#in another lifetime these two could have been the best of besties

[sandushengshou]

Shi Ying & Zhi Yuan | The Longest Promise

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup. Total dreamboat.

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d what?”

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

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

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

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

I’d have sex with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Sam melted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

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

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

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

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

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

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

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

His—lap.

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

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

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

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

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

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

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

That is not the case.

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

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

“Shut up, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

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

“Everything okay?” He worries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...In our bed…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got super noisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

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

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

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

What in the ever-loving fuck.

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

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

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

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

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

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

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

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

“A-ah!”

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

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

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

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

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

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

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

If this is just how his fingers feel…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

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

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

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

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

So…

Close…

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

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

“Sa—Sam—”

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

“Sam…”

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

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

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

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

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

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

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

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—you go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

_

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

READ PART TWO.

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Attached at the Hip

Steddie!Dads

Notes: ok I kind of ran away with this but basically: girldad!techer!Steve (also little league coach) and boydad!mechanic Eddie having kids who are besties and both of them are sick of the heteronormative bullshit other parents at the school put on their kiddos

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses dangling from his other hand, as the first grade classroom reached a fever pitch. The excitement for the first day of nice weather was clear, and recess was just a few short minutes away. The kids were supposed to be having free work time, but they had all gathered around the windows watching the kindergarteners play. There were complaints about the “babies” tearing up the nice new mulch and excited squeals about the colorful equipment that had been added to parts of the playground in a much needed renovation two weekends before. Only a few of the kids were actually doing work. Connor Munson was one of them, sitting quietly in the corner reading a fantasy book that was probably several grades higher than the average reading level in the class. 

“Alright kids, one you were just like those ‘babies’ last year and two its independent work time and you should be doing something quietly in the classroom for the next fifteen minutes. I know we are all excited, but we need to finish up the morning before we can run around.” With several annoyed huffs, the kids found their way to the small tables or on comfy spots on the floor. many took up reading, but a few pulled out some materials to do other things and Steve’s head stopped throbbing as he watched them return to a hum of excitement rather than the reverberating yelling from before. 

The first and second graders raced onto the playground, immediately swarming towards the new equipment and the screaming started almost right away. Steve and the rest of the teachers were clumped in a few different spots to ensure full coverage of the playground, quietly chatting. 

“Daddy!” Steve turned his attention to the little blonde who was running full speed, knowing he would catch her into a big tight squeeze. Claire giggled, pressing her face into his shirt. 

“Did you have a good morning?” She nodded as he set her down. 

“I told everyone how you let me bring leftover pizza for lunch!” Steve let out a chuckle, as did the other first grade teacher, Claire’s teacher in fact. 

“Well why don’t you go play. I think Connor went over that way.” Steve gestured in the direction he had seen the little boy go towards and she gave his leg a tight squeeze before skipping off. 

“Oh those two, attached at the hip. They’re an adorable little couple.” Steve tried not to let the cringe show on his face, just plastered on a little smile to keep the peace and made up an excuse to check another part of the playground. It had been going on for two years, the commentary. Connor and Claire, attached at the hip, then immediately to couple. It enraged him, and he knew it made Connor’s father angry too. The heteronormative bullshit had been pushed on Steve throughout his lifetime too, forcing it to take years longer than it should have for him to realize he definitely didn’t only like girls. He did his best with Claire at home. She knew he went on dates with both women and men, and she adored her Aunt Robin and Auntie Nancy, but Steve could see that the six year olds heard the comments. 

The rest of the day came and went. He also ate leftover pizza for lunch, not because he was such a fantastic father, but he hadn’t made it to the grocery store this weekend while he was preparing for the soccer little league. Connor loved soccer, Claire did not, but the girl still did it and Steve appreciated, maybe a little too much, the fact that Eddie Munson would be there every weekend, right where Steve could ogle him without making a playdate excuse.

“Cooooonnooooooooor.” The loud voice cut through Steve’s lack of focus and he looked up to where Eddie Munson appeared, wearing a slightly grease stained shirt, his hair tied up behind his head in, what Robin said was, a messy bun. The little boy who had been sitting beside Steve and Claire leapt out of his spot and ran to his dad, tossed into the air and then squeezed into a tight hug. 

“Hi dad.” Steve stood up, sticking out his hand for a shake as Eddie came over. 

“How was my boy today?” 

“A little angel as always,” Steve laughed, handing him Connor’s backpack. Claire had stood up too. It was a little routine they had, Steve staying after with the kids so that Eddie could finish his shift. There were a number of kids that had parents who couldn’t pick them up at 3 on the dot, since they had shifts that ended on the hour of the half hour, and with Claire and Connor wanting to spend time together, Steve had never had a problem being the teacher who stayed. And if it meant he got to see Eddie Munson one more day of the week, well five more, well no one had to know that. 

“We’re still on for this weekend?” Eddie’s eyes had gone soft and Steve did a quick look around, all of the rest of the kids and parents had gone. He gave Eddie a smile reserved only for him. 

“Always.” Sure their kids might be attached at the hip, but not because of some stupid expectation that they would fall in love when they were older, more because they were practically siblings at this point. 

[dynamimight]

content: bffs to lovers, this is the Best Friend Sero fic i've been talking about, calling sero "honey" as a bestie and a lover supremacy~

sero hanta is your best friend.

you've known each other forever, and yet not for long at all. a lifetime of friendship has cultivated into pure beauty over the years of your being together, and being with him is pure bliss.

anyone could tell how much love you two have for each other from nothing but a glance.

he's always there; holding your hand, calling you dear, curling up against you in whatever weather. his laugh is the most joyful sound: it pours out of his mouth, flows through your ears, seeps slowly into your heart. he's sweet like honey, so you only deem it right to call him so.

sero hanta is your honey.

the love you have for him is all encompassing. you remember the time when you thought that was a problem, that being in love with your best friend could never be allowed, that your pure and beautiful friendship would crumble like a rotten statue if you were to ever let the boy know how you grew to feel about him. the turmoil you felt almost overcame the love, and you would have forgotten how well your best friend knows you if he hadn't randomly shown up at your door. with your favorite snacks and a stuffed animal in hand, he basically begged you to let him back in because "two weeks is 13 days too long to have not seen your face, dear." and when you looked up at him, your heart settled. he had the tendency to do that; to calm you down. you remember the moment you hugged him at your doorstep. when his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and he pulled you closer, he let out a sigh, almost as if he was holding his breath awaiting your return.

sero hanta is in love with his best friend.

he realized it the same time that you did, although neither of you were aware of each other's feelings. that's why he showed up on your doorstep that day. even though his nerves were going crazy, he had to see you because you're his best friend. because he's in love with you and he can't bear it when you're away.

sero hanta confesses on a half-date.

it's one of many that you two go on: a long walk along the pier, hand in hand, pointing out different shells you see along the way. right after he "won back your heart" (as he likes to say) he jokingly got on one knee and asked you on a bestie date. one arcade and a food truck later and here you were, lazing about as the salty breeze blew by.

when he grabs your other hand to stop walking and gets down on one knee, you expect another silly proposal. what you get is much better.

sero hanta: your best friend, your honey, the love of your life, reaches for a something in his pocket with one hand before returning it to yours. it seems like a simple necklace upon first glance, but you realize it's a heart-shaped locket once you see it in the right light. he looks at you with so much emotion that you're stunned into silence. water collects in his eyes more every second at the thought of this confession being the end of you. but hanta gathers the courage to confess, and on one knee at your favorite spot, he tells you just how much you mean to him. your best friend since forever tells you that he wants more than forever with you.

and when you tell him that you want that too, that your forever could only be with him, the air turns sweet.

honey finds it's way back into your heart.

[honey-boyyoongi]

Pairing ➪ Reader x Yoongi||Part 53//??

Word count ➪ 2.7k

Warnings ➪ it’s not beta-ed; any mistakes are mine; cursing; alcohol; toxic family dynamics; if your name is crossed out it’s because I couldn’t tag you;

Summary ➪ Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?

A/n: Hey besties. Here’s a new one for y’all. I swear we’re not always gonna be angsty, but let’s be real it’s gonna be like this for a bit. Also thank you to all the besties that binge read this fic and WWDITS and my other works. I really appreciate y’all 💕 As always feedback is appreciated and if you want to be added to the tag list please let me know 💕

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_

Bee

16:55

I’m dropping Haneul off with Seokjin. 

18:01

You can let yourself in.

-

Yoongi had spent hours in agony trying to muster up a proper apology. His brothers had given him the scolding of a lifetime. He knew his hyung never said he was disappointed in him, out loud, but Jungkook was another issue. His younger brother didn’t have to verbalize his disappointment, his attitude said it all. Jungkook was communicating the bare minimum needed, his face was always neutral. Yoongi felt like he deserved the youngest’s cold treatment. 

They talked as they worked. Yoongi felt like he hadn't spoken to his friends intimately in a long time. Seokjin had offered to be there as a neutral party, but they decided it was a conversation best done alone. His hyung decided to look after Hanuel instead, offering that she spend the night, in case Yoongi needed space afterwards. His brothers helped straighten his thoughts out, suggesting he make a list of his major points as to prevent any further miscommunication. Jungkook also encouraged him to be honest about his parents, Minji, and his feelings about her, if he felt comfortable of course. 

