#he almost looks scary in the last photo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghouldump · 3 months ago

Note

Been thinking of armand x reader x louis and their whole dynamic. I could see her being one of the actors, i want them WHIPPED for her. Like sis has these two powerful beings wrapped around her finger, scary dog privileges fr

Trust | Armand x Reader x Louis

ෆ born for stardom, but destined for chaos, the last thing you ever expected was for two old vampires to become your companions.

it is finally here, the amount of requests for these two has been ASTRONOMICAL 😅 I promise there will be more in the future!!!!

“Open your hands,” your father barked. Holding out your palms, you winced, tears running down your face as the belt came in contact with your hands.

Drawing your hands back, he stopped you and roughly grabbed your wrist. Yanking your arm forward, he brought another lash to your stinging palms.

“You've been missing church to be at that bar, seducing those men like a harlot,” he screamed at you. You could see your mother looking away, too afraid to intervene. She never helped you, her marriage was first, and you were always an afterthought.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to sing, I was only singing-

“Are you alright, my love?” Snapping out of your thoughts, Armand lifted your head to look at him. You sat comfortably on the floor, surrounded by the handsome models, but looked up at your maker, while he stared down, his soft curls in his face.

“I’m okay,” you smiled, watching as he went to stand next to Louis, who sent a wink your way. Knowing him, he heard or saw something in your thoughts and told Armand.

“Shall we continue?” The photographer asked nervously, relieved when Louis nodded at him.

"Did she have to be practically naked?" Armand asked.

"You look amazing, darling, fabulous," the photographer praised, snapping the pictures.

"She wouldn't have wanted it any other way," Louis said, as they focused on the photoshoot.

In the bedazzled lingerie, you posed provocatively, the male models surrounding you. Your fangs out, lightly pressed against the model's neck for the photo.

The model tried blinking away the headache, unable to see Armand glaring, using his powers against the young man.

You were above all these mortals, yet you allowed them to touch you so freely. You and Louis were more willing to work alongside the humans, allowing them a safe space, to feel comfortable, he would never.

"And that is it, I think we're done," the photographer announced, as your team clapped.

"Great, thank you all for coming," you said, pecking the cheek of the model your teeth were pressed against.

You could feel the intense gaze from your companions, territorial and envious. Standing, you walked in front of them, the staff eyed you in fascination seeing you move so fast. Since Lestat had revealed himself, Louis had been quite stressed. He had no intentions of getting back with the blonde hotshot, but he still cared deeply for him.

Mortals didn’t believe the authenticity of his claim to be a vampire, while the elders were furious. Out of love for your companion, and the thrill of living life on the edge, you revealed your own identity, taking some of the spotlight off of him and shifting it to yourself.

If you were going to break the ancient laws, why not go all the way out and serve cunt while doing so. Becoming the next biggest Pop sensation, you were sure to cross all boundaries, and the best part of all of this, you were elusive, untouchable by almost all vampires. Being with Armand and Louis, others were scared to even look your way, despite their desire to see your demise. The next Madonna? Britney? Gaga? Rihanna? no, you were better. You were selling sex, covered in a catchy beat and raunchy choreography, and the world was eating it up.

"You two looked a little close," Armand pointed out, while Louis stared at the model, as he slipped back into a shirt.

“Stop it,” you grabbed their jaws, forcing them to look at you.

"Don't I look tasty?" you changed the subject.

"Yes, although, I wished you would have worn something less revealing for our...guests"

"I thought you liked it when I showed off, Louis, do you like my outfit?" you nuzzled your nose against his own, as his hand went around your waist. Taking in your scent, he nodded.

"I never said I did not like it, or that you did not look ravishing," Armand recanted, wrapping an arm around you.

“I think you could show better than you could tell me,” you smirked. Closing your eyes, you hummed, feeling the pairs of lips against your skin.

“Beautiful,” Louis whispered, as he continued kissing along your neck.

“The most perfect,” Armand added, moving from your neck to your lips.

“I want both of you,” you said, in between the sweet kisses, hearing Louis’s low groan.

Armand was about to command the team to leave the penthouse. They had private business to tend to with you, when your assistant, Joy, came walking in, clearing her throat.

"My apologies, your reporter, he has arrived," she said, as the two men slowly pulled away. Your silk robe, flew across the room, into Armand's hands, before he began to place it onto your body.

“Aw, and I wanted to show him my outfit,” you laughed as Armand looked at you, the idea infuriated his thoughts.

“You've shown off enough today,” Louis said, going to tie the robe closed.

"Let him in," you said, giving them both a kiss of reassurance.

However, you ended up humming in approval, as the tall man entered, he seemed too handsome to be a reporter, a Clark Kent archetype.

"I'm Robert, it is a pleasure to meet you, Vogue is extremely eager to work with you," he held out his hand for you.

"The pleasure is all mine," you winked, snickering as he backed up, glancing at the two figures behind you. You could feel Armand’s icy glare, mixed with Louis’s judgmental frown.

"Don't mind them, they won't bite, will you?" You asked them. They remained motionless for a moment, contemplating simply shredding the guy into pieces, his thoughts loud, staring at your legs, your cleavage, the rouge lipstick.

"No," Louis said, he was usually first to give in. He was loyal as they came, too focused on pleasing you to go against you.

"Armand?" You turned to your maker. He stared emotionless at Robert, who uncomfortably shifted under his gaze.

"Love, tell Robert you won't hurt him," you said, as you held his jaw, his eyes shifting to you, softening.

"I won't," he agreed.

"See, they are very well behaved, they just don't like to share, we can go into the living room, it was recently redecorated," you exclaimed, intertwining Robert's arm with your own, while they followed behind, trying to swallow their burning jealousy.

Sitting across from you, the three of you stared at Robert, watching as he pulled out his notes and laptop before he cleared his throat.

"We have been thrilled about your willingness to work with Vogue, you are very inspiring to many artists, the youth, and I'm sure other vampires. I have questions from our team and you can answer them freely, and whatever is too uncomfortable, you just let me know"

"Okay," you nodded, crossing your legs, smirking as he looked, gulping as the robe rose slightly.

'Let's start with your persona, you claim to be a vampire, is this in any way connected to the rockstar, Lestat-

"No, he is not the only vampire to exist, my maker, is much older than him. I will admit, the ancient laws, so sacred and honored, are boresome, I think the both of us would agree," you said, pausing, as he typed your words.

"Ancient laws, could you elaborate for us... mortals?"

"Think of it like our commandments, no writing about vampirism, killing other vampires, don't turn children, no revealing your nature, and allowing the person to live. I could go further, but it's all incredibly uninteresting to me," you shrugged.

"How many others like you are there?"

"I'm not sure, I don't keep count of every vampire there is," you said, as you and Louis shared a chuckle.

"Will you only ask her questions about vampirism?" Armand asked, a frown already forming.

"It's fine," you told him, as he interlocked his fingers with your own.

"Um, your career, were you always into music, or was it a passion that came over time with your gift?"

"Oh, I've always had quite the stage presence, throughout my years in high school, I think I managed to play lead in every play. Also, there was a lounge near the apartments I lived in before I turned, I performed there regularly"

"Were you pursuing a music career?”

"Not really, I knew it was something I was good at, I mean, I was great at acting and singing, but I needed more than hope and a childish dream to pick up my entire life, to try to achieve either"

"Please forgive my questioning, but since you've revealed yourself, many are fearful of your potential eating habits, any comment?"

"I cannot speak for all vampires, but my maker, companion, and I all receive blood in the most cruelty-free way. Yes, we are technically able to do these things but there are better things to do than picking up random people to kill"

"Your maker? The person, or I should say vampire, who turned you?"

"Yes"

"Who is your maker?"

"Armand," you said, watching the emotion leave his face, as he briefly glanced at him.

"If possible, could you tell us a backstory maybe your previous months, leading to your transformation”

"No," Armand interrupted, before you whispered into his ear, Robert was interested in knowing what you could have said leaving the vampire much more relaxed than before.

“I was born in a small town, less than 5,000 people. Everyone knew everyone, and they all seemed to follow the same customs, until me. My mother told me when I was a child, she knew then, I would be a star, but my daddy thought differently…”

“I swear, if she is in here, I’m beating her into next week,” your father, Joseph said, turning off the car.

“Joseph,” Sandra, your mother screamed.

“This isn't a grocery store, first she's missing church, now she is a liar,” he said, getting out of the car, his wife scrambling to follow him.

It was your mother who convinced him to let you have a job in the first place. You had been working at the next town over, for about two years now. You were able to purchase your own car and save money. The problem came in because you broke your end of the deal. You got the cashier job, but you still had to continue with church and choir with your family.

However, your parents didn't even know you didn't work at a grocery store. You managed to find a nice bar, willing to pay tips and you got to perform. Dressing up, you were able to sing and dance whatever your heart desired, as long as the lustful men got to watch you.

Easter Sunday came and went and you were nowhere to be found, leading them to begin investigating the town over, where they heard about the bar.

You stand straight as Tiffany’s

Diamonds, Diamonds

I don't mean rhinestones

But diamonds are a girl's best friend

As you finished singing, you nearly fainted as you made eye contact with your parents. Your mother had her mouth covered, while your father held a look of disgust.

The music, the form-fitting dress, the hair, the make-up, you were practically a lady of the night, dancing for these men. Nervously bowing, you accepted the tips, before you approached your parents.

“Where are your keys?” you father started.

“In my bag,” you winced at his every move, afraid of getting one of his brutal punishments.

He was strict, and it wasn't uncommon for him to get physical if he even felt like you were trying to act unladylike.

“Get your things now, you can ride back with your mother,” he told you, hardly sparing you a glance.

Quickly changing, you explained your situation to your manager, and before you knew it, you were awkwardly sitting in the passenger seat, as your mother drove you home.

“He’s going to kill me, mommy,” you whispered.

“Why would you do this, Y/n, dressed like that, tempting those men,” she stressed.

“You always said I was meant to be a star-

“That doesn't mean dress like Marilyn Monroe, of all people, she has a terrible legacy, is that what you want? To be seen as a sex symbol by all of those men?” she asked. Yes. Yes, you did, your embarrassing daddy issues made you crave the attention of men. If using your body and looks made them fall to their knees, you didn't care.

“I’m sorry-

“You’ll have to tell that to your father,” she cut you off.

“I’m 20, how long am I supposed to let him spank me as if I am a child,” you raised your voice at her. She didn't say anything the rest of the drive, pulling into the driveway.

Your father stood, leaning against your car, and as soon as your mother parked, he took long strides towards the door, opening it, and yanking you onto the grass.

Trying to get up, your efforts were futile, as he grabbed your hair, dragging you into the house. Your mother kept her head down, unable to watch the sight.

“Daddy-

“I won't let you become so whore, you are a young girl and you need to act like it,” he said, taking off his belt. You sat on your knees, crying, rubbing your head from the soon-to-be headache, trying to mentally prepare yourself for what was coming.

“Open your hands,” your father barked. Holding out your palms, you winced, tears running down your face as the belt came in contact with your hands.

Drawing your hands back, he stopped you and roughly grabbed your wrist. Yanking your arm forward, he brought another lash to your stinging palms.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to sing, I was only singing-

“You sing at church. Not some bar full of lustful drunkards, you’ll learn, no more working, no more car, after this, you can reflect on your choices,” he said, as he began swinging the belt freely.

By the time he finished, you lay stiffly on the carpet, the welts already forming. You were too tired from crying and squirming to move around, but you knew one thing, you needed to leave as fast as possible. You couldn't stay in this small town and keep dealing with the treatment.

Forcing yourself off of the floor, you limped to your bedroom. Packing only a handful of outfits in a backpack, grabbing your stash of saved money. Once you were sure your parents were settled in their room, you snuck and took your car keys from your father’s jacket.

Running outside, you quickly started your car to leave. You had to get as far away as possible, and you could find a new job wherever you went. You had enough money saved to get an apartment, but as of now you simply wanted to drive, cry, and hope to end up anywhere better than this shitty town.

“You are in luck, my dear, we just recently finished cleaning up a one-bed, one bath - the only problem is it is on the third floor, and the elevator only goes to the second,” the landlord, Gary said, smiling sheepishly.

“It doesn't matter to me, I need a place as soon as possible,” you told him.

“Then we can work something out, you seem like a sweet girl with a good head on your shoulders, I won't do a background check, just finish the application and we’ll go from there,” he said, standing as someone rang the bell in the lobby.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaving you, as you tried your hardest to hide your smile.

After hours upon hours of driving until you finally stopped in San Francisco, and the first apartments you checked, you were already finding a place to stay. Gary, the landlord, was the kindest old man, everything you wished your father was.

As he said, the process went by quickly, and before you knew it, both of you stood outside of the door, as he placed the keys into your hand.

“It’s only you and the neighbors across the hall, but you won’t have any issues, they stay to themselves,” he explained.

“Thank you so much,” you told him.

“Oh please, dear, I hope you enjoy your stay,” he told you, turning to leave you.

Your living situation was now secured, you just needed a job. The sun was beginning to set, but perhaps there were a few places you could check- your hand instinctively went to your stomach as it growled. Maybe you could eat something first, preferably something budget-friendly.

Driving around, the lounge caught your eye, Midnight Oasis, and they sold baked goods! Parking your car, you made your way inside. The room was dimly lit, most of everyone's attention on the stage. A man sat, playing a saxophone.

Going to the counter, you ordered a slice of the velvet cake, along with a cold-cut sandwich. Sitting at the bar, you watched in amazement, as the man played the instrument. Back home, you weren't allowed to listen to music on the radio, it was the devil's music, your father had even taken it out of your car.

All you had was old vinyl, bought at the record store, and all of the albums you owned were from the sixties or older. When you worked, you grew familiar with a few artists you liked, Queen, Donna Summer, and Abba, just to name a few, but you hadn't been listening long enough for any of it to stick.

As the cute plates were placed in front of you, you slowly ate, watching the performance. The man playing the music was quite handsome and had strong features, dark eyes, and a cute haircut. He kind of stood out, he didn't look like the type to be in lounges.

“Is he an upcoming artist? He's really good,” you asked the nearby bartender.

“Christopher? No, he's just a regular, the tips are nice so he keeps coming back,” she laughed.

“He doesn't work here?” you asked surprised.

“No, you sign up and the stage is yours for nearly an hour, you can do music, stand up, dance, whatever,” she said, as she cleaned the glasses.

“How do I sign up?” you asked, interested in the idea of easy tips.

“Sign that paper, I don't think anyone else has signed up, so you may be next,” she pointed out by the cash register.

“Thank you,” you said, going to the cashier to pay for your meal, along with signing the paper.

“Oh, you actually signed up,” the bartender said, surprised as you came back.

“Yeah, could I have two shots of…do you have whiskey?” you asked, taking out a few bills to pay.

Quickly making the shots, she slid them to you, watching as you reached for them.

“To new beginnings,” you mumbled to yourself. Throwing each shot to the back of your throat, you grimaced at the burning sensation, shaking your head sourly.

“That was Christopher with his self-written piece, next up, Y/n,” the cashier announced with a microphone. Exhaling, you took off your jacket and purse, revealing the shirt you'd cut into a crop top with daisy dukes.

“Could I leave this here?” you asked her, sitting it on the counter as she nodded.

Walking through the crowd, you could already feel the alcohol warming your body. You smiled at the variety of men, as their eyes widened, watching you walk past. Making eye contact with Christopher, you looked him up and down, moving to the microphone, while he walked off of stage.

