ya?" You shook your head "Take your fucking pants off Butcher. I want you inside me" "Yes ma'am" he stood off the bed quickly slipping his pants off.

You curled one finger at him "I want your back on the bed. It's my turn to play a little" he grinned "Yes ma'am"

------------

He laid back on the bed so you moved to straddle his waist, feeling his hard cock at your thighs but wanting to take your time. You let your lips brush against his, tasting yourself on him before moving lower.

You left a trail of kisses mixed with little bites down his next then chest, enjoying the little moans and curses that slipped from him. You sat up enough to grip his cock and line it up with your entrance. You slowly lowered yourself down, eyes closing against the stretch. "Take it slow baby. I ain't going nowhere" he cooed and you felt yourself clench at his words.

Once the stretch faded you gave a tentative roll of your hips and he groaned "Fuckin hell luv" you grinned and gave another roll before moving your hips up and down. You started to fuck yourself on his cock and he gripped your hips tightly, praises falling from his lips as his thrusts started to meet yours.

------------

You were so damn close and Billy must have known because he slipped a hand between you and started to rub tight circles onto your clit. You felt it half a second before your orgasm slammed into you, causing your movements to halt. Billy tightened his grip and turned the two of you over to where your back was now against the bed but he was still buried inside of you.

-----------

You gasped at the moment and he smirked "Still got a few surprises in me" you shook your head and he shifted his hips to drive himself deeper into you pulling a moan from you "Please don't stop Billy" you begged and he chuckled "wasn't planning on it"

Your legs were on Billy's shoudlers and he had you damn near folded in half. You were breathless from how deep every damn thrust was hitting inside of you and he was leaving wet kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach. You were both covered in sweat, you'd lost count of how many times you'd come yet he was still fucking you like he was on a mission. "Billy...Butcher...please" he slowed slightly "What ya need luv?"

"Need you to come" you begged weakly, fingers tugging at his hair "Feels soo good...but I'm tired baby..." you didn't have the presence of mind to realize you'd called him baby until he chuckled, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck "Baby huh? I kinda like it coming from you"

He shifted his angle and your vision went soft around the edges as he started to fuck you harder, chasing his own high finally. "Want me to fill you up baby?" He asked, warm breath on your neck. You nodded "Please" the answer was his laughter.

His hips started to falter and you knew he was close "Fuck Billy. You feel so damn good. Fuck me so good" he grunted as he buried himself into you with one final thrust, his cum coating inside your pussy.

----------

After a few breaths he eased your legs down then started to rub them. He did that for a few minutes before pulling out of you, a few mumbled words of apology leaving his lips at your whimper.

After Billy cleaned you both up with a warm rag he climbed into bed next to you and pulled you over onto his chest and you let him. "What now?" You asked and he shrugged "We keep fighting those batards till the end. I only hope I last enough to make sure the lot of you and Ryan is safe from them"

You cut your eyes up at him and nodded "If we can get him away from Homelander, I'll keep an eye on him. I promise" he leaned closer to catch your lips in a gentle kiss "in another life we would'a been it, ya know?" You nodded "I know. Get some sleep Butch. We'll handle whatever bullshit comes tomorrow but for tonight let's just rest"

[lovebugism]

ooooo what abt for blurbcember being alone on Christmas Eve w Steve x reader & once one of them realizes they are alone when they called they speed over and spend the night together, maybe confess some feelings too👀

hope you like it!! — you call steve when you end up alone on christmas eve and he comes over without thinking twice, 'cause that's what best friends are for, right? (friends in love, hurt/comfort, 1.4k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Just a moment ago, Steve Harrington was on his couch. He had an arm around his girlfriend and a scruffy cheek on her hair as they watched A Christmas Story for the third time that evening. His dad was snoring over it from his spot on the recliner while mom watched on from the kitchen, where she’d just popped in another batch of cookies. 

Everything smelled like vanilla. Like home and the holiday season.

Then the phone rang. His mother picked it up, hiding her wine-drunk slurs as she answered. It was for him, of course, because it was you. “Feel like spending Christmas Eve getting drunk with me, Harrington?” you’d ask through the static of the receiver.

It’s like he blinked and he was in your childhood bedroom, splitting a bottle of your dad’s expensive liquor with you in your twin-sized bed.