Yoongi wanted to stall going home, but his brothers had left as soon as they finished their part. Seokjin would go to his place first to receive Hani, while Jungkook picked up Jinwoo. He wanted to get lost in the pile of paperwork in front of him, but it was useless. No matter how much he wanted to avoid the situation, it would still be there the longer he stayed sitting in his office. 

Yoongi had spent the drive home calming himself down. He knew he fucked up by lashing out, and he’s not above admitting his wrong doings when he’s called out on his shit. He just hopes it’s not too late to fix things. 

-

___ has been stress cleaning her house for the last few hours. She had even made it into a game with Haneul, and the toddler enjoyed feeling included. An hour in Hani retreated into her favorite corner on the sectional, burrito wrapped in her favorite halloween blanket. By 5:15 pm Seokjin was waving her off with Hani on his hip. 

By 5:54 pm Bee had vacuumed her living room, rearranged her cutlery, fixed her spice cabinet, made two types of tea, and stress screeched. At first she was dead-set on refusing to speak with Yoongi, but after seeing her tweet, Jungkook texted her: 

“He knows he fucked up, we’ve told him why, and how he fucked up. You guys need to talk. You don’t have to forgive him afterwards, but let him explain some things to you. I’m not excusing him, or trying to apologize for him.”

Knowing Jungkook was in her corner made Bee confident. She’d hear Yoongi out for her best friend’s sake, but after this she was sure she’d be avoiding him for a while. By 6:10 pm the dial tones of her door being unlocked alerted her of Yoongi’s arrival. Bee heard the rustle of paper bags, and clashing containers. She could hear the older man flicking his shoes off, and his keys jingling. It felt like any other night when they would eat dinner together; Lo-fi was gently playing in the background, Bee had cleaned up Hani’s play corner, and was wondering if take-out or a big bowl of cereal was going to be tonight’s dinner. 

Yoongi walked into Bee’s living room, sleeves rolled up and wrinkled, two big paper bags, and his black tote bag. He quasi-lifted the bags, “Sorry for being late. I brought chinese food, and some soju to help us be a little less tense.” ___ nodded in acknowledgement, making her way to her kitchen to grab cups. 

They ate their dinner in silence, little butterflies fluttering in ___’s tummy because Yoongi had remembered her order, and that she preferred peach soju. Neither of them had opened a bottle yet, opting to save them for when their talk would officially begin. Bee pushed her spicy orange chicken around, noticing Yoongi wasn’t faring any better. He had yet to touch his sweet and sour pork, or his black bean noodles. Neither of them could pretend to have appetites. 

___ put their containers back into the take out bags, double checking that the containers were properly sealed. She came back with the chilled bottles of soju, pouring a shot for herself and Yoongi. Bee nodded at him, mumbling a small ‘cheers' downing the large shot. She cringed, waiting for Yoongi to drink his. 

Yoongi hesitated, but eventually drank the initial large shot, and quickly drank another. It looked like ___ wasn’t the only one who needed liquid courage to get through tonight. “I’m sorry,” Yoongi croaked, “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have said that you weren’t my friend. I shouldn’t have said anything horrible to you.”

“Why did you,” she asked. 

Yoongi sighed, “I haven’t been entirely honest with what’s been going on with my parents. We got into a fight, well my mother and I did.”

“What does that have to do with what you said,” Bee quipped. She poured herself another shot, wanting to keep up with the older man. 

Yoongi watched her drink her second shot. He waited for her glass to be placed down to pour another one for the both of them. They clinked their glasses together, mumbling small ‘cheers’. “Remember when I told you about Hani’s birth mom?” ___ nodded. “Well, that was the short, non-shit show version of it.” The older man poured her another shot, drinking his straight from the bottle to get the remnants. “What’s the shit show version, “she asked as she drank her fourth shot. 

Her friend scoffed, “The shit show version? Currently I'm still living it.” Yoongi slouched further onto the floor, back meeting her couch at a curve. “Minji, and I had known each other for a year when she found out she was pregnant. We had been freshly broken up, maybe a month or so when she told me. It was too late for a termination, so she decided to tell me of what she planned. Originally, she was going to give up Hani for adoption. While I respected her choice of not wanting to be a parent, I didn’t want that. I asked for full custody of my daughter. It took a while for her to accept, but she agreed. Around the fourth month mark, when she started to show, we agreed that we had to tell my parents. We did, well, Minji did for the most part. Mom couldn’t fathom a woman not wanting to keep her child, so she tried to convince Minji to stay.”

“Is that why your mom hates me? She thinks I’m trying to replace Hani’s mom,” Bee says. Yoongi shakes his head in disapproval, “You can’t replace what she never had.” 

“Your mom seems to think so,” she replied. 

“My mom,” Yoongi starts, “My mother is complicated. She thinks she knows best, even if you explain to her why you’re choosing to do something and how it's better for you, she still believes she’s in the right.” The older man reaches over for an unopened bottle of soju, wanting to pour himself another shot before he gets to the nitty, gritty parts. 

The pair drink another two drinks back to back to continue. “Mom begged, pleaded, attempted to compromise with Minji, but she wouldn’t change her mind. I always told mom to back off, this was Minji’s choice and we should respect it.”

“Were you ever scared that Minji would change her mind,” ___ asked. 

“Yes, and no,” Yoongi answered. “Back then I would’ve been ecstatic if Minji had wanted to co-parent. We would’ve figured it out, somehow. More than anything I feared that she would give in to what my mom wanted, at the time it was for her to stay against her will. Mom wanted us to be a ‘family’. I think she was trying to save face.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when I told you about my grandparents not really being there for my aunt and mom,” Yoongi brought up. Bee nodded, egging him to continue. “Mom had to raise my aunt. My grandmother was always working, and doing who knows what, with whomever she decided was her date for the week. Now those are my mom’s words not mine. From what I’ve always been able to tell, mom always craved some form of validation that she didn’t get from my grandparents.”

“What about her father?”

Yoongi shrugged, “Dunno, s’far as I know mom’s dad wasn’t really there either. Mom said he was always working too. Grandma got remarried sometime around them being older, not really sure, we stopped talking to her when I was really young. I don’t remember much of her. Grandpa passed before I was born, so I never met him.”

“M’sorry,” Bee whispered. Yoongi reached over for the soju once more, “S’kay.” While he was busy, ___ took a moment to really look at the older man. His face had grown flush from how quickly they were ingesting the alcohol. His button up, which is usually crisp, is wrinkled. His left thumbnail has been picked at, and his hair is disheveled. Bee stands up from the floor, a bit wobbly at that, making her way to get her band aid kit. She comes back signaling Yoongi to sit on the couch instead of the hard floor. ___ cleans the picked nails, reminding herself to be gentle every time Yoongi hisses at the sting of the disinfectant wipe. She finishes him off with some hello kitty band aids, specially chosen for her by her niece. “There, now, please stop picking at them. It's bad for you, and Hanuel could pick up the habit,” she says. 

Yoongi nodded, pouting like a scolded child, inspecting his bandages. “Thank you. I’ve been trying to stop. These are cute, did you get them because of Hani?” ___ shook her head, “Nope. My niece likes to give me random things sometimes; rocks, drinks with cute bottles, stickers, cute band aids. She’s like a penguin.” The older man smiled, taking in the little designs, “I like them, might steal them from you.” 

___ scoffed, “The hell you will, those are MY special band aids. You’re lucky I even let you have some.” She watched as Yoongi let out a jovial laugh, “Okay, okay, I get it they’re yours.” In the midst of that Bee hadn’t realized how close she’d gotten to Yoongi. Their thighs were pressed against each other, shoulders were clashing, and she could feel the heat coming off of him. This close up she could see his beauty marks, as well as imperfections on his skin. His eyes were a beautiful color of chocolate brown, and were even more charming with his eyes having mismatching lids. His lips were glossy, a bit bitten, and rosy. In the last few months of knowing the older man he’d grown his hair out to his shoulders, and it drove her crazy with how good it looked on him. He’d put it up in a half bun, from how often it bothered him, but he refused to cut it. His face creeped closer, and she could smell the alcohol and mint from his daily gum chewing. She wanted to give in, to kiss the handsome man in front of her. Get lost in each other for the night hoping that it would solve everything, but it wasn’t just them, they had Haneul to think about. 

___ turned away, picking up the trash from helping Yoongi. The older man sighed, “M’sorry, we shouldn’t be doing that.” Bee nodded in agreement, “Continue with your story.”

Yoongi leaned his head back, trying to remember, “Where were we?” “Minji and 50/50 custody,” ___ answered. He snapped his fingers in response, “Right! So, mom couldn’t fathom a woman, or anyone not wanting to be a parent, she was determined to change Minji’s mind. Obviously that didn’t happen. In the last months of her pregnancy my mom tried to convince Minji that everyone is scared, blah, blah, blahh. It got to the point where my mother told me, not asked, that she would be taking custody of my daughter.”