“Hey,” you called out to him, biting your lip as he looked back at you.

“Do you play piano?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Could you…” you motioned.

“Sure,” he grinned, coming back on stage.

“Do you know Natural Woman?”

“Uh, yes,” he nodded.

“Okay, follow along,” you chuckled, grabbing the microphone from its stand.

Lookin’ out on the morning rain, I used to feel so uninspired-

As you started singing, he began to press the keys, and the crowd of men began whistling, wooing you. Continuing to sing, you walked from the stage, passing a few of the men, swaying your hips. The performance seemed to catch the attention of nearly all of the employees, hearing how rowdy the audience was getting.

Sitting on one of the many tables, you looked down at both of the brown-skinned men. They stared at you as if you were prey, and in a twisted way, it only made you more confident in your appearance.

Hoping up, you went back to the stage was the song was coming to an end, dramatically bowing as everyone cheered for you. The staff, the audience, security, even people that had been walking by had came in to hear your voice.

“You were amazing,” Christopher started, as he stood up.

“I know,” you laughed.

“Are you new in the area? Maybe we could get lunch sometime,” he said, and just like that, he became unattractive to you.

“I don't know, it seems a little bit too soon for any of that,” you apologized.

“No, it’s okay, at least take my number, if you're ever bored, call me,” he said, quickly writing his number on a napkin and giving it to you. Grabbing his saxophone case, he waved, before he left.

Walking from the stage, you accepted the tips, from everyone. Thanking each of them with a wink, when a man stopped you.

“That was a beautiful performance”

“Thank you”

“My name is Donald Willis, I’m the owner of this establishment, and I would love to offer a position as a full-time performer. You would get paid weekly, along with your tips, please accept, we have been this crowded for years,” he said.

“Okay,” you nodded, excitedly.

“Come back tomorrow night and we’ll talk more, Miss Y/n,” he said, eagerly, walking away.

Going to the bar, you sat down, putting your things back on.

“You certainly know how to put on a show, and Donny offered you a job,” the bartender came back.

“Thank you, I’m so excited,” you beamed. Everything seemed to be falling into place for you, leaving home was one of the best things that could've happened.

“Brava, it has been a long time since I’ve seen such an eccentric performance,” you heard, making you turn around. Of the brown men, one was clearly black, but the other was possibly desi. They were handsome, with a hungry, and lustful glint in their eyes.

“You have a beautiful voice,” the second man spoke.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“For you,” the brown man spoke, holding the folded bills, it had to be a few hundred, sticking the money in your waistband, you got goosebumps as his cool fingers brushed against your skin.

“I’m Y/n,” you spoke, they shared a smirk, before looking back to you.

“Louis”

“Armand,” you brown man spoke. His eyes felt like they were piercing through you and it only drove you crazier.

What was wrong with you? You loved men like your father, stoic, stern, a little evil, but what you loved even more was doing to them what you couldn't do to your father; break them. To have these scary men falling at your feet, there was no greater ecstasy. You certainly weren't a virgin, perhaps that was one of the many reasons your father was cold to you, but the distance between you both slowly was replaced by your nymphomaniac tendencies.

“Why’d you turn down the kid with saxophone, he seemed nice,” Louis asked.

“He’s not what I’m looking for, especially in a man,” you crossed your leg over the other.

“Really now?”

“Hm, I prefer older, mysterious men,” you batted your eyelashes.

“Is that what you think? You should get home, too dangerous for a young girl to be out alone,” Armand said, turning to walk away.

“I am not a little girl,” you told him, taking your purse, storming past him. You were too offended by his words to notice his smirk. They could hear your thoughts loud and clear, he could see the sass in your walk, this was the most intrigued Armand and Louis had been in a while.

“Hey, he didn't mean that sometimes he just speaks before he thinks,” Louis called out, trying to keep up with you, your humanly fast pace.

“It's okay, Louis, I appreciate it, not everyone can have the looks and a way with words, your loverboy lacks the latter,” you said, as Armand slowly approached the two of you.

“My apologies, I am very aware that you are indeed fully woman, I was only letting you know, that there are scary men who would give anything to hunt a woman with a face as cute as yours,” he told you, grinning as you mentally questioned why he sounded like he was from another time.

“Let them, I can handle myself,” you told him, looking away as his eyes explored your figure. He didn't even hide it, while Louis was more discreet.

“Hardly, it would only take one swift move, to have you against the car, if you knew any better, you would take my advice,” he said, making your laugh.

“Is that what this is? Your advice? You haven't been able to keep your eyes off of my cleavage since you introduced yourself, if you wanted me, all you had to do was say it,” you smirked, looking at him. He stared at you, before sharing a look with Louis.

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet, only seventeen

Dancing queen

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah

Singing loudly, you vacuumed the large rug in your living room. It had been only a few weeks since living in San Francisco, and things were really looking up for you. You'd been hired at the Midnight Oasis and quickly became popular, the money growing each night.

Louis and Armand, you didn't see any more, which bummed you out. After that night, what happened between the three of you, in your car, you hoped they would at least try to keep contact. However, you couldn't stay stuck on the same two people, which is why you had already been on a lunch date with Christopher.

He was there nearly every other day, and after a few conversations, you agreed to meet him for lunch. He was sweet, the stereotypical good guy behavior. He wasn’t your type, but perhaps it was what you needed, instead of the same men you kept dealing with.

The sound of knocking interrupted your thoughts, lowering the radio, you rushed to the door and swung it open. Raising your eyebrow, you were surprised to see Louis.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hey, could you keep the music down a bit,” he smiled.

“You’re my neighbor, and I’m just finding this out,” you said, your eyes widening as Armand opened the door across the hall.

“We’ve known about you for some time now, just been busy,” Louis said.

“I was wondering when I’d see you both again, I figured you didn't want to see me anymore, especially since you both thought I was too much of a little girl to leave your number, but woman enough to fuck,” you raised your voice for Armand to hear. He had been staring, unblinking with those piercing eyes, never once speaking to you.

“You practically begged for it, but you are a young girl and you need to act like it,” Armand said, your eyes immediately watered, his choice of words reminding you of your father.

“Shut the fuck up,” Louis looked back at him with a frown.

“Don't listen to him-

“I don't know what your problem is, Armand, but I have some news for you. I certainly wasn't begging you, shrimp. I’ll keep the music down, Louis,” you said, slamming the door shut.

Leaning against the wall, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to calm yourself down. You had lied, trying to hurt Armand’s pride, he and Louis had been the best you'd ever had. You didn't understand what was his problem though. His eyes showed that he yearned for your attention, but the first time he saw you in nearly a month, he said something so mean.

The next morning, opening your door, you were shocked to see the bouquet. A small card, simply stating, “sorry”, not even a name. Balling up the note, you angrily took the flowers and tossed them in the trash.

As much as you were attracted to these men, it was best to do them the same thing they had done to you, leave them in the past. There were too many options for you to be stuck on two men you didn't know.

You began avoiding them like the plague, going to work and coming home. Occasionally, you made plans, but you mostly stayed in your apartment or at your job. Christopher because a recurring person in your life, and you didn't mind, if it meant the two would leave your thoughts.

I love to love you, baby

Finishing the Donna Summer song, you waved, facing Christopher as he pulled you into a hug. Rocking left to right, his hand rested on your lower back. Pulling away, you accepted the tips, before the both of you were at the bar.

“You did amazing, you always do, I don't think I've ever met anyone like you,” he confessed, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips. Laughing, you leaned close, pecking his lips.

“Would you like to come to my place?” you asked, tilting your head. Eagerly nodding, he stood as you held his hand, leading him to his car.

Back in the apartments, Louis leaned against the wall, and Armand sat on the sofa, trying to stop himself from destroying the area out of jealousy. They could hear you, loud and clearly. Your moans, giggles, the sound of the bed, he couldn't stop his leg from shaking.

“You can't be jealous, after what you did,” Louis told him.

“What have I done?”

“You were all inside her brain and used those words against her”

“You were in her thoughts as well, and I was trying to create distance between us, it will either be death or she is turned, if we reveal our identity. Something about her is very special, and I don't know if she should have the dark gift,” he confessed, grimacing as you whispered the saxophone boy’s name.

“That would be up to her to make that decision, I like her and I know you do too, so there is no reason for you to act like that, when you could just try to get to know her, outside of invading her thoughts,” Louis told him. It sounded very easy, but Armand couldn't help that he ended up saying the wrong thing.

Standing up, he could hear the two of you getting dressed, and soon your door opened, and you walked the boy to the stairs. Just as you were coming back, Armand opened the door, staring at you.

“Can I help you?” you rolled your eyes.

“You were loud,” he lied.

“Okay? Turn on the radio to drown me out,” you said, gasping as he was in front of you within a span of a blink.

“You choose to live vivaciously through your daddy issues-

“Excuse me?”

“When you are worthy of more than this,” he said, his eyes briefly looking down at the robe. Staring into his eyes, you smashed your lips into his own. Naturally, he picked you up, his hands moving down your back to your bottom. You moaned lightly in the kiss when suddenly, you slapped him.

He could see the tears building up in your eyes as you ran into your apartment, slamming the door. Looking back, he shared a look with a very disappointed Louis.

“You live vivaciously through your daddy issues, why the hell would you say that?” he asked Armand, as he came back into their apartment.

“I was trying to be nice-

“By bringing up trauma? When the hell has that ever worked for anyone?” Louis stressed, going into their shared room. Armand seemed like a lost cause, any possibility that he and his companion had to see or experience you again, was dropping, quickly.

“Wait, so you had a threesome with your neighbors? They're not gay?” Christopher asked. He had become a regular at your apartment, oftentimes cuddling, talking, being intimate. In a way, he seemed like your boyfriend without the title.

“Not completely, obviously, because it happened, but Armand has been the biggest asshole ever since, it really has been too much,” you shook your head.

“Do you want me to tell him to back off?” Christopher asked.

“No, he has been keeping his distance, hold on, I need to give Gary my rent,” you gasped, remembering that he said he would be out of time for two weeks.

“You want me to come?” he said, watching as you slipped into the pajama pants and slippers, grabbing the check.

“No, it's fine, I will only be a few minutes,” you said, going to the stairs.

Making your down to the lobby, you rang the bell, hearing Gary call out, one second. Leaning against the counter, you patiently waited, jumping as your name was called.

“Y/n, how are you?” Louis asked as he and Armand entered the building.

“I’m okay, you?”

“Great,” he smiled at you.

“Y/n, I-I would like to apologize for my actions towards you, how I spoke to you is inexcusable, I spoke wrongfully one too many times without thinking,” Armand confessed. You didn't say anything, staring at him.

“Gary, I’d like to pay Y/n’s rent this month,” He said.

“No, I don't need you to do that,” you refused.

“I insist, think of it as payment for the emotional distress I’ve caused,” he said, counting out a few hundred dollars, and handing them to Gary, as soon as he came from his office.

“You can spend your money on something nice,” Louis told you, as Gary looked at you.

“That is very kind of you two,” Gary nodded in approval, taking the money, and going to his office.

“You didn't have to do that, you could have done anything else,” you told Armand, your heart fluttered as he smiled.

“I told you, think of it like my payment for the distress I’ve caused you, I knew matter to speak to a lady in such a manner, but I let my tongue run loosely in the presence of a beautiful woman like yourself,” he spoke. Your eyes widened, surprised by his words. He expressed as if he was a completely different person.

“Well…apology accepted,” you said, making your way to the stairs, both of them following close behind.

“Would you two like to come over for lunch-

“We have plans tomorrow,” Louis spoke, feeling guilty as you mouthed, ‘oh’.

“But you can come over tomorrow night, do you play board games?” he continued, blushing as you smiled, nodding.

“Then we will see you tomorrow, after sunset,” Armand told you, as you approached your apartment.

“See you then,” you nodded. As you entered your apartment, Christopher looked at you confused at your smile.

“You seem happier than before you left, something happened?” he asked.

“Nope,” you said, your smile faltering as he stood up.

“I have to leave, I have class early tomorrow, I’ll see you later?” he asked, putting his shoes on.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just see you later,” you nodded, letting him peck your cheek, before making his way out of the apartment.

Christopher made his way out of the complex, walking towards his car, when he stopped, seeing the familiar man, leaning against his car.

“You, again,” he grumbled.

“I need your help, you’ve gotten to know Y/n, and how does one grand sound?” he asked, Christopher pondered on it.

The man had approached him, some time ago, offering him money, to have access to you. The longer he declined the deal, the higher the offers became. Christopher had been trying to hold out because he did like you, but he was a struggling college student. From his understanding, in your hometown, you didn't have any plans concerning college, and since you had been in San Francisco you had taken all of the money he could have earned.

“What is your name again, sir?”

“Joseph”

“Alright, Joseph, I will let you know when we can begin planning,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand before getting into his car.

Meanwhile, Armand and Louis began getting ready for bed, undressing.

“You did good, telling her how you feel,” Louis told Armand.

“You don't think I overstepped?” Armand asked.

“She agreed to come over, so it worked,” Louis told him, as he nodded in agreement.

“Right”

“We just have to wait for the right time to tell her,” Louis said, as they climbed into their coffins.

After spending countless hours observing, they had determined that you were indispensable, the crucial element to their companionship. The apple of their eyes, from the way you walked down to your sassy mannerism, they would do anything, be anything, if it meant they could have you.

“Make your move, Y/n,” Louis taunted. It had been well over two weeks and you were beginning to form a friendship with the two males. Regularly hanging at their apartment whenever you were off or spending time with them after your performances.

“Armand, help me,” you whined, holding the cards close. You were losing terribly in the card game and with you asking for help, he immediately felt compelled, reaching forward, grabbing the necessary card.

“Why did you actually help?” Louis asked, as you laughed.

“Don't be a sore loser, Louis,” you pointed, before glancing at the clock.

“Oh god, it is getting late, I need to get dressed for work,” you said, standing up.

“You picked up tonight?”

“Donny asked me last minute if I could do it, you two should come, we can get a few drinks afterward,” you said, turning around. You caught a glimpse into their shared bedroom. You didn't know if your eyes were playing tricks on you, but it looked like a coffin inside.

“Sure, did you want to ride with us?” Louis asked.

“Will your boyfriend be there?” Armand asked, trying to hide his jealousy. Smiling, you stepped closer to him.

“I don't have a boyfriend, and no, I would rather my outfit be a surprise,” you smiled, backing out of the apartment, as Armand walked forward.

“Then we will be there waiting for you,” he said, taking your hand into his own, and placing a kiss on your knuckles.

Going to your apartment, you immediately began fixing your hair and makeup. Thinking about Armand and Louis, you couldn't help but smile, they were so interesting. A few of your colleagues warned you, claiming the men seemed strange and could potentially be dangerous.

You didn't believe that though, hanging around them nearly every day, despite how intimidating they were to everyone else, they were nothing but gentlemen to you.

Just as you slipped on your fitted dress, you heard a soft knocking on the door. Smiling, you were going to peek out and tell Armand or Louis, they had to wait. However, your smile dropped upon seeing Christopher. You hadn't seen him at all, for the last two weeks, he wasn't answering the phone, nor was he ever showing up to the lounge anymore.

“Y/n, may I come in?” he asked, unable to meet your eyes.

“Fine, you have some nerve, showing up after all this time, I was worried about you,” you said, letting him in, going to a nearby mirror to fix your lipstick, slipping your earrings into your ears.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, looking as if he would burst into tears.