The too-big house down the street was dark and empty, with you abandoned inside of it. The entire mansion was horribly clean — too clean — like no one actually lived there. The only Christmas decoration in the whole place was the tiny Christmas tree on your dresser. It basks the two of you in a golden hue while you laugh together in similar colors.

“So your parents just… left you here?” Steve presses, lying on his side at the edge of your mattress, propping his weight on his elbow.

You nod and take a swig from the glass bottle. Your lips shine with the amber liquid until you swipe your tongue against your buzzing bottom lip. “Holiday party at the Carmichael’s. No kids allowed,” you answer. You manage to smile as you say it — ‘cause you haven’t been a kid for a while — but it’s still slightly forced. 

Steve can see right through it.

“Still,” he insists with a furrow to his brow as he takes the bottle from you. “That’s really shitty.”

“Well, my parents are basically the king and queen of being shitty, so…”

Steve scoffs an emotionless laugh and raises the whiskey to his lips. The thing glugs when he tips it back. He takes a small sip, just enough to coat his tongue, because he knows he’ll have to go back home eventually. He licks at his shining rosy lips, just to feel how numb they are. 

“Your parents are shitty, and mine are… total fakes,” he concludes with a lopsided, sorrowful grin.

“Drunk enough to vent yet?” you tease, smiling down at him with your cheek tilted to your shoulder.

“No— I mean, there’s… there’s nothing to vent about, you know? They’re just, like, putting on happy faces for everyone at the party like they weren’t totally falling apart two days ago. Now it’s just like… nothing ever happened.”

You figure by “nothing to vent about,” he means that there’s a world of shit to vent about but that he doesn’t really feel like getting into any of it. You don’t blame him. He’s not the one who called his best friend on the very brink of falling apart, anyway.

“Is that what you were doing when I called?”

He nods, blinking slow and smiling soft. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

“Bet you’re missing loads of fun right now, Harrington.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs and passes the whiskey off to you. “Right now, my dad’s passed out in his Laz-E-Boy, and my mom’s watching the same Christmas movie over and over and over again.”

The visual makes you laugh.

Steve laughs because you are.

“Yeah. I mean, Nancy’s into it, I guess, but that’s just because she’s way too nice to—”

“Nancy’s there?” you blurt before you mean to, gaping with a shock you couldn’t hide if you wanted to. You thought he might’ve been as lonely as you were. You figured that’s why he dropped everything for you without thinking twice.

Your confusion makes his face screw up. He’s too oblivious to understand. “…Yeah?”

“You said you weren’t doing anything important!”

“It wasn’t important!” he exclaims, right before realizing how insensitive he sounds. He cowers, as though Nancy could somehow hear an entire block away. “Well— Not that she isn’t important— It’s just that—”

He stammers hopelessly. ‘Cause he doesn’t know how to say “you’re more important to me” without sounding like a total douchebag.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he settles on, suddenly shy about the whole thing. His eyes fall to your comforter because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. His fidgeting hands pluck at the tiny pills of cotton.

“Steve…” you whisper in an airy sigh because you don’t know what else to say.

He can’t tell if that’s good or bad, but his name sounds like honey spilling from your lips, anyway.

“Her brother’s there, though! And all his little shithead friends— so it isn’t like she’s totally alone,” he assures you in a single breath. You can’t tell if he’s saying it more for him or for you. “Plus, you said you were here by yourself, so I… I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

“And they say chivalry’s dead,” you tease despite the distinct warmth swirling in your chest.

Steve flashes you a crooked grin to hide his similarly hidden feelings. “Well, whoever said that has never met me. Obviously.”

“You should really go back home, though,” you tell him. It’s not like you want him to leave. You’d rather him be here all the time. You’d rather it always be Steve and never anybody else. But it can’t be like that. It can’t ever be that way.

“What? No!” Steve shouts with his face screwed up in offense. The lights from your Christmas tree leave harsh shadows on his chiseled features, making them that much sharper. 

“Your girlfriend’s there, Steve. And all of your friends—”

“Not you, though. And you’re, like, the most important friend I have.”

“Steve,” you groan.

“I’m serious,” he insists, even though he’s laughing at your dramatics. “I’d much rather be here with you than pretending to be happy with everyone else.”

Your chest aches — a dull, hot, and empty ache. It’s like his words are a knife, and he’s just pierced your sternum with it. “You’re not happy?” you ask him in a fragile, broken whisper.