___ stared at her older friend in surprise, “What? You can’t be serious?”

“As a heart attack dude,” he replied. “It didn’t help that I had fought with her a few days before.”

“Was it over Minji,” Bee asked.

“No,” Yoongi answered, “Remember how I said my aunt has control issues?” ___ shrugged, a little confused, but it could also be the soju not helping her memory, “I don’t, but not to sound disrespectful, if she’s anything like your mother I don’t need the runthrough.”

Yoongi splayed himself across the couch, making sure his head was facing Bee, “If you think my mom is a handful, oof, my auntie is worse. Anyways, I got into a fight with my mom over my auntie being too controlling over my cousins, I’ll tell you about that another day, but the gist of it was me feeling like my mom was trying to control my decisions. Even though I had already made a plan, was executing that plan, and had made that plan with Minji. That fight led my mother into telling me she would take custody of Hani until me and Minji got our shit together. Which made me angry, obviously, I’m a grown man, I knew what I was doing. Knowing my mother we would never get Hani back until we met her terms. She tried until the last moment to convince Minji, but thankfully she never changed her mind. The first 6 or so months of Hanuel’s life, my parents were not involved at all. Ever since I allowed, sorry, ever since my mother decided she would ‘forgive me for not taking her advice’, it has been an annoying fight of back and forth. She was always trying to push the boundaries I set, and I would push back. It hadn’t gotten as bad as it did then, than the current fight we’re in. She’s demanded custody of Hani a handful of times because I won't listen to her.”

___ felt her throat dry a bit, feeling guilty, “I’m sorry being friends with me has caused so many issues with your parents.” 

Yoongi waved his hand in dismissal. “The issues with my mother have been ongoing for gods know how long. Don’t feel bad.”

“Is that why you got mad at me,” she asked, “because I didn’t give you a choice?”

The older man nodded slightly, “I know you were truly only trying to help me, but it made me feel frustrated. I know what you did is completely different from my mother’s actions, but for a moment I felt like I was back in my parent’s kitchen being told that my daughter wouldn’t be with me. I’m sorry for lashing out at you.”

Bee sniffled, “It’s okay, it’s not, but I understand now. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I just wanted to help because I care about Haneul, and about you. I didn’t want you getting stressed out over your work, and Hani being uncomfortable at your office.”

“I’m also sorry for saying you’re not my friend,” he adds. “I don’t know what to call what we are, we’ve gone past being friends.”

“Heh, platonic besties raising a kid,” ___ jokes.

Yoongi chortled, “Sure, why not. Actually, Jungkookie and Jinnie Hyung would probably fight us over that title.”

“Aren’t they dating? I swear Kookie spends more time at Seokjin’s than at his place,” she asks. 

“So get this…” 

They spent the rest of the night trying to figure out if their respective best friends are somehow more, apologizing to each other, and Yoongi spilling his family’s dirty laundry. Not once did they dare speak about the quasi-kiss, but it made ___ more aware of the older man’s lingering stares. The way he clinged to her every word, and how his body leaned more into her. They didn’t know what they were, but they didn’t need to know now. They’d figure it out, eventually. 

Tag List: @unicornbabylover @halesandy @supernoonanyc @aianloveseven @hannahdinse8 @lyndseygoregasmxo @aunoiire @brbkpop @nochuwastaken @tinyoonsblog @borahae-reads @jinscharms @phenomenalgirl9 @yoongiigolden @girlwithluv0613 @yaboiithewreck @mint--yoongs @ysljoon @hyunjingin @yu-justme @damn-u-min-yoongi @lovelytaes-blog @so-da-1 @cruelsummer-s @seolaquotes @lovelgirl22 @dreamamubarak @leanimal90 @atinymonbebestay @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @jaiuneamesolitaiire @proudbtsstanfightmebeach

Fic Masterlist

[voidhri]

I absolutely love the tiny little headcanons or thoughts about mia in the comments , would you mind telling us more 😭 ranting or more I don't mind we just love to hear it

Hehe the Mia brainworm is still at an early stage, it needs to grow so I can get more ideas for it.

So I talked to @sunborn-tenacity and we came up with some ideas

I've seen a post where op had thoughts about Mia having a one sided love for the og MC and that this is the first time that MC actually picked her.

I love the angst of "I'm in love with my bestie who never picked me and suddenly in this lifetime they see me"

The contrast between Miranda's:

og!MC is the only one that matters, this new MC is just a vessel for me to make sure they become their former self. So they can die, pick another person, that's insignificant to me, they WILL become my old MC.

Vs

Mia's:

I'm still in love with og!MC but I've never seen an opportunity to be with them, so I had my grief over it and now I'm just kinda trapped in this quest to "help" Miranda, when in reality I just want the best for my friend.

This new reincarnation is not them, it's not the same person anymore... And yet, I can't help but feel for them.

I also like to think that Mia's route would have some kind of flashbacks as Miranda's had.

But the big difference is, while in Miranda's route you get very overwhelming and invasive flashbacks the more you are with her, to the point you can't enjoy or be present. In Mia's route you'll get glimpses, feelings, of familiarity and random images, but they aren't violently forced on your brain. And Mia is the one who will probably have memories violently shaking her brain.

While MC falls for Mia, Mia is very torn apart by her old and new feelings. Realizing she didn't fully grieve the old MC.

Her route will start in the middle of Miranda's or before Miranda's route.

Her bad ending could be that Mia can't deal with everything after MC takes the worst decisions known to man. (I don't think Miranda is gonna do much at the beginning, since she doesn't even take Mia into account as a rival for MC at all. But if things become more obvious, by the end she will intervene)

And I think Mia will get to that crazy disassociation where she will go "alright, this is not real, MC wouldn't pick me. So let's get over with this" and kills MC or hands them to Miranda so they can reset the loop early.

The neutral ending would be something like Mia just pushes MC back to Miranda's route and disappears

The good ending would be that Mia would accept MC's feelings and they will try to do something to stop Miranda. But fail.

And you think the loop has been reset and you have to start the game again but this time there is a new option at the beginning, one that will lead you to the Mia route without having to get into Miranda's first.

If I'm delulu enough, I can imagine other characters helping them as well (coff coff Bela coff) since most want the curse to be lifted, and there are only two love interests that remember the loops (Donna and Bela) I guess it would depend on your relationship with them. But I bet Bela would take any chance at getting free from the curse and helping her family even if she doesn't get you too.

So I would love if they play around with the game files in a very ddlc and make Mia's route as unnerving as Miranda's but somehow less cold and cryptic and more hopeful.

[whattraintracks]

27. Human Friends - TMNT 1987

Buffy and Raphael should've been best friends, spread the word

"Poor Little Rich Turtle" is a spectacular episode

almost entirely because of Buffy Shellhammer

all the boys need more friends their age, Raphael especially

and these two could have gotten along SO WELL

in that episode, Michelangelo’s level of attraction to Buffy is inversely proportional to Raphael’s begrudging respect for her

I bet Raphael tells her about Michelangelo's crush as a joke

and she declares she has no interest in anyone human, turtle, boy, girl, or otherwise, and they high-five/three about it

he would love having a rich friend that lets him hang out in her mansion

he makes fun of her for said mansion but still shamelessly takes advantage of her wealth

which is fair since she’s been trashing his sewer home since day one 

Leonardo’s joke about seeing "how the other half lives"? Yeah, they run that bit six feet under

she does not care that Raphael and his brothers are local heroes they’re just some weird little dudes from beneath the city to her

she is, however, so excited to learn about all the hidden sewer routes around the city so she can escape her more boring responsibilities

they're both made of pretty tough stuff and predictably bond over their abnormal childhoods and limited connections/friends

"don't get out much, do you?" he says like he doesn’t have equally negative amounts of experience with normal teenage fun!!

zero understanding of typical friendship rituals between them

they wrestle, gift each other weird stuff, and spend a lot of time trying to figure out what normal teenagers do, only to give up and do something else because the things they thought of sounded boring

they'll just randomly ask each other stuff like, "did you know most people only eat three meals a day with specific foods for each meal?" and be totally confused together about it

they also have the most skewed concept of money

Raphael has never paid for anything in his life other than pizza, and while Buffy knows the exact value of super niche chemical tech supplies, she could not give you a reasonable estimate for produce

a lifetime with Donatello has made Raphael a surprisingly good sounding board for the more technical aspects of Buffy’s work

which she does enjoy, as well as cutthroat business operations, she just hates her public persona and sucking up to adults who think they know better than her

he likes to hold the fact that t(he)y saved her life (multiple times) over her head, but like as a joke

except for when he tries to use it to win arguments

unfortunately, it never works, she is the most ungrateful brat ever thank you much

they very much share that I don’t owe anyone anything attitude

EXCEPT for Master Splinter, whom they mutually respect and agree is the only acceptable adult

she unironically complains about humans with him but particularly has beef with adults, and he heartily encourages this

they love that they can be total jerks around each other without hurting anyone else’s delicate feelings