“It's alright, Chris, no need to look so emotional,” you laughed, going to grab your car keys and heels.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, making you look back at him in confusion, when a cloth went to your mouth, roughly pressing against your face, until you fell unconscious.

At Midnight Oasis, just as Louis was parking the car, they felt weird feeling. You were in trouble, starting the car, then quickly went back to the apartment. Your door was shut, but by making the door swing open, they could see that you struggled only a little, knocking a few things. Picking up the cloth, it was obvious someone drugged you. Armand frowned, the cloth burning into flames before he stormed out of the apartment.

Waking up, you groaned, your head throbbing. Blinking repeatedly, your heart was pounding as you recognized your surroundings. You were home. Trying to get up, you realized your hands and ankles had handcuffs on them. When suddenly, your father walked into the room, Christopher behind him, with his head down.

You didn't know when you got here, or how long you had even been here, but you had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

“Dad…”

“You have no idea what you’ve put your mother and me through to get you back home, it was thanks to this young man, I was able to get you back,” he grinned, patting his back.

“Chris?”

“I needed the money,” he told you, looking away.

“And you, young lady, you’ve shown why you don't need to be away from home,” he said, as Christopher hesitantly approached.

“Your neighbors, they- they are some kind of monster, it may be best that you stay here,” he tried to make you feel better, as he showed you the pictures. Louis and Armand, both biting into people, seemingly killing them, fire, lots of it, as they burn the bodies. None of it was logical, you had no logical explanation for it, but all you knew was the two had treated you with chivalry and you weren't going to trust him when he had kidnapped you for your father.

“You’re wrong, get away from me, I hate you, I hat-” You dropped your head when your father slapped you in the face.

“Thank you for your help, Christopher, take your money and get out of my house,” he said, as he began taking off his belt.

“Mom, mommy,” you screamed, tears already piling up in your eyes, out of fear. Five months had come and gone, you began to live a life, free of this, but in his presence, you were filled with fear.

She came from out of their room, tears in her eyes, and she shook her head.

“Joseph, don't do this, this isn't the way, please,” she cried. You both knew this spanking would be worse than any of them.

“Shut up, go in the room,” he screamed at her, making her lower her head at his tone.

Swinging the first lash, you gasped, feeling as if your breath had been taken away. Falling over, your face landed on the carpet, as you took a deep breath, although he didn't let you recover, as he began swinging the belt harshly. You would die, you were sure he would kill you from this.

You could hear your mother crying, begging him to stop, you had enough, even Christopher hadn't left, watching the scene unfold. He questioned within himself if he had made a mistake, in helping your father. You lay crying quietly, flinching after each hit when the door broke open.

Armand and Louis walked in, and immediately, Louis was in front of Christopher, snapping his neck. He had given you up for money, making him equally guilty. Your mother screamed as you widened your eyes. Armand stalked towards your father, fire appearing in his hand, as your father backed away from him. Crouching down, Armand ripped handcuffs off with ease, caressing your wrists, then ankles.

“What are you two doing here?” you sniffled.

“Here to get the woman we love,” he said, holding your face.

“What are y-

“We will explain, everything, but trust me when I say, you will never be treated like this again, you will only know love, I promise you. Louis and I will cherish you, seeing you for all that you are, if you allow us to be your companions. Would you grant us the greatest gift, to be yours?” he asked, as Louis approached, crouching next to him.

“Yes,” you smiled, wiping your tear-stained face, as they both embraced you.

“You whore, you’ve defiled yourself, giving yourself to these demons, who have committed acts against nature,” your father spewed, as the two of them slowly looked towards him.

“That is something I have to live with, Dad,” you told him, slowly standing up.

“Do you think I am letting you leave this house after you have shown you love what is evil, it would have been better if you had never been born,” he said, pulling out a pistol from his waistband.

“Joseph, no-oh god,” your mother screamed, the most terrifying scream, as the gun went off. Holding your stomach, you looked down at the blood on your hand, before your eyes went to Armand, then Louis.

Louis caught you, as you began to fall, while Armand stood, as darkness covered his eyes. You could see the fire sparking from his hand, your vision going in and out, as he gruesomely killed your father. Breaking his limbs, drinking his blood, setting him on fire.

Louis held you, trying to keep you awake, while he searched for the bullet. Finally, as he pulled it out, Armand rushed over lifting you into his arms. Louis looked back at your mother, who cried hysterically, about to stand up, you reached for him.

“Spare her,” you struggled to speak.

“I’m going to make the pain go away, okay,” Armand told you.

“Are you sure you want to do it? I can do it-

“No, I got it,” Armand said. All this time, in San Francisco, he had been trying to push you away with mean words, to avoid this happening to you — but now at this moment — he wanted only his blood flowing through your veins.

Struggling to nod at his words, your eyes began to roll back, as he began drinking your blood, and before death could take you, he pulled away. Your breathing was shallow, slow, and unsteady, as you reached to hold his face.

Using his nail to slice his skin, he brought his wrist to your mouth. “Drink,” he told you, watching as you slowly began to swallow, holding onto his arm. Finally, after you had enough, you let go, laying back in his arms, as your eyes went to Louis, reaching to hold his hand.

“We will teach you everything you need to know, in your new life, but things of your former life will have to be left behind,” Louis told you, motioning to your mother. Nodding, you watched as he stood up, approaching her. She flinched away from him, but he grabbed her, glamouring her, telling her a fabricated story, before sending her to bed.

Despite still having a wound, your stomach no longer hurt, but rather churned. Armand looked down at you, Patting your stomach, he smiled.

“No worries, it is normal, and won't last for long,” he said, kissing your cheek.

“What are we?” you asked him, as your body felt physically exhausted.

“We are vampires and we will have an eternity together”

“Promise?”

“I promise”

“I’m sorry,” Robert said, genuinely feeling pity for you.

“Oh no, there is no need to be sorry, my father was a terrible man, as was Christoper, no different than Judas, it was unfortunate that I had been shot, but my maker and companion both avenged me, before I was given the dark gift,” you said, as Armand kissed your intertwined hand, while Louis kissed your cheek.

“And what of your mother?”

You remember as if it was yesterday when you got the letter in the mail. She was old, wheelchair-bound, and waiting for her time to come. She had sold everything and now lived in a retirement home. Louis had only wiped her memory up until the night you left, blaming her husband’s death on sickness. She wrote you a letter, begging that you would come see her, and out of curiosity, you showed up.

You felt bad for her, she couldn't help that she was brainwashed into the role of what was considered a good wife. However, when you showed up, first she praised how young you looked before she began to scold you. She couldn't believe you would up and abandon your family because of mistakes your father made, it was shameful, etc. You knew it was wrong, but you made her remember everything, a devious smirk on your face as you left the facility. She screamed that same scream from that night, terrified by the things she had seen and allowed.

“Her memory was erased and she lived the rest of her and died a happy old woman,” you smirked.

“After your time at Midnight Oasis was that the night of your music career, until recently?”

“No, I continued there a few more years and went on to do some behind-the-scenes work, songwriting, producing, a little bit of everything”

“Do you ever…do you ever think of seeing other vampires, or even people? An eternity seems like a long time to be bound to someone,” he managed to get out. You could practically see the steam radiating from Armand and Louis, as they stared at him. Laughing, you lay your head on Louis’s shoulder

“Not really, companionships are different than any average relationship, so the circumstances are really the same either”

“Miss Y/n, excuse me, but your meals have arrived,” Joy peeked into the living room.

“I’m afraid this interview will have to be cut short, Robert,” you told him, leaning forward, an enthusiastic grin on your lips.

“We will finish on Zoom, ciao,” you waved, as he blushed, packing his things.

“I will see you, then,” he said, unable to meet the eyes of Armand and Louis because of their harsh stares.

“Did you have to scare him?”

“He’s lucky he didn't get worse,” Louis said.

“Exactly, with his perverted thoughts, I should have ripped every limb from his pathetic body-

“If you two kill every person who wants me, who will fawn over me?” you asked them, while they shared an expression.

“Us,” they said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Obviously, but you like when I’m performing, being ravished with attention, not just you two but others,” you pouted, as you began to open the robe.

“Of course, but it is infuriating hearing the thoughts of everyone who thinks they could have a chance with you”

“Let them have their fantasies, it is on the stage that they can use their imagination, but you both know I won't be going anywhere any time soon,” you said, kissing Armand’s lips, then Louis’s.

“Promise?” Louis asked you.

“I promise,” you laughed, your pinkies wrapping around both of their pinkies.

“Miss Y/n, your first meal…”

i'm not sure about how i feel about this one, but time will tell…

#armand x reader #armand the vampire #louis de pointe du lac x reader #louis x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv

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nymphea0 · 4 months ago

Text

Until Death My Love

Part 3.

Yandere Husband X Wife Reader

Warning : violence, gore , mention of corpses, blood , guns and ciggarette.

Very long story, might have bad grammar,correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote.I hope you all enjoys my story . Last Chapter will came out, so stay always love.- Neva 🦋🦋

Word Count Around : 1593 Word

Story Part 1 : Until Death My Love

Story Part 2 : Until Death My Love

Still at basement you only with yourself choose something that might make yourself regret.

However, your heart and mind are at odds which ends up you standing in front of the white door.

Swallowing your saliva roughly, you open the door slowly, the door opens and creates a sound that really disturbs your soul.

A foul odor can be smelled in your breath, this smell you are not sure what smell is even more smelly than a dead animal?.

The room was dimly lit yellow, when you entered the room, the walls of the room were decorated with many photos of yourself, from photos of yourself at school, at your house before you married Alex, and photos of yourself sleeping.

You were very shocked to see what you had just seen, covering your mouth and walking backwards only to feel a collision with an object hanging from the ceiling of the house platform.

Turning your body, you screamed softly looking in disbelief, falling slowly and retreating in fear behind the table that you accidentally hit.

There were 2 familiar faces that you often met, 1 was the gardener who always greeted you in the morning when you walked leisurely to breathe the fresh morning air.

The man, hanging upside down with a lot of blood dripping on his body, with his mouth agape and eyes bulging with wide fear.

You always believed that the garden man quit his job because he wanted to get married as Alex told you, only to see the man already died miserably there.

Then there was another man whose condition was even worse than the garden man, he was the driver who always took you to and from wherever you went somewhere.

You always knew that this man tried to flirt with you every time you went out, until because you couldn't stand it, you told Alex about your worries, Alex only responded with a smile and patted your head gently and said he would transfer the driver to another job.

You always believed Alex's words, but you didn't know that .... the man didn't change jobs but died.

Because you couldn't stand what you saw anymore, you ran out of the room, closed the door roughly, ran with all your soul while carrying the broom that you always held.

You even almost fell when climbing the stairs, when you reached the surface, you closed the wooden door roughly and put the carpet in the opposite direction.

With a strong push while trying to catch your breath, you close the bookshelf, and miraculously, the previously bent lamp returns to its original position.

Bringing the cleaning tools, you unlocked Alex's room, then you went out and ran fast towards your room leaving the cleaning tools in the hallway outside Alex's office.

Opening the door roughly, you entered your room and Alex's, there you saw your maid, Roana cleaning the bedroom window.

With a gasp you fell to your knees on the floor, Roana who was shocked stopped cleaning the window and approached you and asked if you were okay?

You who were too scared and nauseous just ignored it and Roana who was silent as if the woman knew what had just happened to you.

"Lady , did ... did you see that room?"

Very quickly you looked at Roana while glaring in surprise, while the woman, she just sighed and spoke tremblingly.

"Lady, you have to get away from Mr. Alex, he will kill you once he finds out that you entered the room."

With a slow shudder you just shook your head not sure about the plan.

Roana just took you to sit on the nearest chair and said something you never knew.

Roana said that Alex, the man you love, your husband, is a mafia from the underworld mafia association, a very scary power under Alex's leadership.

At first you tried to deny it but Roana said that this was the truth, Alex your husband, is a Mafia from the biggest mafia family in the underworld, the Hungry Lion, Arceint.

Roana tremblingly said that anyone who dares to enter Alex's secret room, whoever it is even including his wife, namely you, will die at his hands.

Roana only thought that you had read the important documents stored there, Roana didn't know that you saw something even worse than a document.

Panickingly you asked what you should do. Roana only said you have to leave this residence, just take important things like money and identity cards, leave your cellphone and clothes.

That night, exactly the 2nd day has arrived after Alex went on his business trip for 5 days, you went away from the residence where you made love with Alex for 2 years.

Accompanied by Roana, the woman sympathized with you, married to a mafia who faked his identity and was not allowed to work and do this and that seemed to be just a display wife, Roana felt that your life was very sad and she tried to help you leave.

"Lady, promise me you won't look back okay? You have to live happily".

That night by taking a taxi you left your house and Alex.

But unfortunately you didn't know that, that night was the last time you saw Roana alive.

The best quality leather shoes had just come out and touched the row of steps of a private jet.

Alexandrovic reigent had just arrived at the airport, the man couldn't wait to meet his wife again, his wife who was so cute, weak and also he loved very much was waiting for him at home.

Alex couldn't wait to kiss you, hug you and eat you until you couldn't think anymore and only thought about him and him alone.

Humming softly, he entered the black sedan and drove towards the house.

With the sight of a large pitch black gate decorated with a lion statue on each gate, the black sedan entered the residence.

Coming out with a happy look, Alex walked with steady steps where all the servants and guards bowed respectfully at Alex's return from his work.

This was beyond expectations, they thought that Alex would return on the 5th day, but not even the 5th day Alex had returned.

Entering the house, Alex realized your absence. Walking slowly towards the room, while smiling a little, thinking that you were his little wife was sleeping, only to see that it was empty.

Searching all over the house, Alex still couldn't find you.

There was only 1 room that he hadn't explored, his study, entering his study, the place was clean and tidy, Alex guessed that you cleaned the room.

With steady steps, Alex looked around and towards the bookshelf hoping to find you there, but unfortunately not.

Until something made Alex stop walking, a purple flower hair clip plated with gold fell right between the basement doors that he hid from you.

Kneeling slowly and picking up the hair clip, very quickly, Alex pulled the lever that was disguised as a light and roughly opened the cupboard shelf only to find a black carpet that was used to cover the wooden door on the floor in an upside down position.

With a stifled annoyance Alex could tell that you had seen the room that was the ground, including the white door.

With quick steps alex shouted angrily and called all the servants and also the house guards

"I pay you to work serving and prevent my wife from knowing about that room"

With his hand pointing up alex fired a gun in the air making the servants scared and the guards could only be silent.

"But look at what you all did, you are incompetent and unable to protect my wife by letting her leave this residence ?!"

"Do you still want to live?"

With great anger alex fired his shot towards one of the guards who bowed towards him, the poor man fell to the floor covered in blood.

"Come forward .... I know that one of you is helping my wife, come forward or I will speed up your deaths"

With the gun pointed at all of them, the servants panicked as did the guards.

Roana who felt this was her fault for asking you to leave the residence could only surrender and move forward.

Only to get a kick in the stomach.

"You, a country woman, dare to make my precious thing disappear? I think you really want to die, right? Then I will make your dream come true"

That night, the reigent residence was accompanied by the sound of thunder and thundering rain, decorating the atmosphere of the house with the screams of a woman begging for mercy and also the sound of a gun.

That night was a night of hell for Roana, the servant who always faithfully served you.