“I mean, I am, I’m just…” he trails off when he can’t find the words to say. He sighs and lays back completely, relaxing for the first time all night beside the warmth of you. His honey eyes concentrate on the shadows on your ceiling until he’s brave enough to speak.

“I don’t know… I love Nancy and everything— you know that. But… I never felt like I had to stop pretending around her, you know? It’s like I’m still trying to impress her. All the time. And with you, it’s just like…” 

He loses the words again. Your relationship is much harder for him to describe. The way he feels about you can’t be put into words. He’s not sure that there’s any that even come close. 

“I don’t know— It’s just easier,” he concludes with a heavy sigh. “Don’t read into that too much, alright? I’m just tipsy.”

He’s only had a couple sips of alcohol. He’s not even close to being tipsy. He’s content, at best, but you’re probably more to blame than the whiskey.

You know all of this, too, but decide not to press it too much.

“Noted,” you nod, huffing as you lie on your back beside him. His fuzzy Christmas sweater scratches you when it rubs against the skin of your shoulder. You can smell his deep, woodsy cologne and the hot chocolate on his breath. You shouldn’t get as lost in it as you do.

You wonder if he ever has the same problem with you — if the smell of your perfume, or your hair, or your strawberry lipgloss drives him crazy — or if it’s all in your head.

It might be better kept up there, either way. 

Saying anything out loud might change things too much.

“But, you know, just for the record or whatever,” you start in a gentle whisper and with a teasing glint in your eye. 

Steve’s already smiling when he turns to look at you. He falters slightly when he realizes how close you are — enough to feel your whiskey-coated breath fan against his chin. He doesn’t know why it makes his heart race. 

“I’m glad I make it easier on you,” you confess, so suddenly soft, as your sparkling eyes flit between both of his. “‘Cause being with you is easier for me, too.”

Steve’s rosy lips curl into a quiet smile. 

His chest sparkles with a foreign emotion, and he isn’t completely sure why. Your words feel almost like a proclamation of love, but maybe he shouldn’t read into any of it too much. Not how gentle your words sound or how you’re looking at him right now. 

You’re just tipsy, after all.

[webslingingslasher]

what’s peters body count?🫣

boyfriend!frat!peter 🤭

‘what’s your body count?’

peter freezes, he’s not opposed to the previous partners talk when it comes to being safe and healthy. but the number thing… he doesn’t see how it’s useful.

‘don’t worry, i have all the clean screenings.’ he tries to swerve around the question, you won’t let him. ‘no, i get that. we’ve talked about it before. but, how many people have you hooked up with?’

peter knows the frat boy stereotype, he may have even played into it for a little while. but he doesn’t want you to see him like that, he doesn’t want you to think of him as a womanizer or pig.

‘um,’ he wants to say a different number than the one in his head, he wants to preserve what you think of him. ‘does it matter?’

you tap your fingertips over his ribcage, ‘i guess not. i’m just curious.’ peter’s tracing circles around your shoulder, ‘cool.’

you wait, it seems like he took your response as an opportunity to stay silent. something about his hesitance makes you feel icky.

‘not gonna share?’ peter thought your answer meant the conversation was over, apparently not. ‘is there a reason you’re asking?’

you pat his skin, giving him a second notice before sitting up. ‘not really, but now you’re being all coy, i want to know.’

‘yeah, but i’m your boyfriend now. it shouldn’t matter.’ your eyebrows furrow. ‘it doesn’t. but hiding it makes it matter.’

‘i’m not hiding anything.’ except he is.

‘you are. i want to know. right now.’ peter’s looking off to the side, you can see through his invisible wall, he’s embarrassed. ‘peter, i’m not gonna judge you or anything. i’m just curious.’

‘you are. you totally are and i don’t want you to see me as different. i was a different person before i met you, and who i was before shouldn’t matter now.’

you nibble on your bottom lip, ‘it’s either really low or really high based on what you’re giving me.’ peter’s silent, you’re thinking it’s on the higher side.

‘more than ten?’

more silence. ‘more than fifteen?’

you don't know how high to go. ‘twenty five?’

‘lower, but not by much.’

you stare at him. peter stares back. he’s expecting you to drop your face and turn away, call him a manwhore and spit in his face. he’s not expecting the sweeping grin that takes place.

‘is that why you’re so good in bed? hefty experience?’