THEE besties who judge people and hate each other affectionately

all the insults: "martian" "nerd" "pet store reject" "spoiled brat"

when they’re not coming up with colorful insults for each other, they’re doing it together for other people

it's their favorite bonding activity <3

since she enjoyed their initial misadventure so much, she asks if she can go out with the turtles to fight and stuff again, and Raphael laughs at her

until she takes a bunch of martial arts classes and totally kicks his shell

and, well, he supposes a nice easy patrol or two might be fun

unfortunately, the team cannot handle the strength of their combined sass, and she’s forbidden from ever joining them again, even though she has a mean left hook

ultimately, I think they’d mellow each other out now that they have an outlet for their angst and eventually grow and learn a lot from one another

but, mostly, they just talk so much crap together

[silver-wield]

Having processed that trailer for over 24 hours now, I still can’t believe they decided to focus on the LTD. If that was really Aerith’s farewell trailer, that’s just so sad. They’re basically reducing her to ship fodder. They not only made her look like a selfish person that doesn’t care about anyone’s boundaries or feelings but also ignored her importance as the last Cetra in the story. Isn’t that part of her story more important and compelling? They could have focused on her role as the external heroine of the story. By focusing on the LTD instead, they also made Cloud look bad, because knowing that he ends up with Tifa after this game just makes him look insincere. We know his real self only loves Tifa, but that doesn’t mean his actions when he isn’t himself don’t matter. Letting his dead best friend’s girl, who is best friends with the girl he loves, cling to and flirt with him and in turn, holding her back and staring into her eyes is just so so disgusting in ways I can’t get over. Honestly, Zack and Tifa suffer as well. They look like punching bags and pushovers. Honestly, both canon ships just look less genuine now. It’s a pity because I have loved Cloti for years since I played OG when I was younger. Although I’ve always kind of felt Tifa deserves so much more and Rebirth is just hitting that home for me.

They fucked around and now they're finding out it's not a good idea to piss off the people who pay to indulge the people who wave around printed out pictures.

I never thought much of Cloud. I've said so plenty of times that AC didn't endear him to me. I didn't like him aside from when he was fighting. I thought Tifa deserved better.

Remake made me reconsider what I knew and I was like okay he's a stupid boy who can't express himself but he's obviously in love with Tifa, so I let it slide because AC was before Remake and obviously character development and better tech showcase him better now than however many years ago

This trailer totally undid all the good opinion I had of him. If he can't even reject some two faced back stabbing bitch who's been going around calling herself the bestie of the girl he loves then he's scum and never deserved Tifa no matter what hardship he went through. Idgaf if he's in soldier mode or is literally overtaken by the ghost of Zack in that moment. We have the premise he's in love with Tifa. If he cannot remain consistent to those feelings for five fucking minutes just because some skinny white bitch throws herself at him then he's not worthy of Tifa and never was.

Course, Tifa's too nice to ever reject him, but it makes the whole relationship so fucking toxic if Cloud's constantly in this state of "ooooh Aerith" for one reason or another. Tifa deserves someone's whole heart, not just a piece of it.

I honestly hate they kept the optional GS dates. It's such a toxic and hateful concept. They could've created something new and wonderful for fans that didn't cause people to turn away from SE as a whole, but ofc they never really respect our feelings and expect we'll "get over it" and pay out and pay out and support them forever like we're Tifa giving away lifetime food and drink vouchers. Well, we ain't. SE's profits are down and part of that is because they disrespected their customers. That's what we are. We are their customers, not fans. We ain't just gonna suck up anything they give us. And they should've realised by how popular Tifa is, and how unpopular Aerith is, that the people they shouldn't fuck with are us.

[just-some-random-blogger]

good morning, meow meow!! it must around 8:30 a.m. in your timezone and i've just finished all the tasks i needed to do *star eyes* 'i forgot to answer your ask this morning' good. i already thought i said smth wrong, shouldn't had linked those songs or idk TT glad to hear from you anytime, though! 'if you dont want to' no but i literally don't know if i even have an opportunity to do so... actually, the whole death thing is... you know, burning? it's really important to talk about it. it's hard to describe but the death is just not the thing that stops me. omg i haven't watched comebacks for.. a lifetime... srry. but it's really been a long time. 'WHO IS YOUR BIAS MINE IS JOHN' giirl give you 3 seconds to guess yourself... yeah mine too. also doyoung seems too much like me so i just LoOk and relate. 'thats so random' I FORGOT THE WORD COACH!!! hghfjjd. awful. like irl i always say every word i know while trying to cheer up smn so my friends joke about me being one of those buisness-motivation coaches. 'interesting to know you like music like that' ig it's more about hyperfixation and nostalgia. it's published in 2012 and it feels. but it's the best part for me. actually, i like 'my sea' better. but i did fell in love with noize and all his songs yeah... 'i didnt really like the song' it's ok. i was just excited to unit my two fav thins at this moment: your fics an this artist. 'i like the chorus part' AHAAH it's funny that i'm opposite TT 'i never actually imagined the first scene to be a childbirth scene' LOLL ok maybe it's me and my bad memory but it mentioned a child and a wound on her stomach so i though... 'fuck your trauma, she could die and you wont be there?' SAME!! i was a little taken aback when i've read he wasn't present during rhaenyra's labour and didn't support her after due to his trauma and was like?? you claim to love her, fuck she beared your child and you couldn't like don't pay attention to the thing that happened how much time ago? 6 years? literally dont remember even if she died, you wouldn't be there to say her goodbyes like with laena?? i'm angry now(( 'i love how were planning the ending already but i havent even made p3' lol well you asked for this and triggered my imagination, so just enjoy. i'm glad you at least like it. *proud of myself* you may or may not include it, it's just a thought, maybe i'll even have the other ones after another part(s?) i trust you to do your big brained thing. 'i started writing it' YAY good luck catmom, meow meow!! sending you all my best love and big brained thoughts through a lot of kisses!! 'wow i love it when language does that' i'm glad you love it TT i was really nervous about sending russian songs. 'i will say im not feeling making smth fluffy' ig i'm falling ill so my fluffy side craves more sacrifice so... what's going on with the lifetime... 'honestly im a sucker for plots like this' GIIRL were again the same!! i always think what if daemon had a wise present wife instead of rhae (sorry babe you were perfect) who would've made him attend all the council meetings so viserys would've thought about naming daemon his heir... thinking... thinking so much... she'd be besties with corlys and rhaenys and they'd spill some tea every now and then.... ok now i'm crying bc it sounds good for me. (winking but not really. you decide. but one day maybe...) What about dimash!! this song is in russian. a lot of artists from post-soviet countries sing in russian. it's easier to promote like this ig. dimash is not really popular in russia as i know? he's been famous for being popular in asian countries as i remember from my most active time in kpop. but he is indeed talented. his voice is amazing. i'm happy to hear he inspires you so much. he's soso good i think he should be more popular and appreciated. hope you've done good with your midterms last semester! love you!! have a nice day/evening!!! take care!! <3

GOOD MORNING LOVIE

me going through your love letter HAHHAAAH

it must around 8:30 a.m. in your timezone and i've just finished all the tasks i needed to do *star eyes*

well im readinf this at 10:13 am, i googled russian time and the general consensus is that is morning, good morning <3 HAHAH

'i forgot to answer your ask this morning' good. i already thought i said smth wrong, shouldn't had linked those songs or idk TT glad to hear from you anytime, though!

T_T plssssss T_T i will always reply to you i promise T_T i literally just forgot i hadnt done it yet you can tell me anything, link any song, i will read and listen to it all. i will reply as soon as I can always <3

'if you dont want to' no but i literally don't know if i even have an opportunity to do so... actually, the whole death thing is... you know, burning? it's really important to talk about it. it's hard to describe but the death is just not the thing that stops me.

that's fine if you cant watch it. i agree the whole death thing should be talked about, as well as other things that are quite hard to process as a human being.

omg i haven't watched comebacks for.. a lifetime... srry. but it's really been a long time.

that's fineee T_T its all fine T_T

'WHO IS YOUR BIAS MINE IS JOHN' giirl give you 3 seconds to guess yourself... yeah mine too. also doyoung seems too much like me so i just LoOk and relate.

OMG JOHNNY GIRL!!!!!!! I LOVE THAT FOR US :AS:ASH:FAHS:FSAAFAFJFAJF:JASFJASF SLAYY SOULMATES <3 AND DOYOUNG LIKING YOU TOO MUCH AHHAHAHHAH RELATABLE

'thats so random' I FORGOT THE WORD COACH!!! hghfjjd. awful. like irl i always say every word i know while trying to cheer up smn so my friends joke about me being one of those buisness-motivation coaches.

like a motivational speaker? AHAHAH it's ok i get what you mean but LOL ??? THE EARN YOUR FIRST BILLION WAS SO RANDOM HAHAHH

'interesting to know you like music like that' ig it's more about hyperfixation and nostalgia. it's published in 2012 and it feels. but it's the best part for me.

i completely understand what you mean. i have a lot of song i hated as a kid that i love now only because its a song i knew when i was younger. not that im saying you hated this song or whatever

actually, i like 'my sea' better. but i did fell in love with noize and all his songs yeah... 'i didnt really like the song' it's ok. i was just excited to unit my two fav thins at this moment: your fics an this artist. 'i like the chorus part' AHAAH it's funny that i'm opposite TT

yeah i like the 2nd song better too. interesting to know you like noize haha. i cant believe my fics are one of your two fav things T_T and HAHAHHAH it so funny we're opposite about the chorus HAHAH

'i never actually imagined the first scene to be a childbirth scene' LOLL ok maybe it's me and my bad memory but it mentioned a child and a wound on her stomach so i though...