A tall man with black hair standing in his room study, facing out the large French window, accompanied by the sound of thunder and rain.

Alex, the man smoked nicotine in a peaceful state, but with a different heart.

With a soft voice and his crazy psychotic smile, Alex spoke

"Run my dear, run, hide, don't stop hiding, until when I catch you, don't expect to ask for forgiveness from me, my dear wife, because I, Alexandrovic Reigent Arceint will never let go of what is already mine"

Accompanied by the sound of thunder, Alex laughed psychotically with his hand holding a cigar. While imagining what punishment would be suitable for his little wife who was busy running away from her husband.

*Source image: pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story . Project Dark Romance Story 1.

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

@snowflakes666 @elleflying07 @cannyyyyy @f1sheeee

#yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere #possesive #obsessed #nevaerah

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uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years ago

Text

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup. Total dreamboat.

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d what?”

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

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

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

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

I’d have sex with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Sam melted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

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

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

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

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

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

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

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

His—lap.

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

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

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

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

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

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

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

That is not the case.

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

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

“Shut up, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

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

“Everything okay?” He worries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...In our bed…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got super noisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

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

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

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

What in the ever-loving fuck.

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

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

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

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

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

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

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

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

“A-ah!”

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

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

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

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

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

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

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

If this is just how his fingers feel…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

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

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

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

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

So…

Close…

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

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

“Sa—Sam—”

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

“Sam…”

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

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

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

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

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

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

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

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—you go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

READ PART TWO.

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

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thegirlwholovesficcharacters · 2 months ago

Text

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 Evan "Buck" Buckley x shy!Femreader!

Summary: In where y/n write Love Letters and send to her crush in a anonymously way, and thanks to eddie magic, she ends up revealing her identity as Buck's secret admirer.

Words: 2.201 Warnings: Mentions of insecurities, misunderstandings, attempts to make funny dialogues, a lot of fluff, buck being a cutie and eddie being a annoying best friend. Cursive are for her thoughts.

Autor's Note: Hello!. English is not my first language, and I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, you may find translation errors since I have little knowledge of English and mostly use Google Translate.

PD: There will be a second part because it was too long, and I want to keep it as one shots. Also, I think i got a little sidetracked with the love letter theme, but I liked how it turned out. What do you think?.

Y/n wasn't sure how this crush started. But she was sure of one thing, and she like Evan Buckley, a lot.

His smile, his hair, the ways he trated the kids when they come for a excursion his ambition for the ciencie and the silly moments he made when the team is working. There was so many things she likes about him, but she was so shy and scary of talk to him, even if he was the one who talk to her on the recess, she always find a way to run and hide, not because she doens't wanted to talk to him.

She was trying not to say anything emabarrassing in front of him or the team.

So, to convey all his feelings and thoughts, she had started writing love letters secretly. A rather romantic and old-fashioned way for her taste, but it helped her clear her mind. She felt like Lara Jean of all the boys I fell in love with, but instead, she didn't have five cards for different boys.

No, she had written too many letters only for one boy.

Letters that she sent him anonymously, she did not dare to tell him what she felt in person, she was not sure if he felt the same as her, but she was sure of one thing, and that was that, every time Buck opened his admirer's letters a big smile invaded his face. And y/n couldn't help but feel how her heart warmed up and began to beat uncontrollably every time she saw his smile.

That damn beautiful smile.

"You know, you can take a photo of it so it lasts longer" Eddie appeared in front of her wearing a mocking smile, almost amused at seeing his partner and friend's cheeks turn red as she was caught admiring the Buckley boy.

"Shut up Diaz" She muttered embarrassed as she was caught by her friend.

Eddie chuckled, setting a cup of hot coffee on the table right in front of her, the girl murmuring a soft thank you before blowing on the liquid and drinking some of the coffee.

"So…" He spoke looking at her, she raised an eyebrow.

"So what?" She asked.

He rolled his eyes.

"When are you going to tell him? You know…" He commented, surreptitiously pointing at Buck, who was leaning against the kitchen counter reading the letter with a stupid smile on his face.

Y/n stopped herself from smiling at Buck's cute image, she looked back into her friend's eyes and quickly denied knowing what he was referring to.

"I'm not ready yet." She wrinkled her nose, leaving the cup on the table. "Besides, I don't think I'm his type. Girls like me almost never date guys like him." She spoke, pointing between her partner and herself.

Hearing her, Eddie couldn't help but grimace and shake his head. He sat next to her and looked at her with a small sparkle in his eyes.

"Darling, we've already talked about that. You know you're beautiful just the way you are, right? Everyone knows that." The girl couldn't help but feel her cheeks burn.

"It's easy for you to say it, because you are my teammates and friends. But it's different when it comes to the person I like" She murmured towards him, Eddie sighed knowing very well what she meant.

He had known Y/N since he arrived at the station, she was one of the many people who introduced herself and offered him friendship, she helped him adapt to his new life in the city, and when he felt safe he introduced her to Christopher and Gosh, that kid adored the adorable woman in front of him. Eddie knew that his friend had insecurities about her body since she was young, she confessed it to him one night after going out to a bar with the team and Eddie had to take care of her, he let her stay at his house and hugged her when she started to cry.

If there was something that firefighter Díaz hated, it was seeing his best friend cry because of the bad comments about her body, about her thick thighs, her wide back, the stretch marks and especially her stomach, y/n wasn't skinny or tall, she had a medium build and a height of 1'60.

Eddie always made sure to make her feel comfortable when they had to train or helped her practice boxing.

He offered her a shoulder to cry on and his ears to listen to her, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried to help her overcome her insecurities, he had to give her space, he was one of the first to know her story. He was the first one she went to when she needed help with her car, he was the first to see her cry, the first to support her in her little secret about the anonymous letters and the first to know about her crush on Evan Buckley.

And Eddie Díaz promised himself to protect her from everything bad, even if it was the Golden Retriever he had as a best friend, Buck.

Eddie let out a small sigh before speaking.

"Hey, I was thinking..."And just as he was going to speak, the station's sirens started wailing.

Both friends looked at each other and got up at the same time, leaving their cups on the table to go with the rest of their companions and get on the pumper.

The moment 118 arrived at the emergency scene, the group of firefighters began to do their work, and y/n was next to Eddie looking for anyone who was trapped inside the house destroyed by a fire.

Although right now she would prefer the company of hen or chimney, so as not to have to listen to her friend's chatter about her crush on evan buckley.

"I'm just saying, you could, I don't know. Ask him out? Like coworkers?" Y/n rolled her eyes when she heard him.

"Stop it, Eddie. I'm not going to tell him yet. And I don't think he'll accept it."She responded in an irritated tone, both friends continued walking and checking every corner". Also, what could I say to-"Without looking down, Y/N quickly stumbled, falling sideways to the ground.

"Shit"

Eddie, like a good friend he is, laughed first and then a few seconds later helped her up, earning an annoyed grunt from her when she heard him laugh.

"Be careful darling." Y/n thanked him with a gesture and stood up, shaking her uniform.

Rememberyng what she was about to say, a big smile invaded in eddie face.

Oh no, not that horrible smile, she say mentally knowing tht smile was dangerous.

"Go on, tell him what? What would you ask?" A mocking smile appeared on Eddie's lips and she rolled her eyes. "Tell meeee, oh, practice with me!" He begged in a low voice without removing his mocking tone.

She looked at him, confused by his request, until she saw the playful glint in his eyes and finally understood what he meant.

For heaven's sake, someone kill me, she thought internally. Knowing that he would not stop bothering her, she decided to do it.

"Okay, okay. Here I go." She swallowed, she looked at her friend and feeling brave, she placed one of her hands on his shoulder.

Observing that gesture, Eddie raised an eyebrow and prevented himself from letting out a laugh.

"Hey, handsome I've been in love with you for along time, and I wanted to ask you, do you want to go on a date with me?" She asked in a seductive tone while batting her eyelashes, and earning a laugh from the firefighter which he muffled when he felt her hand hit his chest.

Avoiding a laugh, Eddie composed himself and looked at her with a seductive little smile.

"Yes, I would love to go out with you, my beautiful and hot firefighter" He answered in the same tone as her, avoiding breaking down with laughter, she rolled her eyes but still smiled."Would you like to move to second base tonight, doll?”He mocks by throwing kisses into the air.

"Oh my god, shut up!, you asshole!" She exclaimed hiting eddie's chest. Eddie just looked at her and laugh, not feeling offended by her insult.

Ignoring eddie's laugh, she give a one last look around, she sighed when she saw that there was nothing left to rescue.

"There's nothing here ed" she muttered to her partner, she looked in her pocket for her walkie tokie, when she found it she press the button "Captain Nash. Here firefighter Y/L/N, there's nothing left, no one else, or anything to rescue. Just charred wood" Spoke to her captain.

"Okay, Firefighter Y/L/N. You can get back in the truck, the patients are already on their way to the hospital" Their captain announced from the other side, both firefighters nodded to themselves.

"Copy that, cap." With that, she cut off the transmission and followed Eddie out of that destroyed house.

As soon as they reached the group and began to return to the station, Eddie spent the entire trip giving his friend mocking glances every time he saw her look and pay attention to what Buck was saying, clearly, y/n ignored his friend and she gave hall full attention to his partner, who was talking animatedly about a fact about reptiles he found on a website.

Eddie, who was next to Chim, pushed his shoulder next to his, drawing his attention. Having Chimney's attention, Eddie surreptitiously pointed to Buck and Y/N.

They both looked at each other and smiled knowingly, Eddie might know about her secret of the anonymous letters, but for the team, it wasn't a secret that Y/N liked Buck. That is to say, how obvious could she be and how blind could he be to not notice.

"Hey buck" Eddie called, when he heard his friend he stopped talking and looked at him confused "I heard that your anonymous admirer sent you a letter, any clue as to who it could be?" He asked feigning interest, at the mention of the letter, Buck smiled goofily.

Seeing his goofy smile, y/n smiled the same way at seeing him smile, completely ignoring the amused looks her coworkers were giving her.

"Well, I haven't started my search yet. But I think I have one" he commented to his friend. Eddie looked at him curiously and nodded.

"Really? What did you find?" Chimney asked this time.

Having the eyes of his companions on him, Buck felt his cheeks heat up and let out a small laugh.

"Well, the letters have beautiful handwriting and every time I open them a scent of lily perfume comes out. So, I guess the clue is that this person uses lily perfume" He explained, remembering exactly the smell of the perfume.

Y/n watched Eddie smile at her teasingly.

"Oh, wow. That's a great clue, buck," Eddie commented, Buck smiled and nodded energetically. "I guess you need help looking for more clues, right?" He smiled innocently at his friend.

Buck seemed to think about it. "Well, I-"

"Great. Because I have the best at solving mysteries" He spoke, the group looked at him raising an eyebrow and y/n wanted to hang from the ceiling of her apartment with toilet paper.

Buck smiled excitedly. "Really? Who?" He asked curiously without removing his excitement.

Eddie tilted his head and flashed a huge smile at his friend.

Oh no. Why me? Why me? She lamented to herself as she noticed his plan.

“Y/n, dear?” He called, ignoring the knowing smiles of hen, chimney, and bobby, y/n looked innocently at her friend and smiled fakely.

"Yes, Eddie?" She asked, getting the girl's attention he smiled.

"You're one of the best at mystery board games, maybe you could help Buck with his little anonymous mystery?" He asked in a neutral tone, pretending not to know what he was getting into.

"I...uh, well I think..." she stammered, scratching the back of her neck nervously as she felt their gazes.

She moved her head in the Buckley boy's direction. Big mistake. y/n couldn't help but feel the little tug her heart gave as she saw his blue eyes shine with a little hope.

Damn, why does he give me that look?

Feeling too much pressure from her friend's teasing gaze and her crush's hopeful eyes, y/n let out a quiet sigh and nodded.

"Yes, of course. Why not?" I accepted with a nervous smile, Buck smiled excitedly.

"Cool! Thank you so much, y/n!" The blonde thanked his partner without removing his huge smile.

Y/n could feel how that smile made her melt inside.

Across the seat, Eddie smiled proudly to himself, completely ignoring his friend's murderous look.

Damn you edmuno.

And damn Evan Buckley's beautiful wet puppy eyes.

And above all, damn the huge crush I have on Evan Buckley

Y/n was screwed, and it was all thanks to Eddie "Fuckin" Diaz.

What a asshole.

#fanfic #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 show #911 lone star #hen wilson #chimney han #bobby nash #athena grant #maddie buckley #christopher diaz #oneshot #evan buck buckely #buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz x reader #buddie x reader

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fanaticsnail · 6 months ago

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Hello Snail! Hope you’re doing well 🫶 I’ve been a fan of your writing for awhile, and had a little au idea pop into my head that I thought you would enjoy :)

Shapeshifter!Mihawk who wants to get closer to Reader, yet can see that they are intimidated by him. One day, while flying about the island to keep an eye on things, Mihawk is injured in bird form and crashes into a bush. Reader witnesses this and goes to rescue the “poor birdie,” not realizing this hawk is really Lord Dracule himself.

Shenanigans ensue, including:

- attempting to feed him seeds or worms

- miHawk bringing flowers to the windowsill or little trinkets and jewelry he “finds” (he’s sweating in the treasury to find something you would like)

- helping preen his feathers

- ranting to your new bird friend about the scary, attractive warlord who seems to just stare from a distance (Mihawk sees this as a green light to court you)

- “wow those eyes are SO familiar..”

- protective bird following you around/on your shoulder (he pecked someone who was flirting with you)

Keep taking care of yourself! And have a lovely rest of your day ✨

- bird brained anon 🪶

Oh my gosh, I need this. I need this so bad. I can see him being such a beautiful little raven or obviously a hawk. First thought: Diaval from Maleficent. But it's Mihawk, and he can switch at will.

Allow me the courtesy to write you an epilogue to your thoughts, I have been thinking about this for about 20 minutes and I needed to get it out. I'm not sure of the word count, it's just a little thing. Also, forgive the dodgy Photoshop. Raven was a stock photo edited on the Polish app on my phone and superimposed in front of Yoru from OPLA and I added some flowers to it.

Pretty Bird

Masterlist Here

Themes: fairytale creature au, avarial!Mihawk x reader, shapeshifter!Mihawk x reader. Part 2 here.

Little thought: If he's injured in his bird-like form, what if he can't switch back for a while? What if he's forced to remain nestled in the roofing of your country cottage until you manage to hear his hiss-like, pained squawks.

The bird is angry. He doesn't want to accept aid, but at the offer of a small piece of stewed meats, and drink by the warmth of your kitchen fire, who was he go resist such comfort? You name him: "pretty bird," and coo affectionately as you look over his feathers and insure there is no ache in his broken, hollowed bones.

Is he frightened? If he is, he surely cannot say. He is just a bird, after all. You bring him offerings of a wooden crate used to carry your homemade vintage of brandy-wine you produced from your country garden, and he accepts it immediately as his personal resting nook.

When your back is turned while you're washing up, you could've sworn you witnessed him dip his onyx beak into the goblet of brandy on your countertop. There was something in the way his golden eyes rolled in his head at the flavor that almost seemed human. You offer him a small thimbleful of the brandy, and he seems to bob his head and shake his tail in gratitude.

You hum to him, and he echoes the tune in a pleasant, deep warble back at you, coaxing a giggle from your throat. You offer him chin scratches as a reward for allowing you to check over his wounds, and his entire body leans into the gentle touch.