‘i wouldn’t know, you’re the only one i ever put effort into.’

you bat your eyes at him, a pout takes over while you try to calm the urge of attacking him with kisses. insecurity flushes over you, ‘were they... were they all just one night stands?' there it is, that's what peter was waiting for.

your actual name is said, drawn out like you were playing a dangerous game. 'it's just that, i mean, am i enough for you?' peter feels his chest tighten, if he could, he'd take back every night he ever spent with a girl that wasn't you.

'why would you ask me that?' you feel hidden in peter's arms, they're around you and there's a kiss on your forehead. 'of course you're enough for me. you're more than enough, you always have been.'

'i don't think i can compete with that many girls and-'

'you're not. there is no competition, and there never was.' you shake your head, 'liar. you were still hooking up with other girls when we started hooking up.'

you're a little shocked by peter's rough hold, you're staring up at him with wide eyes when he talks down to you. 'is that what you think? have you always thought that?'

it's not what you think, it's what you know. 'you said-' peter cuts you off, 'i said bullshit. i talked to other girls, maybe flirted a little, but i never had sex with anyone else. trust me, i wouldn't fuck up like that.'

peter was right, there was no competition. because you won first and only place the second you stepped foot into his bedroom. 'wait, does that make me the competition? like, if we break up i'm the standard for you?'

'i mean... yeah, i kind of love you a whole lot.' this time, you don't hold back on your attack of kisses. 'i made you change your rules. i win.'

peter disagrees. 'no, i won.'

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Rejection

@jegulus-microfic July 14, Word count 577

“Hey, Evans, go out with me!” 

“No!”

“Hey Lily, date me!”

“Not a chance!”

“Oi, Evans, you me Hogsmeade!”

“I would rather befriend a venomous tentacula!”

James was well acquainted with rejection. It was almost a daily occurrence at that point. He’d been asking Lily Evans out for years. He didn’t know what he’d do if she said yes. He just asked now because he always had. 

After the latest rejection, he wandered out into the courtyard, alone. He lay on one of the stone walls around the fountain and let the early summer sun warm him. 

It was quiet in the courtyard, all the other students were either in lessons or studying for their exams. He began to drift off and was woken by a set of footsteps entering the courtyard. The footsteps paused, and he heard the sound of shoes spinning on the stone slabs. He cracked open an eye and saw Regulus Black exiting the area. 

“Hey, Regulus, you can stay,” He watched as Regulus’s back and shoulders tensed. “I can go if you want to be out here alone,” He added. He’d tried so hard to get Regulus to like him the first two years he was at Hogwarts, but he’d finally given up when he couldn’t even entice a smile out of the boy. Regulus huffed but came back over to where he was lying. James sat up and made room for him. 

They sat in silence. James watched Regulus out of the side of his eye as Regulus tipped his face up enjoying the sun and breeze. He, of course, knew how alike the brothers looked, but this close to him, he could see the differences. Regulus had the Black family's high cheekbones and angular jaw, but it was softer than Sirius’s. His eyebrows were a slightly darker shade than his brothers and his curls had more of a wave to them. 

“Stop staring at me, Potter,” Regulus grumbled. James quickly pulled his eyes from Regulus. He couldn’t figure out how Regulus knew he was watching him, as he hadn’t opened his eyes at all. Regulus rolled his shoulders and stood up. He nodded at James and walked back to the castle door. James realised he didn’t want him to leave. He gave into the impulse and opened his mouth. 

“Hey, Regulus, wanna go on a date?” He was fully prepared for a rejection. Regulus turned his head and looked him up and down. His head tilted to the side. 

“What have you got in mind?” He asked. James’s mouth went dry. This had never happened before. Lily had never asked him what the date would entail. He quickly racked his brain for something they could do that Regulus would enjoy. 

“Quidditch pitch? We could run some drills, I could watch you run rings around me. We could toss a quaffle around?” He winced, it was a lame idea, Regulus Black would expect far more. 

“Tomorrow evening after dinner?” Regulus said to him. He was in total shock. Was this actually happening?

“Yeah, sure, see you then,” He stammered. Regulus opened the door, he paused before he fully left. 

“Oh and Potter, I won’t be going easy on you, so you’d better be on your game,” He left James slightly bewildered, but for the first time he hadn’t been rejected. He rushed upstairs to make sure his quidditch uniform was clean and to polish his broom ready for his date tomorrow. 

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