NAH YOURE SO RIGHT THOUGH. i didnt give too much details on the first part because what was important to me was to show she was DEAD HAHAH and i thought she was like, idk, stabbed in the gut by someone mid wartime thus why Daemon managed to find a sorcerer cos he and yn were situated someone like idk the woods yeah. also in my head she was not that pregnant like full on big belly pregnant ya know. but its 100000% fine that you thought it was kind of a pregnancy death scene T_T albeit the fact again idk if i would ever write smth like that.

'fuck your trauma, she could die and you wont be there?' SAME!! i was a little taken aback when i've read he wasn't present during rhaenyra's labour and didn't support her after due to his trauma and was like?? you claim to love her, fuck she beared your child and you couldn't like don't pay attention to the thing that happened how much time ago? 6 years? literally dont remember even if she died, you wouldn't be there to say her goodbyes like with laena?? i'm angry now

ReAL 🤬🤬🤬🤬 men (derogatory)

i understand that you got trauma boy, but being pregnant/giving birth IS SUPER FUCKING TRAUMATIZING AND DEADLY HELLO??????????????????????????? men (derogatory)

(( 'i love how were planning the ending already but i havent even made p3' lol well you asked for this and triggered my imagination, so just enjoy. i'm glad you at least like it. *proud of myself* you may or may not include it, it's just a thought, maybe i'll even have the other ones after another part(s?) i trust you to do your big brained thing.

[chanting] trust in the big brain. i love all your ideas. im happy i trigger your imagination. [pats head] i'll do my best to make everything coherent and add as many ideas as you told me into the story

'i started writing it' YAY good luck catmom, meow meow!! sending you all my best love and big brained thoughts through a lot of kisses!!

'wow i love it when language does that' i'm glad you love it TT i was really nervous about sending russian songs.

you can send me alien songs id still listen to it

'i will say im not feeling making smth fluffy' ig i'm falling ill so my fluffy side craves more sacrifice so... what's going on with the lifetime...

[chanting] SACRIFICE SACRIFICE i will say tho i have some fluffy fics lines up so HAHAH but idk if p3 of waiting for a lifetime will be fluffy

'honestly im a sucker for plots like this' GIIRL were again the same!! i always think what if daemon had a wise present wife instead of rhae (sorry babe you were perfect) who would've made him attend all the council meetings so viserys would've thought about naming daemon his heir... thinking... thinking so much... she'd be besties with corlys and rhaenys and they'd spill some tea every now and then.... ok now i'm crying bc it sounds good for me. (winking but not really. you decide. but one day maybe...)

the 'sorry babe you were perfect' AHHAHH 💀💀💀💀i love the chaos. DAMN sometimes i wish i could just watch these ideas instead of writing them T_T or someone else could write it so i could fucking read T_T asflashfasfafhafash [dramatic wailing noises]

What about dimash!! this song is in russian. a lot of artists from post-soviet countries sing in russian. it's easier to promote like this ig. dimash is not really popular in russia as i know? he's been famous for being popular in asian countries as i remember from my most active time in kpop. but he is indeed talented. his voice is amazing. i'm happy to hear he inspires you so much. he's soso good i think he should be more popular and appreciated.

he is he is such an amazing artist. im glad it was in russian i totally knew that AHHAHAH lololol jk. interesting fact to know about post-soviet countries. he is more popular in asian countries i think. i hope he finds more success too <3

hope you've done good with your midterms last semester!

yeah my midterms was fine. my partner made her part too high and un-singable for herself though 💀💀💀and i couldn't save her with autotune. idk why she did that i made the key not so high and she still messed it up a/lshflas T_T RIP

love you!! have a nice day/evening!!! take care!! <3

i love you <3 i hope you have a nice day as well. i fell like i have to say i finished writing at 10:45am so idk you know what time im sending this from <3

take care my lovie. i have assignments to do now

xxx

[dine-on-nervine]

When was the last time you read a whole book, to the last page exactly? It's been a long while. I have one book I have made no attempt to finish in the last 2-3 years.

How many times have you had sex within the past two years? Guesstimate? I'm going to say from Jan 2022 to November 2023 it was ten, and in the two months since it's been a higher number (even if I've only busted once). What a difference a healthy attitude can make!

When was the last time you made up a word? Did people think it was weird? Unknown, I make up my own homily phrases though... like "I'm a happy clamdigger" or "that's not worth a turd on toast."

How many times in a month do you go to the movies? How much do you spend? Zero.

What is one of those movies that you could never get tired of watching? There isn't one. On the rare occasion I watch a movie, I'm good for another decade or three before the desire to watch it again crops up.

When was the last time you heard thunder? Where were you at anyway? Unsure and wherever it was raining.

Have you ever begged the opposite sex for anything at all? Yes. Next question.

Are there many places to shop in the town you live in? What kinds? Yes. All kinds.

When was the last time you bought shoes? What do they look like? I bought new work boots a few months ago. They look like black shoes but they have steel toes.

Do you like surveys with really in-depth questions, like mine? I like surveys with really in-depth questions, unlike yours.

When was the last time you were in trouble with your parents? Hmm, trying to think when the last time that happened. No idea.

Has your boyfriend or girlfriend ever cheated on you? Were you mad or sad? This has happened. I was more forgiving than I should have been, which lead to them thinking it was okay by me so they didn't learn their lesson and stop doing it.

Do you know anyone who claims to have the ability to see the future? I haven't been around anyone like that in a few years.

Are you a superstitious person? Have you ever been superstitious before? Not really but I do believe that one's attitude can lead to a result that, even if coincidence, is considered hubris.

Do you like any songs from country music? If so, which ones do you like? We're not going into that. Some exist.

Can people read your facial expressions easily? If so, why is this? I am easily misread, it seems.

When was the last time you went on vacation? Where did you go to? We took a road trip one week ago to Leavenworth. It was -11F outside.

How many states have you been to in your lifetime? Guesstimate if not sure. Six.

When you go to the movies, do you actually watch the movies or not? Of course. I could stay home and save $15 if I wanted a nap.

What kind of instant messaging service do you use? Why do you use this? Facebook messenger... because AOL, Yahoo, Gmail, ICQ, and MSN simply don't exist anymore. (Oh wait, ICQ still exists?! Do people still use IRC?)

When was the last time your area had a tornado warning, if ever? Never, we don't get tornadoes. <<

Have you ever had one of those major fights with your current bf/gf? I have not. I hope to keep it that way.

Does it ever bother you when people use abbreviations for certain words? Only when it is in TikTok/Insta/FB Reels to avoid demonitization and deplatforming. Pussies.

Would it creep you out if you walked in on your best friend having sex? This has happened many times and no, it doesn't. Not saying I want to see my bestie blowing anyone (again), but I have seen it and continued doing whatever I was doing.

When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’ Who did you say it to? To my girlfriend.

Do you have any of those freaky phobias that make no sense at all? Nothing makes sense with me.

Do you ever look at random people and think they could be a serial killer? I look at random people and have all kinds of thoughts, but that isn't one I can recall ever thinking.

Does it scare you when the sky gets really cloudy and dark during the day? Does cause a moment of concern.

What was the last amusement park you went to? Did you have fun? I haven't been to one.

[h0tchner]

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What���s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

[roniscloud]

psh - love affair

park sunghoon [f. 8516 words] love affair

so when i’m gonna know what to feel inside, baby?

maybe it’s just all in my head, so

don’t overthink, this is love

maybe it’s just a crush

baby, is this your love affair, your love affair?

synopsis: what happens when two childhood best friends make a deal to help each other’s reputations? an unforeseen circumstance prompts sunghoon to approach you, intriguing not just you but practically every other student at your college. you believe your reunion with him can only end in one of two ways: you resort back to being friends and go on with your lives, or you use each other and once you’re both done, you fall out and never talk again. how will you two navigate your companionship? is it just the nostalgia coming up? a revival of feelings? a new crush? could it possibly be actual love?

genre + tropes : fluff. comedy. the slightest angst. childhoodbestfriends!au. enemiestolovers!au. college!au. fakedating!au. 

warnings: fem reader. a little swearing. slightly suggestive themes, sorta. a few cliches. mentions of underage drinking. the american collegiate school calendar. does them geeking out over fantasy/sci-fi sagas need a warning? unknown mutual pining. they’re so helplessly clueless of their feelings. also appearances of the rest of enha plus txt.

i. prologue

if someone told you that you would reconnect with your childhood best friend—let alone date him, you would’ve laughed in their face and told them to fuck off. park sunghoon is bad news. well, at least to you he is. one of the infamous campus playboys, you can spot him around the quad flirting with a different girl practically every day. 