As his wounds seem to heal, you're almost remorseful at the prospect of never seeing this beautiful bird again. Such creatures are not meant for captivity, and you ensure to tell him as such as you unwind his bandage and remove his splint.

The last night you spend in the company of your pretty bird, you offer him an anecdote of your childhood: wandering the halls in the the high keep gallery on Kuraigana mountain when the former lord reigned. You longed to return, but you were not certain of the new lord's temperament.

You were unsure of what happened since the old man's natural passing, just as you were unsure of the Draculean man who now ruled thereafter. Was he kind and courteous as the ruler before him, or was he simply a man who now reigned where a kind man once homed: you were certainly too shy to ever approach him to ask.

All you could do is enjoy the splendor of your cottage, trading in handmade crafts with the former staff of high keep Kuraigana when the new lord retired them. They were elderly, and you were grateful of the Draculean man's kindness.

As you slipped into peaceful slumber by your open fire beside the crate, enjoying the warmth while laying on your sheepskin tapestry, the soft bob of talons was barely audible beside your slumbering body. Cloudy vapors of scentless, black smoke shrouded the bird's form and in its place was a creature native to the land, an angelic figure from the fables of old.

The winged man crouched beside you, cocking his head inquisitively to the side as he studied your features in his natural form. His amber eyes held curiosity and gratitude in its honey-like hue as he whispered gently beneath his breath a soft repetition of your name. Now that his tongue could claim your title, he was going to praise your kindness by rolling it over his palate at every moment he spent thinking of you.

"I will not forget your eagerness to aid me when my body was broken," he gently hovered his human like hands over your face, his taloned claws desiring to give you a gentle caress, but his thoughts of your comfort and consent to his touch pulls his urges from his mind. "I was just a bird to you, and you homed and treated me with not a semblance of payment in return."

The soft shudder of his onyx wings was silent, as if testing to see if they had healed before he slowly crept from your door and flew back to his castle in the dark of the night.

When you awoke, you heard a soft rap at your door and a slot of a letter beneath the iron frame of your letter slip. You first gazed to the brandy-wine crate, sighing off your soft sorrow at your pretty bird slipping away without saying goodbye.

Rising to your feet before stooping to collect the letter from the floor, you notice the wax seal was embroidered with the stamped letter "D" on its back. You cocked your head inquisitively to the side before using your blades letter opener to coax the waxy shell from the page. The letter was curt and brief, but the lettering was careful and almost loving.

"I would formally desire to extend an invitation to the premier reopening of the Kuraigana Gallery, by the bequest of Lord Dracule."

And who were you to refuse such an invitation from your new lord, regardless to how intimidating you found his reclusive nature? Donning your best formal garb, you make the lengthy trek towards the high keep with your nerves depicted by your heart jumping to your throat, and the swell of your tongue feeling heavy behind your teeth.

As you wander to the gray slate steps, you are blissfully ignorant of the amber gaze of your pretty bird watching over your every move with a soft curiosity in his eyes and a smile on his beak. He was so excited you accepted his invitation, and he was looking forward to showcasing his home and offering you sanctuary within his walls, just as you did to him when he was but a humble raven.

He was smitten, and he could hardly believe he had fallen prey to expressing adoration of a mortal being as yourself. One thing he was certain of was the fact he was to begin his romantic pursuit of you immediately, intensely and passionately. He could only hope you would not shy away from his winged form, and instead receive his affections with your heart and mind open to it.

#one piece #x reader #fairytale au #monster au #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #hawk eye mihawk #avarial mihawk #angel mihawk #winged elf mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader

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callmemaeverick · 4 months ago

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Good Cop, Bad Boy Part II: Scary Dog Privileges - A. Aretas

Pairing: Armando x f!Reader Summary: You learn what scary dog privilege is and who better to give it to you than Armando. WC: 2.2k [I went overboard, I can't seem to end a story it seems] TW: men being slightly creepy

Ps: pics are not mine, they are sourced from the internet. If these are urs, lemme know and Ill credit where credit is due or take it down

Photo credits @yeahnohoneybye (bottom left)

~~~~

You didn’t notice it at first. In fact, you were the second to last person to realize it and when you did, you couldn’t un-notice it.

According to the people around you, it was so obvious, they had known for months. It was only you and Armando who hadn’t caught up yet. And when you finally did catch up, you did not know whether to laugh and punch someone. And the best thing was, the person who had to break it to you was none other than 15-year-old Callie.

Mike was hosting his monthly cookout and his expansive yard was teeming with friends, family and every police officer who was off shift. You weren’t really having a bad time, but no one from the station seemed to want to spend time talking to you for more than 5 minutes.

It weirded you out because you don’t consider yourself a boring person. In fact, you were one of the department's top interrogator. You could talk and talk and talk to the point that the suspects would let their guards down and began talking too. But that day, you barely got to make a conversation.

“Whoa, what’s with the face?”

You looked up and smiled at Callie as she took a seat at the vacant table with you.

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” You hesitated but then decided to hell with it. “Do I smell?”

“What?”

“Do I smell? Have I got something in my teeth? Is my eyeliner smudged?”

The kid looked at you like you’d grown a second head. Maybe that’s why, you thought.

“Uhh no. You look great!”

“Then why isn’t anybody talking to me?” Your voice raised a little bit so you quickly reined it in. “There’s like half the department here. My old partner is there but he ran off before I barely finished telling him about Dorn’s stupid accident. That cute new beat cop there could barely meet my eyes when we were chatting at the drinks table.“

The whole time you were ranting, Callie seemed to struggle to fight back a smile. It was an expression you caught and zeroed in on.

“You know something.” When her grin finally broke out, your eyes narrowed. “Spill it!”

The girl you once babysat sighed. “Oh, you have no idea how many girls would kill to be in your position right now.”

“Ostracized by society?” Never it be said that you were not dramatic.

“Privileged!” She exclaimed. “It’s your scary dog privilege.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“My what now?”

The groan Callie let out was something that once came out of your own throat when you were a teenager. "Sheesh, you’re old.”

How dare she. “I’m 29.” You bit back, indignant.

Callie ignored you with a roll of her eyes. “Scary dog privilege. It's like having a guard dog that's so scary, no one wanted to mess with you. Or in your case, talk to you.”

“And you’re saying I have that? That scary dog… privilege?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

You almost snapped. “Notice what?!”

There’s a subtle twitch at Callie’s lips, threatening to become a smirk. She leaned in and you subconsciously did the same.

“He’s been watching you all afternoon.”

“Who?”

“Armando.”

The mention of his name sent a zap of something unidentified down your spine but you had more than enough practice of hiding it.

“What? No, he's not!” You laughed but couldn’t help yourself turning to locate the man.

You found him at the far corner of the yard, having a drink with Dorn and Rafe.

It had take a bit of time and effort from Mike to fight for his son to be exonerated. Especially when Armando had helped with so many cases and after a gruelling and extensive trial, Armando was granted amnesty provided that he worked off his remaining years of incarceration with the MDPD and AMMO. And after the whole thing with McGrath, Dorn, not one to hold a grudge, had warmed up quickly to him. The pair grew amicable, or at least respectful of each other and the skillset they brought to AMMO.

Then, as if he could sense you, Armando turned and met your eyes.

You immediately tore your gaze away and shook your head. “Yeah, no. That’s… that’s ridiculous.”

Callie, who had been watching you the whole time, did indeed smirk. “Suit yourself.”

Stubborn as a mule, you refused to entertain the thought until Monday rolled around.

“C’mon, Mike. It's just a 3 hour drive. I'll be fine!" You sounded like a teenager; but you couldn't help it. Not when one of your superiors insisted on acting like a father.

"No! You're not going alone. Period."

"Then you come with me."

"The fuck I am! I got a wife to get back to."

"Then, I'll go alone."

"The fuck you not!"

You groaned aloud, exasperation lacing your tone. There was no winning against Mike. Especially when you knew he has a point. But this was a once in a lifetime event and you were not going to miss it. A part of you had wanted to nod and agree with Mike and just go anyway, but you had too much respect for the man to do so, even if he was being a little overprotective.

"Dornatello," You swivelled in your chair towards your bestfriend, using his nickname to butter him up. "Please come with me,"

The big man shook his head, not even reacting to the nickname anymore. “No can do, shortstop. It’s my turn to cook tonight.”

When your eyes met Marcus, the man raised his hands up and the question died on your tongue.

It was at that moment you realized how fucking single you were.

The sound of someone descending the stairs to the war room quieted your energy a little. Especially when you saw who it was.

Armando gave his customary head nod to his father in greeting before he quirked an eyebrow at you. In the year working with him, most of you could read him based on his face alone.

“There's gonna be a meteor shower tonight.” You explained. “But you need to go somewhere dark to watch it because there’s too much light in the city." Turning back to Mike, you continued your argument. "I'm a fucking cop, Mike! I can handle myself"

"I know you can. But a female cop, alone in some dark-ass national preserve can still die."

"I'll go."

All at once the room went silent as everyone turned to Armando.

"What?"

"You need someone to go with you, right? I'll go."

Someone shifted in their seat somewhere behind you and you knew it was a nervous Dorn. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Marcus discreetly pulling on Mike’s pant leg, a giddy smile on his face.

"It's a 3 hour drive and we would be there until early morning." It was a way-out. It was your way of telling him to back out if he was not serious. You won't get your hope up just yet.

But Armando just levelled you a with a look and shrugged.

You fought not to show how warm you felt at the offer, but inside your heart felt like it was about to explode. A small smile of gratitude worked its way to your lips.

"Okay. I'll pick up up at 8?"

"Okay."

A beat passed. None of you looked away.

And then. "Okay. It's a date!" Mike exclaimed, breaking the tension. "Now, can we get to work?"

Blushing slightly, you broke off eye contact and turned to the screens.

xxxx

When you told him you'd pick him up, Armando apparently heard, "You should drive my car.", because the moment you pulled up at his small apartment, he walked over to the drivers side and opened your door.

"What?"

"I'm driving,"

"Excuse me?"

The way he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow made you want to smack him, but you knew that it was an argument you would not win. Besides, if you were honest with yourself, you felt much safer with him driving than driving yourself.

Pretending to be exasperated, you exited the car and let him slide in.

The drive up to Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park normally took 3 hours; but with Armando behind the wheel, you arrived earlier than expected. Or it felt that way with how the time seemed to fly when the whole journey consisted of you mostly talking and him mostly listening.

You talked about everything you could think off. Your current watch on Netflix, your new obsession with jigsaw puzzles. And occasionally; you would get some tidbits of info on your partner as well.

In any other situation, with any other man, you would have felt self-conscious with the amount of chatter that came out of you. However with Armando, you felt comfortable enough to tell him things you don't normally reveal.

But then you stepped onto the designated clearing in the park and all words died on your lips.

The place was dark. Very dark and you were some of the only people there. Slightly down the middle, a group of men sat around a small camping lamp. They saw you arrive and almost all at once, their heads turned to you.

Despite being a cop, despite having years of self-defense training, a chill crept down your spine. Maybe Mike has a point.

"You okay?"

His voice could very well have been a weighted blanket with how quickly the feeling of relief washed over you. You turned to Armando who revealed himself from behind you and nodded, moving further inside the clearing to find a spot to sit.

The moment they seemed to realize you were not alone, the men ignored you completely.

That's when you remembered what Callie told you and an amused smile broke out from you as you watched Armando take a seat on the picnic mat you brought.

"What?"

"She was right." When he gave you his signature look, you elaborated. "The scary dog privilege."

"The what?"

Your grin widened and you leaned closer as if sharing a secret. "She told me that you give out this scary dog vibe that makes people stay away from you and anyone you're around. And I think I see it now."

Armando scoffed but turned away from you. "Fuck outta here,"

"You do! Now that I realized it, you truly do!"

"How?"

"My interrogations went easier when I have you in the room with me." You started a count. "Remember? That perp practically spelled everything out for us last week and I barely said a word. We went to that shady bar looking for that fence the other day, and the bartender cooperated like that." You snapped your fingers.

Beside you, Armando rolled his eyes, but you were on a roll.

“And on Saturday Callie said you scared some of the guys from the precinct because you were…”You realized what you were about to say and trailed off.

“I was what?”

This time, it was you who averted your eyes. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Silence draped over you both and the darkness began to lift a little. People around you were more visible but most importantly, the sky above.

Millions of stars dotted the black above you and not for the first time, you realize how insignificant you are in this universe. For that moment in time, your work did not matter, your problems did not matter, you did not matter. You are a speck. Nothing more.

About an hour or so later, the first streaks of light appeared across the sky and you gasped, clutching Armando’s arm.

“Holy shit!” The view was breathtaking.

Your mouth fell open as you watched the small debris of matter that flew into your earth’s atmosphere, zooming past you at lightning speed. Every now and then, their light illuminated the clearing, giving you an ethereal glimpse of the national park and the people around you.

You turned to the man beside you and grinned wider when you saw the small smile on his face. People around you oohed and aahed and you joined them with abandon.

You had seen plenty of solar and lunar eclipses, even experienced an Aurora Borealis once. But this was the one that was the hardest for you to experience. This was the last one on your bucket list.

When the first flight died down, you finally felt the soreness of your cheeks. That's what you got for smiling so hard but goddammit it was worth it.

You turned to the man beside you.

"Thanks," You said and waited for him to properly turn to you before you sincerely added. "Thanks for doing this with me.”

Armando looked back at you but there was a softness in his gaze. Under the glow of starlight, he looked positively gorgeous. Gone was the hard lines of his face, the tightness in his jaw. Gone was the haunted look in he always carried.

All that was left was a brown-eyed boy who offered to watch meteors with you.

#armando aretas #jacob scipio #armando aretas x reader #bad boys #bad boys for life #bad boys ride or die

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katerinasas · 4 months ago

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CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT. 🖤 coriolanus snow x fem!reader

in which mrs snow finds something she must keep. and who his coriolanus to tell her no?

fluff ☁️

the garden behind the presidents mansion was beautiful, no doubt about it. coriolanus snow married his wife back there and he watched her from the window of their bedroom as she worked in it in all her free time and whenever the uv was above a 7.

he insisted he hire a gardener to “protect her pretty hands” but she declined over and over again. it was her outlet. her one “real” hobby that didn’t involve hiding away in the grand library coriolanus built for her.

large green bushes she trimmed so delicately and the stone path she’d managed to put in place her self. orange, red, pink, and yellow flowers everywhere with small blue ones trickled without. coriolanus had put a picnic table in it where they ate on occasion.

the only thing she didn’t like was the fence that guarded it to keep people and cameras out. it wasn’t very pretty, but as first lady secret services insisted, and so did coriolanus. it kept her hard work from public eye and left it only to be seen in photos inside magazines that didn’t do it justice. but the fence seemed to have failed.

kneeled in dirt, her gold necklace with a ‘C’ engraved in it hanging over it, she planted strawberry seeds in hopes they’d actually be good this year. focused on what she was doing, trying to avoid a repeat of last years berries, her focus dropped as she heard a weak meow. she turned around, only to hear it again. she stood, wiping her dirty hands on her pants, walking along the path in hopes of finding the source when suddenly she saw her.

a small kitten. she was light brown with dark spots, almost like a cheetah. mrs snow had not a clue how the animal had gotten in, but it must’ve been fate, she thought. “hi,” she whispered, kneeling down and gently reaching forward. the kitten meowed and she took that as her way of saying “yes, you can pick me up.”

she held the kitten all day long, leaving her in her lap when she read and holding her in one arm as she helped one of the snow’s maids, clarissa, with a task. she was already in love with the small animal as she waited for her husband to get home, ready to beg and plead to keep it.

“hmm,” she hummed gently to the kitten. she sat in her lap at the piano, mrs snow’s fingers gently playing soft chords as she stared down at her. “what about… lorelei?” the kitten stood and did a little spin bringing a laugh out of her. “you like that?”

“like what?” coriolanus echoed from the foyer, dropping his keys on the table. “i didn’t know you were having company, darli-”

“suprise,” she said with a smile, standing from the bench, holding the kitten to her chest. “i found her in the garden. i don’t know how she got in but,” she frowned, running a finger down her nose. “it rained last night, it must’ve been awful.”

coriolanus stood over her, a firm hand on her shoulder. “well, you must know we can’t keep it,” he said as if it was obvious. his hand brushed over his wife’s head, refusing to acknowledge the cat because he was sure if he did he’d give in.

“no i don’t. why can’t we?” she moved out from his touch, holding the kitten up to his eyes. “please, coryo?”

“no,” he swallowed, doing his best not to give into her temptation. they couldn’t have a cat. it didn’t seem… scary to him. not presidential, not like the pet of a man who led a country and 12 districts.

but his wife was persistent. she frowned up at him, holding the cat to her chest as she purred. “coryo,” she whined. “look at her. she’s just a baby. her mom was out of sight, i looked, and she already likes me. she even picked out her name.”

“i said-”

“please?” she gave him her best puppy eyes, her free hand on his chest.

coriolanus bit the inside of his cheek before sighing. “i guess.” he stumbled back as his wife pulled him into a side hug, kissing his cheek over and over again. red lipstick prints covered his face as she offered him the cat which he took with a small smirk. “what name did she pick?”

“lorelei,” she smiled.

“hm,” he nodded, holding the creature awkwardly. “i like it.” after a few moments he looked up. “you’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

his wife only smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “you love me.”

“you’re a master manipulator and i’m an easy target or i love you, call it what you want.”

“i’ll call it you love me,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him softly.

“then i guess i’ll call it that, too,” he said, his arm holding her close to him as the pair smiled at the new member of their family.

saw this kitty on pinterest and knew what i had to do.

I LOVE CATS!!!!!!!!!

#cantspellcatswithoutTS

#Spotify #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #cats #taylor swift #the hunger games #thg tbosas #tbosas #coryo x reader #president snow

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notjoelmiller · 2 years ago

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the protector

MDNI

joel miller x tess's sister!reader (not blood related) summary: Joel promised Tess he would take care of you. It's fine until he finds himself infatuated with you and Ellie accuses him of replacing Tess. wordcount: 5.0k warnings: smut (unprotected p-in-v), unspecified age gap, canon character death, spoilers up to episode 3, background character death, violence, joel is not a good person in this

Tess asks him one night as he stitches her up. Negotiations went wrong, and Joel tends to her carefully. He always does. It was his way of setting things right.

Joel had to carry her back to their apartment. Her skin lost its rosy hue in the process, and she shivered in his arms the whole way back. Joel thought he lost her. He almost did.

With the apartment illuminated by the streams of moonlight peeking through the window, he puts her back together. Needle and threat prod and pull at her skin. The makeshift infirmary that their apartment has become reeks of iron and alcohol.

He killed earlier, with his bare hands. He’s only done that a few times before. He liked using guns or knives, but he beat that man who hurt Tess. Crushed his eye socket just to watch him bleed. It was irresponsible and reckless. His hands tremble with the lingering adrenaline mixed with newfound anxiety. Tess is alive, he tries telling himself. It doesn’t quell the shakes.

He has only two stitches left when Tess speaks for the first and only time that night. Her words come out slowly, either from the blood loss or careful consideration.

“If anything happens to me, take care of my sister, okay?” She asks.

Joel pauses, needle hanging just above her skin. His fingers are caked in Tess’s blood, maybe some of a stranger. He’s sure it’s gonna be there in the morning, no matter how much he scrubs his skin raw.

“Okay,” he says.

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

They don’t mention it. Years pass before she asks him to make another promise– to take care of an infected girl. He swears to her again, and when he does he remembers: the farm in western Massachusetts circled on a map, the mysterious kid sister Tess always talks about, the promise he made with blood caked under his nails.

As smoke from the capitol building pollutes the blue sky, Joel wonders if Tess remembers it. Perhaps, while grappling with her last lucid moments before the infection takes over, it brought her peace– the thought of her sister’s safety.

Save who you can save.

Once things calm down, and distance muffles the screeches of the infected, Ellie asks where they’re going.

***

Joel doesn’t see the resemblance. Ellie says she does. It’s in the eyes, she tells him. That determination. Scary shit. Joel can’t deny it, you do have that intense Tess-stare. But the expression is about where the resemblance ends.

In fact, the moment he lays eyes on you, he realizes that when Tess said “sister”, it was an expression– a bond beyond blood. Even if you weren’t related, you were important to her.

“Tess is dead,” he says minutes after you welcome him and Ellie into your home. “Asked me to look after you.”

You excuse yourself after Joel tells you. Ellie elbows him in the ribs when you disappear into the upstairs section of the house. It was a disturbing delivery, evident by your quiet gasps and sobs in the other room, but it was fact. Tess is gone, and Joel has a promise to fulfill. Sugarcoating it won’t change anything.

You fail to emerge from your room before sundown. Ellie tells him that they should clear out and let you grieve, but something keeps him planted in your living room.

It’s cozy, not just by post-infection standards. You somehow keep the place neat, but it still looks lived in. Polaroids sit in frames on top of the fireplace. Most of them are you and Tess. In some of them, she’s younger, before Joel met her in the quarantine zone. Though, others were more recent. If Joel had to guess, the newest photo was taken in the last two years. He never knew how much Tess came out to see you. How much you really meant to her.

You don’t reemerge until the stars come out. Even then, with puffy, but dry, eyes and a monotonous voice you tell the strangers where they can sleep. Hospitable, despite the waves of grief that radiate from your frame.

As you set up the guest rooms, Joel explains that they’re leaving in the morning. He offers you the choice of staying, but tells you that you have a better chance out there than here alone, with nobody watching over you. He doesn’t know if that’s true, but he knows that Tess would have wanted you under his protection.

Ellie tries comforting you in the only way her emotionally-stunted self can. She cracks jokes, tries her best to break the tension. It doesn’t make you laugh. Hell, you don’t even smile. Ellie’s curls into herself, embarrassed, but only because she misses the way your shoulders droop and eyes soften. Joel does see it.

After the pair are settled into the spare rooms, you disappear again. When they wake the next morning, you’re back to normal. Somewhat. You flutter around the house with a backpack and a duffle, shoving personal items and essentials in. You don’t greet your guests, instead you start by ordering Ellie to bring non-perishables from the kitchen to the truck. She nods dumbly and gets straight to work. Joel frowns at her obedience until your eyes land on him.

You lower your voice, “The photos.” Your voice is hoarse at that volume, no doubt exacerbated by your night of grief. “I can’t take them all. If you want one you can– I mean, you don’t need to. Tess didn’t talk much about you, but she sent you after me, didn’t she?” You chuckle. It’s humorless. “I guess you two trusted each other.” You nod to the mantle. Only a few photos remain.

He frowns. Had Tess not told you about them? He had assumed that in thirteen years, you would have said something. His hands clench. “Photos ain’t gonna change a thing,” he states.

Your face crumples like he’s just spitten on your sister’s grave. “Maybe.” You turn away. “I’ll help Ellie with the food. Then we can go.”