but to you, he couldn’t have been anymore unlike the sunghoon you grew up with. you grew up with the sunghoon who couldn’t stand being around others, mind always focused on his own interests. you knew him as the little shy boy who would hide behind his mom whenever new people came around. the first person he opened up to was you. you can blame your mom for that. you can vaguely remember her words, something along the lines of mrs. park and i have been friends for longer than you have been alive. when we found out we were both expecting, we knew you two were destined to be besties. 

she was right. everyone thought you were two peas in a pod. wherever one of you went, the other followed. always stuck together, like true partners in crime. your close bond stuck for years. if anyone needed you, you’d most likely be found in the seats of sunghoon’s ice skating practices and competitions, cheering him on and being obnoxiously loud. likewise, he always attended your showcases, spending hours complimenting your artwork.

but then the villain of everyone’s lifetime eventually appeared. puberty. 

alas, your friendship did what anyone could predict of a couple of preteens entering high school. the usual “no matter what we’re gonna stick together!” leading to “sorry for blowing you off, got really busy,” to the imminent “what happened to us? we used to be so close,” and eventually the end of it all. senior year, the two of you attempted to leave on a good note. by that, you mean your parents made both of you apply to the same colleges to have a chance at sticking together. well, it worked, you got into the same university. funny how the universe does things.

back to present day, you’re now in your second year at hybe university. let’s just say, sunghoon isn’t the only one who went through a personality change. sunghoon traded his late night practices on the ice to one-night stands at frat parties. you, on the other hand, traded your once outgoing and fun-loving persona for a more… cold grunge meets artsy introvert. overall, let’s just say you both have reputations for not being the most approachable people. well at least you still have one thing in common.

ii. the cafe

the busy campus cafe was roaring with study groups filling every table. the aroma of fresh coffee and tea being brewed filling the air, creating a warm atmosphere—contrast to the cold winter weather just outside the walls. the college students scattered around, just like their minds scattered as they prepare for finals. not immune to the dreaded time of year, a group of four boys enter, immediately grabbing the attention of those already nestled inside.

a quick roll call of the four known by the student body as en-4, a combination of the dance crew name enhypen and the notorious f4. lee heeseung—the campus heartthrob, captain of the dance crew, center of the basketball team, and an unknown hopeless romantic. park jongseong, although everyone calls him jay—the resident bad boy and party animal, but those close to him know that he’s actually the responsible one. sim jaeyun, otherwise referred to as jake—the friendly and flirty frat boy who you can catch playing soccer in the quad almost every day. finally, park sunghoon—the handsome heartbreaker. he doesn’t need more of an introduction.

the four of them make their way to the counter, placing their orders. of course jake doesn’t miss his chance to sound extra sweet and send a quick wink to the barista, getting elbowed by heeseung in the process. after getting their drinks, they look around to see almost no where to sit. not a single table to fit all of them was available. 

in one of the tucked away areas, sunghoon spots an empty seat at a smaller table. the only catch was there was someone sitting across from it, hunched forward over her laptop. he can’t see much of her figure but he immediately recognizes her features. it’s you. well, a more mature and grown up you, but he couldn’t forget that face for the life of him.

sunghoon’s feet drag himself across the crowded room, catching the attention from the neighboring groups he passed but sneaking away quiet enough to not alarm his own friends. the three are too caught up arguing about what to do. sunghoon can hear the faint voice of jay suggesting going somewhere else while the other two shoot him down as he walks further away. he makes his way all the way up to your side. you look up, scanning him, confused but unamused. “this seat taken?” the first words he said in a year and half to you. still not not giving him any emotion, you hesitantly shake your head once, immediately bringing your focus back to your essay.

ignoring him only works for so long, his gaze not leaving the top of your head. you can feel his stare piercing into you, finally meeting his eyes. “what’s your deal?” the irritation and bluntness in your tone is all too evident.

he shrugs and answers nonchalantly, “nothing, just go along with it.” his answer is hushed, almost as if he’s a bit embarrassed.

“what are you trying to pull here, park?”

“can i not just sit here and peacefully drink my latte? am i that disturbing to you?”

“considering that the second you started walking in this direction, everyone had their eyes on us, then yes, you are that disturbing.”

“they’re not looking at us.” he pauses before continuing with his rant, “they’re looking at you.”

“and why the hell do you think that is?”

“they’re all trying to figure out what could possibly be so interesting about you that i would choose this seat.” he says it like it’s the most obvious answer.

you scoff and turn to see the lingering stares of the others in the cafe. “well, if it isn’t the god park sunghoon being as humble as ever, gracing me with his presence and having mercy on a peasant like me.” the sarcasm dripping off your tongue like venom.

he smiles warmly at your animosity and chuckles. “i’ve always loved your sense of humor.”

“funny cause i’ve always despised yours. i’m gonna ask one more time. what do you want, park?”

he only shrugs. hesitating before responding again, “i like it here. i like talking to you. it’s familiar… comfortable.” he sees your expression change subtly. it’s only for a second before you regain the prior look. he tries to read you. he caught you off guard and his pride brings a smirk to his face. 

by now, he finally tunes back into the situation around him and can feel his phone going off in his jean pocket. he pulls out the phone to see dozens of notifications, quickly stealing a glance back up at you to see that you’re already back to typing away on the previously forgotten assignment. he laughs as he sees the boys blowing up their group chat asking what he was doing. he looks up, finding the three sitting at a cramped booth with shock and confusion written all over them.

“enjoying the attention?” your turn to break the silence. when he turns back to you, you continue, “you’re no stranger to it but you’ve always loved it.” he gives you a slow nod, turning the question back to you. you answer him, “you know that it’s not my forte.”

“and why is that? scared people will get to know the real you?”

“oh please, like you aren’t afraid of me exposing all the dirt i have on you. imagine the buzz i could create with all of your old baby pics.”

he jolts up from his relaxed position, eyebrows raised, and completely on edge, “you wouldn’t dare.”

you lean forward in your seat, elbow resting on the table, cheek resting in your palm, and chuckle, “try me.” the words leaving your mouth quickly and a smile immediately replacing it.

“you’re finally smiling at me. good to know you still have emotions.” he gets you to laugh again. you spend the next 20 minutes catching up. looks like you two kept more in common than you thought. things run smoothly between the two of you, some of your old memories and inside jokes being brought up. “why didn’t this happen sooner?”

“what, us talking? i mean, you and i stopped running in the same crowd and school got the best of us. i will admit, though, freshman year sucked without you.”

he sighs when he hears your admission. “how about this? a proposition. i’m sure you’re aware that i don’t have the best reputation.”

you cut him off, “you can say that again.”

“haha, very funny,” he throws in another sarcastic comment. “you know you’re not exactly the most approachable either. hate to be the one to break it to you but you’re pretty intimidating.” he notices the expression on your face turned into one of annoyance at his last statement, “don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true.”

you dismiss the slight jab, telling him to continue. what you don’t expect is the next four words to come out of his mouth. “go out with me.” he sees your face drop, “oh come on, stop looking at me like that.”

“so i see, a little bit of time without me and you go insane.”

“look, i don’t mean actually date me, i mean… pretend to.”

again, you stare at him like he grew another head. “you want me to fake-date you? what are we, in a k-drama now? sorry hoon, you’re attractive but i would’ve preferred hwang in-youp or song kang.”

now he’s a bit annoyed, answering cockily, “i am so much better looking than them.”

“you wish.”

his jaw drops for a few seconds and then he chuckles. “i’m serious, think about it. we go out and spend time with each other like old times. i don’t look like i’m so incapable of being in a committed relationship and you don’t look like such a loner. no offense.”

“offense taken… but i see your point.”

“see, look at you using that smart brain of yours. this would be no strings attached. just two friends helping each other out while simultaneously deceiving everyone else. i know how much you love tricking others.”

you sit quietly, weighing the pros and cons in your head. “deal.”

iii. bro code

a few days later, sunghoon sits in his shared apartment with the boys, slumped on the couch as they eat dinner. “why are you guys so against it? i thought you wanted to see me in a relationship and now that i’m in one, you guys don’t approve. make it make sense. i should be free to date whoever i want.”

“yeah dude,” pausing to take a bite of his burger, “we get that.” jay answers, seeing how defensive his friend is getting.

jake interejects, “we respect your choices, but like… her? of all the girls that are falling at your feet, you chose her? the one that has no interest in you at all? i know you’re powerful but i don’t get how you managed to pull that off.”

“i feel like you could’ve consulted us about it first. bro code, man.” heeseung says as he shrugs his shoulders and sips on his soda.

“that’s kinda why i like her, because she isn’t all over me like the others. she’s cute and fun to hang out with. just give her a chance. honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? we go out and it doesn’t work. no harm in trying….”

that seems to do the trick as the boys lay off from the topic, going back to their own dinners and watching the latest episode of the penthouse.

later that night, sunghoon leaves their dorm to meet up with you. you agreed earlier that if you needed to meet up and talk that you’d go to the art department. perks of being an art major allows you a studio to spend your time in, secluded from the outside world. in this case, you and sunghoon don’t have to worry about nosy roommates.

when he arrives, he makes sure to take the back entrance like you mentioned. he makes his way through the deserted halls, glancing at each room he passes, and taking note of the various pieces framed along the corridor walls. he gets to the end of the building, finding a studio decorated with your name on the door. he silently enters. you don’t notice him at first with your back against the entrance and the music playing too loud through your airpods, focused on molding the clay on the pottery wheel. he grabs an empty stool, propping it beside you and taking a seat. he takes off one of your airpods, putting it in his own ear.

you finally turn your head towards him, “how long ago did you get here?”