You work with Ellie to clear out the rest of the food supply. She talks your ear off the entire time you pack. Apparently, she’s thrilled to have you joining her and Joel, though you fear she isn’t actually interested in your company. You think she only talks to you so enthusiastically because you're more responsive than Joel.

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself anticipating joining the pair. It’s not like you have much of a choice in the matter, though. Tess kept you stocked. She kept you safe. With her gone, and her partner heading west, you were alone. In a few months time, you would be out of bullets and meds, and with the winter approaching, the odds would be against you.

Ellie knocks on the side of Joel’s truck. “Do you know how to drive?” She asks, flipping a knife in her hands with a bit too much ease for your liking. You wonder how long she’s had that thing. Thankfully, it looks relatively unused. “Joel doesn’t wanna teach me… but maybe you could give me lessons. It’ll be really fuckin’ cool– plus I could help you guys out and take some driving shifts.”

You shrug, tucking the last pile of cans in the truck bed. Ellie’s standing on the wheel, looking at you with wide, expectant eyes. “So?” She asks, leaning forward so much, you think she’ll fall into the bed.

Joel comes out before you can make that promise. He stomps down the porch steps, telling you and Ellie to get in the car. There’s no urgency to his orders. For that you’re grateful. Driving off in that car means the end of the last twenty years of your life. No more of the farm, no more New England, no more Tess.

You wait for anxiety to come, but it doesn’t. Somehow, you’ve made peace with it all. With Ellie and Joel, your new companions.

Ellie seems attached to you. She’s been chatting your ear off for the better part of the hour. It’s nice. She keeps your mind off grief.

You wonder if this is how Tess felt, when she first found you and took you under her wing. Sure, you were less chatty than Ellie, but you find yourself feeling a strange possessiveness over the girl. You’ve never had to be a role model, someone for a young girl to look up to. You think about Tess, all she did to make sure you were well-adjusted in this world. Ellie seems like a good kid. You just hope that you’ll be able to guide her like Tess did you.

Joel seems less excited to have you, more like he’s carrying out a duty. You suppose that is the case, that Tess sent him to you in her absence. You don’t understand why she kept him around for so many years. He doesn’t appear to be the best company. He’s quiet, though when he chooses to speak it’s curt, leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

He’s not bad on the eyes, though. Maybe that’s why she kept him around.

Ellie nudges your shin with her foot. She stares at you with wide, expectant eyes. “You can sit shotgun,” she says.

You smile, “Thanks, kid.”

***

Joel dreams about Tess. He dreams she’s still with him. Everything’s the same– he's left Boston, Bill and Frank are gone –except you’re absent. Back on the farm, perhaps, doing whatever the hell it was you did there.

Ellie’s still in his dreams, at least most of the time. Sometimes she’s not. Some nights, she’s taller, with a head of curly hair. She’s got the same snark, but less of a tendency to use profanities.

The dreams keep him up. When he eventually falls asleep, it isn’t for long. The dreams come, and Tess says something too close to that day in the capitol or he catches a head of curly hair. Then he’s up, breathing heavily and sweating hard. You notice, of course you do. Tess was like that. She always had an inkling whenever something was eating at Joel. You ask if he wants to talk about it.

Of course I do.

But Joel just shrugs. He wants that companionship, that person to lean on in his struggles, but not in you. You’re not the person he wants to burden.

***

You grieve differently than Joel. You actually take time to talk about Tess, tell stories about her– good and bad. Ellie loves it, grateful to learn more about the woman she could only be with for a short time. The woman who saved her life.

It helps Joel learn about your relationship. He gathers that you came together at the start of the infection. You grew together, learning from each other. You were younger than her, he guesses by at least a decade, and had grown into your own under her guidance.

You and Tess parted ways months before she met Joel. You wanted autonomy, a place to call your own. You wanted the openness of the country and the ability to live off the land, not on FEDRA rations. Tess needed security. She needed to know that she wouldn’t be ripped apart by clickers in her sleep. She wanted a quarantine zone. So, you split up.

But there was– is –no bitterness in that disagreement, Joel finds. When you recall that parting of ways and your desires for different lives, you seem content. It irks him that you have such a strange peace with that, after knowing the fate of your sister, while you stand with him now, alive and well.

There are glimpses of Tess in you. He admits that to Ellie one night after you’ve gone to sleep, hardly a week after you joined the duo. What he doesn’t admit to Ellie is how much of Tess he really sees in you, and that sometimes, he has to stop himself from calling you by her name.

But of course, he slips up. It happens only once. You’re walking behind him, telling some story about a poor sucker who gave you trouble back on the farm. It’s a good story, but coming from your lips? Joel is captivated.

He goes to respond to some gruesome detail of the story, but her name comes out of his mouth. Not yours. Tess. Ellie whips her head around unbelievably fast, eyes so wide he can practically hear her thoughts screaming at him, what the hell Joel?

He’s quick to cover it up. “Tess… she said something like that happened to her once, too.”

Joel’s glad you’re behind him. You can’t see the way his face crumples in shame. Though, he can’t see whether or not you caught it.

When you’re out of earshot, Ellie calls it a Freudian slip. Joel tells her to watch her mouth.

***

You’re softer than Tess from all that time on the farm. Sure, you have your fair share of trouble with raiders and stray infected, and you know your way around a fight. But you’ve never stepped foot in a quarantine zone. You’ve never had to deal with the Fireflies, the grifters, or even FEDRA.

Tess had gone through all of that. She internalized it– let it change her. It roughened her edges enough that even the thought of submitting to Joel made her hackles raise. Not you, though.

You don’t just accept his touch. You practically melt at it. She let him touch her, being intimate physically in ways he could never verbalize, but she never reveled in it. She would never sigh and lean into his hand on her cheek. She couldn’t let her muscles relax in his embrace, but she’d always accept it. After all, she was his.

You’re not, but you take and cherish all that Joel has to give you. You live for it. You could forget about all of your troubles with him. He sees it in the way your hands linger on his when he helps you up after a fight, and he often feels the back of his neck burning with your stares. He likes the attention you give him.

You don’t have to kill much, but Joel’s tendency to protect Ellie from death has rubbed off on you. You kill when needed, and each time, once the body lays still, Joel notices you pause. You take time to observe the life you took, and a profound sadness overtakes you. Not remorse, though. Joel has found that you don’t regret what you had to do. He thinks you got that from Tess.

Unfortunately, that habit of yours teaches him how thoroughly fucked he is.

Joel gets knocked to the ground by a hunter. His head snaps back against the ground. Not hard enough to concuss, but it rattles him to the point that he can’t get the damn guy off of him. In the haze, he doesn’t feel the knife resting on the skin of his neck.

You see it, though, and in moments, you're on the hunter.

Joel is too dazed to realize what had occurred until you’re leaning over him, cupping his jaw gently as you examine his face.

His eyes dance between you and the hunter just inches away. He’s a pile of bloodied flesh. You don’t care. There’s blood on you. It’s thick and coats your arms and torso. All you do is ask Joel questions. Are you alright? Do you think you’re concussed? Do you need help getting up? Your eyes are on him– him alone.

He tries keeping up with your questions. Not just because they’re important, but because he wants to please you. You– who put aside your morals just to dote on him. You– the woman he vowed to protect. You– the new object of Joel’s infatuation.

***

The first time he really touches you, you’re speechless.

You’ve felt his touch before. It’s unavoidable– a graze of calloused fingertips over a wound you can’t reach, a helping hand lifting you over a high ledge, fingers lingering just a moment after handing rations. But this time, it’s different. It’s not accidental, nor the result of your forced proximity.

Ellie’s asleep, snoring softly just a few feet away.

You and Joel had an argument. A minor disagreement, really. He refuses to let you take the night watch and let him sleep. So, you sit in silence.

He’s tearing himself apart with his martyrdom. He sacrifices his sleep so he can take watch instead of you. He takes all the heat in fights, leaving you and Ellie unscathed, but him with unsavory injuries. He gives you and Ellie larger shares of food. You swear he’s lost weight since you’ve joined them. You pointed this all out to him earlier in the night. And he didn’t take it well.

You two don’t argue frequently. For that, you’re grateful. Joel’s not the best company, even by today’s standards, but you’ve come to enjoy having him by your side. He’s courteous, helpful, and has an unexpectedly good sense of humor. But when you get into a disagreement, you wonder why you joined him in the first place. He becomes something else, cold and detached. He’s so venomous and vile that you find your chest hurting with frustration.

You’re both still recovering from earlier. It was a tame disagreement by your standards. Both of you managed to get over it just enough to sit next to each other by the fire. For warmth, you both agreed.

Hours after the sun disappears, the moon and stars being the only light in the sky, Joel shifts. You almost ask what’s the matter, then he takes his hand in yours, resting it on his thigh.

You don’t tense. You don’t look at him. You don’t signal in any way that he’s actually touching you. His fingers brush over your knuckles, calluses scratching against taught skin over joints, and strangely, your heart flutters. He falls asleep like that, your hand in his.

A week later, under the blanket of night, Joel fucks you against a tree.

There’s no tenderness in it, but it’s not like you expected anything different.

He tells you to keep it down. It's an obscene request that he makes as though his hands aren’t up your shirt, grabbing at you like you’re the only person in the world. He makes it seem like the drilling of his hips into you doesn’t make it near-impossible to keep it down.

He makes quick work of you. His fingers deftly rub at your clit until you're swallowing the noises of your orgasm. Joel doesn’t last much longer, pulling out and spilling himself on your thighs.

You don’t talk about it the next morning. You keep the appearance of “normalcy”, for Ellie’s sake. You just hope she doesn’t notice the smiles you share behind her back.

***

His dreams change. Now most nights, he’s back in Boston in his shitty bed that cost way too many ration cards. That doesn’t matter though, because it’s peaceful.

Sunlight peeks through the curtain and warms the skin of his face. The streets outside are quiet. He’s warm, satisfied, and safe.

He’s alone in bed, but someone flitters around the apartment out of view. He hears it: footsteps all around the space, the quiet clang of dishes being stacked on top of each other, a feminine humming.

He can’t move in those dreams, forced to keep his eyes on the bright window– the one with the butterfly.

He wants to call her name. Tess, Tess, Tess. The syllable sits on the tip of his tongue, yet he can’t manage to say it. The word refuses to leave his lips. It’s like his body knows something he doesn’t.

It knows that something is wrong.

***

With every brush of Joel’s fingers against yours, Ellie is watching.

She’s waiting to pounce. Joel knows it. One wrong move and Ellie’s going to say it, accuse him of what he knows she’s thinking.

So, you two like a…

Pass.

Ellie wasn’t stupid. She knew what that meant. Ellie saw it in his eyes when they left Tess at the state house. As he watched it burn with Tess inside.

Not to feel the way I felt…

She read that letter from Bill.

The girl is a quintessential post-outbreak kid. She’s anxious for a fight, angry, and emotionally repressed. But the girl was also raised in a military school, and it made her observant. So every touch your way, every smile at you, and every thought he makes, Ellie knows.

Joel avoids Ellie for a long time, but she manages to get through.

You’re somewhere in West Virginia. You’ve been with Joel and Ellie for about a month, just enough time for fall to settle in.

It isn’t as bad as in Boston where, by the time the leaves turned, the days were too cold to even enjoy the beauty of it. West Virginia, though, sure the nights were chilly, but the days were pleasing.

It reminds him of Austin. Austin never really had a true autumn. The season came with the bloom of red, orange, and yellow leaves, but there was no chill of the impending winter. In Austin, it looked different, but felt just the same– or close enough. He loved it. He misses it.

Joel holds a photo in his hand. The one he took from your mantle the morning you abandoned the farm. It’s you and Tess, beaming at the camera. He keeps it folded in his pocket at all times in case he needs it to bring comfort. Currently he does.

The photo has rubbed away at the seam of the fold. If Joel ever decided to unfold it, to look at you two as one, there would be a white crease in the middle. A divide. He doesn’t, though. Joel never unfolds it and resorts to looking at either of you one at a time.

Now, it’s you staring back at him. A moment ago, it was Tess.

Ellie sits on the opposite side of the fire. You’re sleeping off the last of a fever you managed to catch.

He wants to reach out to you, pull you in his arms until the fever breaks. The urge gnaws at him, makes something twist and burn deep in his gut. He should think. He needs to think. Not with Ellie watching him, though. He needs her off his back.

Here goes nothing.

He says her name, once, curtly. Her eyes widen slightly, just for a moment, but composes herself. She sits up tall. Joel lets her speak first. It takes her a moment, but she speaks like she’s been considering her words for a long time.

“Tess said you didn’t feel the way she felt.”

“I cared for her. For Tess.” Ellie frowns, eyes squinted as she bores into his very being. “A lot,” Joel adds.

“Does her sister know that?”

Joel says Ellie’s name, quietly. It’s meant to be a warning, but as it passes through his lips he can’t help but think it sounds pathetic. Pathetic, like you fucking Tess’s kid sister. His jaw ticks as something putrid curdles in his stomach.

No. No. He refuses to let a child judge him. What does she know about relationships? What does she know about love?

Love? No, not love. Not love. Physical relationships, that’s what this is about. Not love. No, Joel doesn’t love. Not Tess. And certainly not you, not that you matter in this case, because Tess has nothing to do with you.

He looks back at the photo in his hand. Tess stares back at him.

“You’re replacing her, Joel.”

***

Joel isn’t a man to cherish. He loves nothing– nobody. You’ve seen him kill more times than you can count, and not all of those deaths were deserving.

He reveals himself in pieces and only on rare occasions. You learn of his past slowly. He was a hunter. He has a brother, one who left him years ago. He may have had a child at one point. He wanted to be a singer when he was a boy.

You’ve known one thing from the start, and it’s that he tends to you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You found a settlement. Just for the night, they let you stay in a house– a real one, with showers, working locks, nice furniture, and all. You almost cry when you rub the homemade soap bar against your skin. You feel like a new person when you step out of the shower, your skin soft and glowing in a way you haven’t experienced in years.

If you had to be honest, the separate bedrooms are your favorite part.

You’re not even out of the shower for a minute before Joel has you beneath him on the bed.

He fists a hand into your still dripping hair and tugs. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth, and you welcome the taste of him– it’s fresh, like the toothpaste you had traded for once you came to town. You chase his lips as he pulls back.

“Couldn’t wait for you to come out, baby.” He adds, “Need you.” You believe it. You believe it wholeheartedly and it makes heat wash through your body. Joel has a way of making you feel like that.

His jean-clad hips rut into your plush thigh. The buckle digs into your skin, nearly camouflaging the sensation of his cock.

The towel you wrapped yourself in has unfolded, leaving you exposed to the cold air of the bedroom. Your nipples stiffen. Joel takes one between his fingers, twisting and pulling as he groans into your mouth. His spare hand works on removing his pants. You explore the expanse of his back.

Deft fingers move from your breasts to your core. Joel’s thumb rubs at your clit, while two fingers trace the seam of your entrance. His fingers are cold, you clench around nothing as they tease you. Joel doesn’t get many opportunities to drag things out, to tease you until tears are running down your face. You love that side of him. It helps you imagine what it would be like to be with him before the infection. But tonight isn’t the time.

You swat his hand away, murmuring, “Don’t need that,” you swat his hands. “Just want you.”

Joel hesitates. You do need that, and he knows you know that fact. It’s been a few weeks since you last fucked. It was sure to be a stretch. His eyes wash over your face, searching for any uncertainty before he nods and notches himself at your entrance.

It’s not a smooth coupling by any means. You rushed into things too fast. His length rubs unpleasantly against your walls as he pushes in. Though, you pull him closer with your legs. You just needed to feel him.

He holds your hips up as he pistons into you. He moves slowly tonight. There’s no urgency, no threat that Ellie might come around the corner and catch you in the act. You indulge in the rare intimacy.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck. Every inhale you take is purely him. “Driving me crazy, Miller,” you whisper.

“Good,” Joel laughs. He’s never laughed during sex before. You figured he wasn’t the type, that letting loose like that in the act wasn’t his style. Apparently not.

You reach your peak quicker than expected. It washes over you in lazy waves, softening your muscles and melting you into the bed beneath you. It drains you. Or maybe the luxury of the bed beneath you is causing your exhaustion.

Luckily, Joel’s not far behind, pulling out and working himself to his peak. He cums on your stomach, your newly cleaned skin now dirtied with your sweat and his seed. You’re too tired and too blissed out to care though. You can always shower again in the morning.

Joel takes your discarded towel to clean your stomach. He throws it to the ground before settling himself at your side. You roll over, letting him adhere to your back.

Your eyes are drawn to the towel. Next to it are Joel’s discarded jeans. Something sticks out of his pocket. You squint.

It’s Tess– one of the pictures of her you had on your mantle. You were in that photo too, but it was folded in half, and now you had to stare at your deceased sister. The photo was one you had offered to Joel. Photos ain’t gonna change a thing, he had said back then on the farm. It irked you. It irked you for so long that you had been hesitant at the start of your relationship– if that's what you could call this. Back then, you had been afraid of getting attached to him. You were scared he wouldn’t ever call you his.

But he had the photo, and it’s… somewhat disturbing. He had been so cold then when you asked him. You only offered it because you thought he and Tess were closer. After all, she asked him to take care of you, and he listened. Then he turned it down, and you realized– assumed –you misinterpreted them. You accepted it as the truth.

He has it now, though. However many months later he has that photo.

Joel’s arm tightens around your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest. “What are you thinkin’ about?” He sounds tired.

You thought he was asleep, assuming the relative safety of the settlement and your nightly activities would be enough to knock him out. You’re tired too. Part of you wants to forget it, lean back into Joel’s arms and fall asleep. Then you see her staring back at you, her smile frozen in time.

You wonder if Joel buried her. You wonder if Joel shot her. He didn’t tell you much about her passing, only that she had been infected, and chose to end it before turning. He never said how it ended.

“Were you and Tess together?”

It’s a simple question. So simple, and yet Joel hesitates. You count the seconds it takes him to answer you. One, two, three, four, five, six–

“No.”

Six seconds.

“Okay.”

Tess smiles back at you.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you

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thingsnia · 6 months ago

Text

boss benefits — simon riley "ghost" 💀🏴‍☠️

─── ☆ attention: english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes, just clearing the web that I let accumulate; I missed writing, diving into something to get away from life, asks are open, and I write to all the men of cod (characters by Pedro Pascal & house of the dragon <3)

─── ☆ summary: What would you do to stand out? To take on a mission you always wanted to finally have new opportunities? Would you be willing to give everything? were you willing to sleep with your Lieutenant?

─── ☆ warings📣: +18, MDNI | Allusions to an unhappy marriage, Simon is a scoundrel here, a bit dark (since you have sex to get a job) , possessiveness, size kink, creampie, unprotected sex, sexual desire, sexual tension, Simon is jealous of his boyfriend (he doesn't admit it, but competes), infidelity, oral sex (m/f), mention of procreation, infidelity, abuse of power, hierarchical relationship, position advantage, extramarital relationship, both have relationships, mentions of lust, prosmic sex, high sexual attraction, big dick (I know, I know, Simon is a big boy), Simon makes fun of the reader's boyfriend a lot, Simon lives in a loveless relationship.

"Lieutenant?" You asked as you pushed open the door to his office, perhaps it was to ask for a new report or to explain the briefing for your newest mission.

But when you opened the door, you noticed Ghost's body leaning against the table, he was in uniform, the mask covering only his lips, his honey eyes looking at you, you couldn't help but smile softly while showing his teeth.

You can't help but see the rectangular photograph, the gold-colored frame on his desk, displaying the happy photo of him next to his wife, Lisa, Lana or Lenny, you don't even remember her name. "Do you really want that mission?" His bitter tone of voice, so drawn out and thick that it almost made you think you were negotiating with the devil himself.

The mission that you begged so much to be in your hands, you wanted, was a mission in an area that always interested you, come on, you even studied to perform such a role, but Simon said he would give you an answer, and you were grateful for himself for letting go of his laziness and coming to his office at night.

"Of course I do, Lieutenant." The way you seemed convinced you believed it would be the best for you, he couldn't help but laugh beneath the mask, a little thing like you saying you could take it all. You had fire in your eyes, and Simon wanted to taste that fire.

"Whatever you're willing to do, I say." He cleared his throat while crossing his arms over his chest, raising his body even higher. "Many other soldiers asked me for it, it's an important mission, to show your values and skills. Why do you think you deserve this mission?"

"I'm the most qualified, I'm tired of kissing babies or hugging people." The last mission, after saving a pile of hostages, you ended up becoming more popular in talking in front of the cameras — you were a kind, sweet woman and the photos of you holding a baby in your arms almost made everyone call you an 'angel' of the task force. You even got a five-day vacation to spend with your boyfriend, thanks to everything you saw, to all the scary things you saw while saving them. "That's not for me, Lieutenant."

"You still haven't answered me, little thing." The harsh tone, the way he leaned in, touching your chin with the same hand that had the gold ring on it, he was flirting with you, sending all codes of professional ethics to hell, the way he leaned in, without Don't even care about the photo on the table, the photo is his wedding. "What are you willing to give me... for this job to be yours alone."

You should run, escape, warn the HR people about his strange attitudes - no strange, he was harassing you, insinuating that you should give him something to get a job, this was against all regulations, using his own power to obtain sexual favors. But you knew, the army would never send him away, would never dismiss him, he was one of the most competent agents on the military installation.

Reporting him would ruin your career, it would throw all your efforts in the trash if you told anyone about it. Closing your own eyes while looking at him, why was he insinuating this? His wife was young, pretty, and you had a boyfriend - damn, why are you creating reasons not to have sex with him? "Simon, your wife doesn't deserve this, my boyfriend, Devon, doesn't deserve this."

"Don't be silly, little girl." The little flick he gave you on the nose, laughing as he noticed you dodge, trying to get away from him, were you creating reasons? Did you want it so much that you needed to create excuses to stay away? - "Look, don't see this as cheating, sex or whatever is in your head. See it as a business transition."

He laughed, you could almost see the wrinkles forming under his eyes, you could almost feel the way he was offering to have an affair with you. "We're not going to kiss, honey, I don't want you to kiss me, love me or leave your pathetic little boyfriend."

The silence that fell, your throat was dry, you seemed disappointed to know that there wouldn't be kisses? - the entire environment was silent, I could hear your mind pounding, I could hear the doubts, the uncertainty, and even the desire to have sex with your superior. Everything was silent for a few minutes, it seemed like an eternity, all the doubts, the uncertainties, the doubts, your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him.

"you'll never tell anyone this, right?" you should be ashamed to accept it, you should walk away — leave, not accept this damn job and simply deny it, be faithful to your boyfriend, don't cheat on another woman, don't let him cheat on his marriage with you, in a damn case.

The way he took off his mask, showing off his thin lips, his strong facial expressions, his Greek nose as he couldn't help but laugh as he walked towards the door. He looked at your body, noticing that you were probably close to going to bed when they told you that he wanted to talk to you, his attentive eyes analyzing you, your curves, the entire contour of your body. "It will be a shame to never tell anyone that I was with a woman just like you, sweet." The pet name almost made you tremble, he spoke as if he had honey between his teeth. "But I agree, we can't let others know. It would be bad for my marriage and your little boyfriend- he would finally have to learn how to fuck a real woman."

At first it was strange approaching him, your lips tilting slightly, you didn't know where to touch, you didn't know how he liked kisses or how he liked to be touched, he approached, forgetting that it was you who wouldn't kiss you, but he lied, and you were stupid to believe him. Your eyes connected to each other, slow and slow steps towards each other, as if you were reading the deepest secrets of each other's souls — reading the darkest secrets that could exist, almost creating your own rhythm, a speed of yours. two. Simon couldn't help but bite his lip, he would be lying if he said he never desired your lips.

At first the kiss was so calm, sensitive, your lips pressing against each other, in an absurd harmony they were having, he held your face while he deepened the kiss, prolonging it, asking for passage with his lips, and when you moaned into his mouth of him, pulling his hair, everything seemed to go dark, to darken, your breathing in tune, your chest rising and falling, you needed to breathe, you needed air, oxygen, you needed so many things, Simon's hoarse voice, the way he just He smiled when he noticed how confused, airy and so confused you were.

"I have one condition" you pulled away from his lips, as you tried your best to hold on to something, fuck, you always imagined the sweet com could be his lips - you always knew he was as hot as the devil himself.

He couldn't help but laugh, finding it so curious how you didn't push him away during the kiss, quite the opposite, he saw your eyes on his lips, he saw desire in you, lust, tension, so many things that were more than enough. just an arrangement, an agreement. "What's your condition, pretty."

"I want you to use a condom." It was your lifeline, of course you imagined the texture of Simon's fresh semen filling your pussy, you knew it was wrong, wishing another man would cum in you while forcing your own boyfriend to use a condom, it was so comical, the man who knew your parents couldn't cum, but Simon had the approval to do so?

"We have a little problem. I don't have a condom." He wasn't lying, tilting his gaze at you as he walked away, he didn't have condoms, since he always made his own wife take care of birth control a lot, he didn't want accidents, he didn't want an unwanted child, but with you, he didn't even At least he cared about his own regulations of only having sex when he was aware of birth control.

"I have a condom in my boyfriend's room, I can get it."

“don’t be stupid princess, do you think it fits me?” You wanted to hit him for being arrogant, he was just being self-centered by telling you that he had a huge dick, but before you could even argue that he was lying or making excuses, he took your hands in his, feeling the soft and smooth texture, so Sweet as an addictive drug, he fell into your trap.

He let you feel him, feeling the volume, but he made a point of undoing his belt, lowering the waistband of his pants, making you see his dick, the red bridge leaking, the thick outline, covered in bluish veins, you couldn't let it go and Closing his eyes, biting his lips, realizing how huge he is, Simon couldn't help but laugh when he noticed how surprised his eyes were, when he noticed that he had a huge cock. Simon knew he had a huge dick, fuck, he knew he should be proud to have all that stuff in his pants. "What's wrong, doesn't your boyfriend have a huge dick, kitten?"

You hated how cocky he seemed, how full of ego he seemed, surely getting so many compliments for having a huge dick that he probably got a big ego. "shut up. I want you to take it off before you cum."

"Yes ma'am."

And there you were again, crushing your lips against his, feeling the way your body shivered, he knew it was wrong - but he couldn't lie and say he was sorry about cheating on his wife, he didn't care, he didn't even care. The way he was devouring your neck, crushing his lips against your skin, giving bites, hickeys and even licks, loving the way it gave you goosebumps, how you squirmed in his arms. "You seem so needy, no man has ever touched you."

He was groping your body, crushing your breasts against his own hands, he could feel how round they were, even under a pile of clothes. Pulling at clothes, removing buttons and buttons, watching your skin be revealed, flesh soft and supple, he knew he shouldn't leave marks, that he shouldn't have the boldness, but he did, he marked you, bit your skin, kissed.

Simon couldn't help but moan when he felt your hands wrapped around his cock - starting to masturbate him, moving his fists around him, feeling his cock throbbing, the veins bulging, how hot it was, how luscious, fuck, he'd never had a man with such a strong reaction to simply touching. You stayed for a few minutes, teasing each other, Simon exploring your skin, discovering all the pieces, all the contours, trying to remember in his own memory what you were like, he would record this moment, because he didn't know when it would happen again.

And that would be his best secret, the image that would pass through his mind every moment he had, remembering how your body reacts to being touched, to being kissed, to being loved, he knew it was wrong to give you the role of a lover, an affair, how he hated not being able to love you with open doors, to reduce you to just that, an affair of a married man. When he saw you kneel, see you on your knees for him, he could almost cum, he could almost feel the air getting thin, you almost stopped breathing.

"how do you.. like being sucked?" He couldn't help but find it so captivating, did you want to please him? You wanted to know how he wanted you, you wanted to engrave yourself in his mind like gum.

"Just do what you do with your boyfriend, hmm?" That was a lie, he wanted it to be even better, for you to suck him with more love than you sucked your boyfriend, he wanted you to be even better with him but it was with that loser.

"If you talk about him, I'll get dressed and leave." You didn't want to remember that you were a damn traitor, that you were about to suck a man who wasn't your boyfriend, and to make matters worse, a man who was wearing a ring. When you opened your mouth, starting to suck the base of his cock — sliding your tongue along the slit, while holding his base so tightly, you loved how needy Simon seemed to feel your mouth against him.

When you started to suck him, sliding your mouth around his entire contour - the warm, wet mouth surrounding him, as you began to slide in and out, just wrapping the glans around your mouth, you couldn't help but smile when he wrapped it around you. his hand in your hair, fuck, you could feel his wedding ring against your head.

Simon couldn't help but smile when he saw you smiling, seeing the outline of your lips against his, seeing your eyes so big as you tried to relax your throat to take him, you've never taken a huge cock, while you felt the weight of his cock against your tongue. He waited for you to be ready, as he started to move his hips, hitting the back of your throat, he could see you fighting the urge to choke, there was saliva running down your chest, you were willing to take him whole, to please him , you knew that anyone could notice that you and Simon were missing.

You move your head back and forth, breathing through your nose as you move your tongue around him, trying your best to pleasure him, you didn't care about the pain in your throat, you would probably have to drink tea the next morning, and when you heard Simon's moans, you can't help but continue, now hungrier, taking him so deep in your throat, starting to choke around him, the disheveled sounds, Simon's moans and with him he seemed so excited to see you giving a blowjob sloppy, not caring about his appearance, he looked like a slut who would get paid a lot of money, but no, you were doing it willingly, trying to please him, trying to be good to him, sucking a married man.

Fuck, Simon imagined all the perverted things he could do, he could take a picture of himself like this, but he didn't want to be such a bad man. He was close to cumming, close to emptying down your throat and even though he wanted to see you swallow him — or cumming on your face, he couldn't wait, he wanted to hear you moan for him.

He used all the strength he had, placing you on the desk, laughing when he saw the photograph fall to the floor, his wedding photo shattered, and he didn't even care, stepping on the broken frame, crushing the happy image of his wedding, separating at your legs, taking off your panties, he almost salivated at the sight of your wet pussy, at the sight of how wet you were for him, patting your clit and just laughing when you moaned.

He wanted to make fun of you, laugh a little, but he just wanted to feel your pussy around him, smell your sweet and soft scent, he leaned over, not caring about his spine curved in a bad position, as he started rubbing your clit. with a circle of his tongue — like a kitten testing the water, and when it tastes sweet, damn, he can't help but growl, opening your legs even wider, using his own weight and arms to open you up. "Fuck, I can live under your legs. That wet pussy."

He purred as he went back to sucking you, playing with your clit, drinking in all your excitement, trying his best to make you wet, patting you to see how wet you were, spreading your legs, separating your legs, putting you on top of the shoulders. Damn, all those moans you let out as he attacked your pussy, moaning as if you had never received quality oral sex, if he was your boyfriend he would never leave your legs, he would leave with you hanging on his shoulders, lifting the head just to speak politely to people.

Noticing his wet mouth, feeling your scent stuck right under his nose, as you arched over the table, feet shaking, crushing your hands against his hair, you were close to pulling his hair, messing up his hairstyle, those straw hair stuck between your fists, you were close to cumming, close to messing up everything around you, moaning loudly, squirming.

As you arched your back, rising and leaning, you wanted to close your legs, but Simon couldn't help but fight you, using his arms as a kind of screwdriver to let you open. Tapping hard on your clit while rubbing two fingers against your entrance, making you take his fingers, feeling your cum soak his fingers, feeling how you were crushing his fingers. "Fuck, Simon!"

When he lifted himself up, you couldn't help but see his forehead covered in sweat, his lips stained with your juices, he couldn't help but smile at how confused you were, how high you were from your orgasm, as he pulled you in for more. close, he needed to stick it inside you before he came, the taste of your pussy, the taste against his tongue. Fuck, he was dripping like a beast, his dick so hard and throbbing he might have blue balls if he didn't come, when you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his hips, you were a demon, and he should have known from that.

"don't do that to a man baby.. it makes any man greedy." Seeing your eyes, how you were kissing him, how he was crushing his body against you. He felt his cock rubbing against your wet folds, and when you pushed in, he had to bite his lips, his jaw clenched, you were so tight, so wet, so welcoming that it took everything he had not to cum on the first thrust. . "You're a glove inside, as tight as a fucking virgin."

He was rambling, talking out loud, he never felt like this, he never needed to pull his dick out to relieve it, fuck, he didn't want to cum on the first thrust, he didn't want to disappoint you, he didn't know when he would have the chance again and I wanted to enjoy every second. You couldn't help but laugh, noticing how fucked he was, how he had hurt his own lips sinking his teeth in to hold himself back, he kept fucking himself, just pushing his head in and out, moaning as he felt the obscene sounds, the smell of sex in the entire office.

When he crushed his hands around your hips, using one of his arms to keep you from struggling before he fucked you into oblivion, before he fucked you like a beast. Feeling your hands against the back of his neck as you began to move, laughing as he moved in and out of you, seeing you roll your eyes and scratch at his shoulders, scratch at his back, he can feel you shaking against him, You can feel how deep you were, your pussy was wrapping around him so tightly.

You knew you shouldn't be moaning in another man's arms, you shouldn't be letting a man without a condom enter you, fuck, you could feel the cold, golden ring against your skin, throw your head back, feeling the sounds of sex, the creaking table, the obscene sounds your pussy was making as it clenched around him. Feeling him fuck him balls deep inside you, he knew there would be so many bruises, marks that were too difficult to explain to the people who were waiting for you at home, but damn, he didn't care.

The violent rhythm that your bodies intertwined, you were both sinning, you were both getting sick, he loved feeling the texture of your skin, how your pussy clenched around him, and when he buried himself deep inside, the way your eyes rolled back, the air that was trapped in his chest and his head thrown back, his nail scratched him as if his skin was a whiteboard ready to be painted, exposed and displayed as a beautiful work of art.

The heavy breathing, the sounds, the harsh and hot noises, Simon was growling, feeling your pussy to squeeze a huge amount of you, the smell of sex, all the items on the table hitting the floor, Simon didn't care about the mess, with all the papers, the cock buried, in and out the wet and lasives sounds, while the rhythm was so slow, he wanted to hear you moan — to hear you beg for his cock, beg for the mark, for the contour of his cock against your pussy . "Fuck, keep moaning for me, I want to remember how you can be so loving."

He noticed your bright eyes, the way you bit your own lip just to make him angry, and fuck, he started moving so slow, so slow, thrusting all the way in at a deadly pace, letting your clit rub against his His abdomen, just looking down Simon thought he was going to fill you up, the simple sight of almost burying his balls inside you drives him crazy, makes him so animalistic, lost in desire, bathing in lust.

His hips rock almost naturally, the sight of your lubrication gushing against his cock, the obscene sound of your pussy and how your moans sound so loud and needy, it was almost like another impulse to slide his fingers up to your clit, he wanted you Seeing you cum for him, seeing how your eyes rolled back, how your body would tremble against his, god, he was so wild.

Simon feels his charms completely over you, the way your belly twitched, he can feel the way you hugged him even tighter with your legs, almost forbidding him to leave, creating a limitation that made him almost merge. Your body rose from the table, your spine arching, your hair spread across the table, it was like a damn overdose, better than the adrenaline of being on the field. Your eyes were so dilated, your moans were confused, altered, the orgasm made you so needy, the way you looked at Simon, almost like a succubus ready to drain every drop of semen he had.

He knows he should have used the strength of his own body to pull away, to cum on his belly and even his thighs — the guilt was already gone, he didn't even remember his wife's name, Lisa, Lenny or anything, his mind was just I could think about you, your body, your pussy that seemed made for his dick, even the shock against your cervix. "I need you, Simon-"

His eyes were heavy, his hands were squeezing your flesh so tightly, as if he was stopping you from slipping between his fingers, he was so close to filling you, the way his name rolled across your tongue, as if it were a prayer, a song that you were the only singer who gave meaning to the musician. "Fuck, I'm going to fill you up..."

The devilish smile that played on those lips, now you know how Lucifer fell as he tried to dominate and rule heaven, the distorted pleasure before your eyes, the danger, the chance to father his child - the marks of the alliance against your skin If it's so wrong why did it feel so good in your mind?

Instead of pushing him away, yelling at him, telling him he's gone crazy, it was as if he had opened a box with all his darkest desires, fathering a married man's child, destroying a home, you should be ashamed, but all he felt was pleasure, desire, knowing that he was so immersed in this that he was willing to lose everything. Giving up everything he had for years, simply to fill you up.

The way Simon's hips seemed ready to give way, he was like a machine, rough like metal hitting you over and over again, and you were made of porcelain, fragile and struggling not to break, he was hitting you over and over again against your uterus, he was insatiable, it would only stop when it spilled, when all the semen was dripping from your pussy, he didn't even care how red, swollen and baked it would be. He could only think about the feeling, fucking you again, using his own cum as lubricant, imagining how your pussy would still accept him even after he had cum.

Knowing that you weren't letting your loser boyfriend do that, but you were letting him, a man who had his wife's photo on the table, the frame that was now broken — he didn't even know where it had fallen, if he was stepping on it or anything. thing, you pussy was his only focus, your body against his. The simple thought made him come, the firm, thick jets being spurted inside you, looking at you is seeing your eyes closed, your body trembling, he filled your pussy, and instead of pushing him away, you moaned, leaving another man marks you, another man kisses you, another man tastes and delights in your body.

Simon didn't want to leave, even though he heard the sound in the hallway, knowing that at any moment someone could open the door, but he didn't care about the danger, the suspension they would both receive, or the gossip spreading through the hallways. He just smiled, your breaths mixing, you didn't move a single centimeter, you knew your legs would give way - but you still did your best to lean over and sit down, the semen running down your leg, dirtying the carpet.

He was a knight, taking your panties that he had stolen minutes ago, cleaning your pussy, just rubbing the leaked semen and smiling as he smiled. "Never handled a big dick? If you want, I can walk you to your room."

"Don't feel cocky, you looked like a drooling dog tasting pussy for the first time" He couldn't help but laugh as he leaned in, giving you a soft kiss on your lips. "Unlike you, I assume my sins"

You gave him a light push, and he just smiled. "We are two sinners, the difference is that you will convince yourself that you have not sinned, and I-" he showed you semen-stained panties. "I like to remember my sins."

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