“just now. how long were you waiting?”

you sit up, facing his direction. “i had a couple of classes today and came here to finish some stuff, been here for… what time is it?”

“um… almost 11.”

“then like four hours.”

“you’ve been working on that for four hours? what even is it, and when did you start doing pottery?” he points at the unfinished ceramic.

“not just that. i had some paintings that i needed to finish for my portfolio and those are in a separate room to dry. this,” you refer to the clay, “is just something i’m working on for fun. i got into it cause one of my profs suggested i try another medium.”

he nods along while you explain. “you can keep working on it while we talk.”

you hum in confirmation and turn back to the wheel, rewetting your wands. “so how do we make this believable? seems like people already know. word spreads quick when it comes to you.”

“we just need to act like a couple. so hanging out, going on dates, posting each other here and there, and being affectionate.”

“wow you finally found an excuse to kiss me,” you laugh as you joke with him, him following suit. “sounds reasonable, not much different from how we were as kids, just now we have to call them dates.”

“shouldn’t cause too many problems. just don’t fall in love with me, babe.”

you smile at the new nickname, “likewise, hoon.” you continue throwing the clay, molding it to your desired shape. you hyperfocus on the sculpture, tuning out the boy sitting next to you as he watches—he catches on that you still have the habit of pouting whenever you work on your art. you hunch forward, letting some of your hair fall in front of your face. too caught up, you don’t notice that sunghoon left his seat to stand behind you. he takes your locks and ties it into a messy ponytail. you snap out of your tunnel vision to ask, “why do you just have a hair tie handy?”

“i always had to carry some around for you because you always lost them. i never grew out of it, i guess.” he grins warmly, “do you remember how many times you had complained when you would get paint in your hair and i would have to clean it up for you?”

“how could i forget?” the night ends with more laughs and reminiscing on your childhood. time really does fly faster than you think.

iv. rated pg

the bell rings as you and sunghoon enter the convenience store. you two are discussing the movie you two just watched as you walk through the aisles. 

you split up agreeing to meet back at the register. you make your way to the drinks in the back while sunghoon goes to get snacks. you grab an iced jasmine tea for yourself and an iced vanilla latte for hoon. sunghoon yells over the stands as he browses, “hey, what should i caption for my insta post?”

you respond loudly, “i don’t know, something related to movies.”

sunghoon looks at the picture on his phone: a photo of you two snuggled up in the theater, most of your face hidden in his hoodie. he types in quickly “rated pg for park’s girl <3”, hits post, and goes back to browsing. he goes to grab bento boxes, honey butter chips, candy jellies, and practically everything his eyes landed on. 

when you make it to the cashier, you see sunghoon with his arms full. “you good there, park?”

a muffled “yup” is heard behind all the food.

you look around, walking away when you find what you needed. going closer to him, “why didn’t you just grab a basket?” you start to take some things from his arms, lightening his load. 

“i… uh… didn’t think of it.” he pauses in between, an embarrassed expression adorning his face. you giggle as you take everything to be rung up, missing how his ears turned red. you catch the worker’s name on his tag, jungwon. before you can take out your wallet to pay, sunghoon’s already entering his card into the machine. you whip your head around, ready to tell him off. “nope, do not look at me like that.” you roll your eyes at him as you grab the bag with what you just bought. 

“oh come on… you can’t seriously be mad at me.” no response from you. “really? the silent treatment?” he scoffs jokingly when you cross your arms against your chest. he comes closer to bend down and wrap his arms around your waist. “it’s snacks. it’s not that big of a deal.”

you release yourself from his grasp and walk out of the store, still faking being mad. you mumble, “whatever,” under your beath but still loud enough for him to hear.

he bids jungwon a quick “have a nice night”, not missing him calling the two of you a cute couple. sunghoon meets up with you outside, already sitting on the curb of the parking lot. 

v. pretty boy

the start of a new semester. en-4 are sitting out on the grass of the quad. surrounding them are various groups of students, typical for the buzzing campus on a crisp spring day.

“you need to cook the noodles first. end of discussion.” jake says sternly. he and heeseung are in a heated argument over the proper order of cooking ramen.

heeseung defends himself, “you are so wrong. you make the broth first to build the flavor.”

jay brings his attention up from his phone, “neither of you should be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.”

out of nowhere, a loud car horn is heard, drawing the attention of every student in the area. sunghoon looks up to find you leaning against the passenger door of your car and yelling, “hey, pretty boy! get in.” he chuckles at both the label and how bossy you sound, turning to his friends to grab his things. the three of them are stunned at him.

jake breaks first, “wait, what?”

heeseung lets go of his argument with the australian, “dude, are you seriously leaving?”

sunghoon only nods as he walks away, not letting them ask any more questions. he notices all the watching eyes and decides why not put on a show? he shouts out to you, “thought i was picking you up later, babe.” he makes sure to emphasize the nickname as his infamous smirk tells you exactly what his intentions are.

“lecture ended early, love. prof had some emergency. thought why not surprise you…” you wrap your arms around his shoulders as he reaches you and let him lay a quick peck on your cheek. “now come on, i’m taking you out on a date so either hop in or lose your chance. your choice but i don’t have that much patience so hurry up.”

“yes, ma’am,” he leans in closer and guides his hands lower from your waist. “but i’m driving,” he says as he sneakily takes your keys from your back pocket, 

“you sly fox.” he laughs at the new nickname as he opens the door, letting you sit down before closing it. he makes his way around the hood, noting that all attention is still on you two. he meets eyes with his friends again, the three looking much like the faces he saw in the cafe almost six weeks ago. as he buckles in and starts the car, you rest your hand on top of his on the gear shift. he raises his eyebrows and gives you a charming smile. “by the way, why’s your friend looking at me like that?”

he looks back up to face the boys, “which one?”

“jay. since we started doing this, he keeps looking at me weird—like weirder than the others.”

he tilts his head to the side when he realizes that jay is indeed looking in your direction, but his eyes are focused solely on you. “jay is… how should i put this? you know what i’ll tell you later. for now, tell me where to?”

vi. jukebox

the hazy red glow of the neon lights and checkered tiled floors welcomed you as you led sunghoon into the local diner. this place was a staple in your childhood, your go-to hangout spot with the aforementioned boy when you were still in your youth. 

“i will say, this is a nice surprise.”

you look up to sunghoon as he sits across from you in the vinyl booth seat, “i knew you would love it.” you laugh with each other as you get situated, seeing a young but tall—why is he so tall? he looks like he’s only a teenager—server coming towards your table.

“hey, i’m niki and i’ll be taking care of you guys today,” the giant says cheerfully. “anything i can start you guys with?”

sunghoon looks up at the boy to take your order swiftly, “two strawberry milkshakes, please.” you watch as niki nods and walks back to the counter.

“well, well, well, park… you remembered?” you question teasingly with a cocked eyebrow.

“you’ve always had a sweet tooth. no wonder you loved me so much,” his turn to turn up the typical park sunghoon charm.

you scrunch your face in annoyance, “you should become a comedian.”

“i will never get tired of your sarcasm. it really just… keeps me going.” his way of joking back. “stay here. i’ll be right back,” he says quickly as he looks behind you and gets out of his seat.

you wait patiently for him, assuming he’s just going to the restroom. unbeknownst to you, sunghoon is making his way to the jukebox on the other side of the restaurant. he flips through the song list, finally finding the one he wants. he quickly puts in the coins and sets it in the queue. as he turns to go back to you, he sees an engraving on the side. he runs his fingers along it as he inspects the writing. property of sunghoon and y/n. he thinks back to your last day of eighth grade when you two etched the label onto the wood. he joyfully walks back to your table, ready to let you know about the memory. he sits next to you now, resting his arm behind you and around your back,

“what took you so long, park?”

right as he’s about to explain, niki comes to your table, “two strawberry milkshakes. anything else i can get you two?”

you turn your head quickly to the boy sitting next to you, seeing his eyes are already focused on yours. “um… no, i, uh, think we’re good.” you stumble and stutter a bit. you watch him as he nods his head and walks away. regaining your composure, you ask sunghoon again, “so what did take you so long?”

once again, he gets interrupted. the sound of “purpose” by justin bieber playing over the speakers makes him stop. he gives you a second to register the song, “that’s why.”

you tilt your head down and look at him quizzically, “really? this is why?” you reach to your drink, sipping on the straw as you wait for his answer.

he mirrors your movement, nodding his head in confirmation. he too drinks from the tall glass, contrary to your use of a straw, he opts to drink straight from the rim. he pulls the milkshake away, leaving some on his upper lip.

you burst into quiet laughter, turning your gaze away to not spit out your own shake.

sunghoon furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “what’s so funny?”

you turn back to him, “you got a little something there, park.” you wipe away the liquid from his face with your thumb, popping into your own mouth to clean it up.”there, all good now.”

sunghoon freezes in his spot, trying to comprehend what just happened. it’s quick but he feels something. trying to shake off the foreign feeling, he turns to face forward again. he feels you lean into him, head resting on his chest. a small grin appears on his face, humming along to the justin bieber tune still playing.

“i missed hearing you sing.”

sunghoon looks down at the crown of your head, “really? you used to always tease me about it, though.”

you shake your head with a light laugh, “i never meant it. whenever you sang, it always calmed me. i used to think… if you didn’t pursue skating, you could’ve been a singer.”

“and then what? i would bring you around on tour everywhere and sneak you in backstage?”

“that could’ve been fun.” you now laugh louder than before, him along with you.

there it is again. sunghoon’s not sure what it is, trying to suppress the odd emotion. he sits there, cuddling up to you in the booth, finishing the strawberry milkshakes, just hoping you can’t hear the way his heart starts to beat faster.

sitting at the bar, snacking on fries, and trying to not be seen by you two are heeseung, jay, and jake. they ask themselves would they really be considered sunghoon’s friends if they didn’t follow them and stake out their date.

vii. nerds

sunghoon picked you up from the art department today. he showed up about ten minutes too early, and he got permission from your instructor to monitor your class from the back. he waited outside the door while you cleaned up, earning a few prying looks from your peers as they exited. as you drove back to his place, you agreed to have a movie marathon. 

opening the door to his dorm, you say “we are watching star wars. luke, leia, and han solo are a way better trio than three child magicians.”

sunghoon defends his choice, “first of all, they’re wizards. second, i’m offended. harry, ron, and hermione use magic with their wands. all star wars has is weird weapons and robots.”

“they’re literally in space and excuse you, but does something called—oh, i don’t know—the force ring any bells? they’re jedis, duh.” you rolls your eyes, making your annoyance clear.

sunghoon stops in the hall, “harry potter has spells and potions.”

“star wars has chewbacca.” you stand next to him with your arms crossed.

definitively and matter-of-factly, sunghoon says, “quidditch.”

“you can’t seriously believe quidditch is praiseworthy?” you look at him crazily.

“you two are such nerds.”

you both freeze, turning to see the rest of en-4 sitting in the living room. in the midst of your argument, you both failed to notice the others were home. you realize that jay was the one to stop you two. you also realize it’s the dreaded time for the best friends to finally meet the “girlfriend”. sunghoon seems to realize it as well, reaching to intertwine your hands to both sell the act to his roomates and to calm you down.

he leads you into the living room, meeting eyes with the boys. “so… guys, this is y/n, my girlfriend.”

“it’s so nice to finally meet you! i’m jake. sunghoon here has been holding out on us. i mean, come on, it’s been like two months and he still hasn’t introduced you to us.” the australian continues on with his energetic and positive ramble, asking you questions about your relationship.

heeseung butts in to tell jake to slow down. “i’m heeseung. jake’s right though, you two started dating before winter break and we’re barely meeting you now. sunghoon is always hanging out with you and telling us everything about it. honestly, all i can tell you is to run while you still can.” the others all laugh at his antics.

sunghoon scoffs, “hey, i’m not that bad.”

you excuse yourself to get a drink from the kitchen. you can hear jake spitting out more questions like rapid fire to sunghoon as you walk away. you reach into the fridge, fishing out a water bottle.

behind you, jay enters quietly. “you two are cute together.”

you flinch at his voice, “geez, dude. almost gave me a heart attack.”

he chuckles under his breath and leans against the counter, “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. i met sunghoon at freshman orientation and we immediately became friends, but i’ve never seen him like this.”

“really hoping you mean that in a good way.”

“don’t worry, it is. you know… he only has a soft spot for you. the three of us are his best friends but he only ever smiles like that with you.” he sways his head back and forth as he rambles, taking a pause between his words. “stay with him. it’ll be good for everyone.”

you smile at his approval, “you wanna know something? he actually said you would be the hardest to win over. he said something about you being super protective over your friends… yet, at the same time you trust their judgement. he told me that when he and i got together, he wasn’t scared to tell you but more worried as to if you would like me.”

he smiles with you now, “that all he said about me?” he asks while raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

“he also mentioned that you’re a good cook.”

viii. proud

a professor of yours is holding their annual spring showcase for contemporary art. every year, a handful of students are chosen to join and display their art amongst other renowned artists. you happen to be one of the few, a top contender chosen for your abilities.

you’ve invited your friends, including en-4 to come by the studio and see your work—albeit a bit nervous for their reactions. you stand on watch by your section, greeting the patrons and waiting for the boys to arrive.

thankfully, they show up within the first hour of the gallery opening. they each show up looking professional and chic, sporting all-black fits—most likely at the hands of jay. sunghoon immediately finding you and leading the way for the rest. you welcome them in, explaining your collection, the concentration being “vulnerability.” the works are a mix of several mediums, majority being oil paint, each displaying a closeup of various people. the paintings show their bare faces, imperfections and blemishes with nothing to hide.

the night continues with more and more passing by, complimenting your collection. by the time the exhibition ends, you and sunghoon are the only ones left in the studio. he’s stayed in the same spot, eyeing one piece incredibly closely. throughout the entire showcase, he had kept going back to the one canvas. you join his side, linking your arm with his. “this one is my favorite,” you hear him say.

you look up to meet his eyes, “why this one?”

“because…  it’s you.” you takes your arm out and moves to stand behind you, now wrapping himself around you and resting his chin in the crook of your neck. he holds your hands in his, “i am so proud of you. times like this, i am proud to call you my best friend.” he turns his head, kissing you once on your jaw, and then pulling slightly back to kiss you again on the cheek.

you turn around, hugging him closer with your arms around his shoulders, “thank you.” you hold each other for a few minutes. when you pull away, you lock eyes. you feel your heart beating against your chest and your breathing getting faster. you snap back to reality when you feel sunghoon’s lips on yours. you’re not sure why you tangle your fingers in his hair and kiss him back or why he grabs onto your waist while backing you into the wall. he continues placing pecks on the corner of you lips, creating a trail down to your neck. when you let out a sigh and say his name, he stops. there he stands, a few feet in front of you, awkward and unsure of what to do next.

he breaks the silence, “it’s late. i should drive you back home.” he watches as you slowly nod your head. the drive back to your apartment was dead silent. you tried to occupy yourself by looking out the window.

when he drops you off, he bids you a quick goodnight. “um… text me when you get back home.” sunghoon just looks forward, muttering “ok” before leaving.

in the elevator, you look at your reflection on the metal doors. you make your way inside your place and take a seat on your bed. your mind is too busy reliving the moments with sunghoon before. you try to comprehend what you should do but find yourself too tired, instead falling asleep and missing his text.

ix. spring break

it’s currently the middle of april and the boys have made you an honorary member of en-4. you and sunghoon have been pretending to be a couple and successfully tricking everyone for the last four months.

everyone has the week off for spring break. jay, being the generous guy he is, rented out a cabin in the mountains for the now five members of your friend group. you all rode in one car on the way up, and you totally didn’t fall asleep in the middle seat while cuddling into sunghoon’s side. 

you all decide to settle into your rooms once you arrive. “so there are four rooms, two downstairs and two upstairs.” jay pauses, looking towards you and sunghoon, “i assume that you’ll be fine sharing one.”

you immediately answer, “yeah, for sure.” you look to see sunghoon avoiding your gaze, sensing knowing looks from the others. sunghoon and you already guessed that they would make the two of you share a room and truthfully, neither of you minded. growing up together meant a lot of sleepovers and sharing beds so this was no problem.

he continues on, “great, you guys can take the master bedroom on the second floor cause it has the most space. i’ll take the room next to you, heeseung and jake can take the two down here.”

everyone agrees and sets off to their assigned rooms. you and sunghoon drop your bags onto the mattress, starting to unpack. the interior is spacious, the tall glass sliding doors allow lots of natural light to come in. the room itself is cozy, king size bed with matching bedside tables, and a big fluffy area rug. you’re too distracted to notice that sunghoon has gone outside to the balcony. he leans against the railing, taking in the scenic views and the breeze, basking in the setting rust-colored sun. when you finally realize that he’s not next to you anymore, you silently make you way onto the balcony, wrapping your arms around sunghoon from behind.

he tenses up at the sudden contact, relaxing when he realizes it’s you. there it is again, his heart is acting up like at the diner. he’s noticed it more often—the way that whenever he sees you, his heart beats differently. this weird feeling in his chest, this warmth that only shows up around you. he gets lost in his thoughts, envisioning what could become of your situation.

“what’s got you so lost?”

your voice snaps him back to reality. he turns around to face you, “uh… nothing, just thinking.”

just when you want to question him further and talk about what happened at the showcase, a knock is heard on the door. sunghoon walks away, going to open the door. both of you can feel the awkward tension when he leaves his spot. 

“hey, we’re kinda hungry so we’re gonna order some food and watch a movie downstairs,” jake informs you two when the door opens. “feel free to come down and join whenever.”

“yeah, we’ll be down in a bit,” sunghoon tells him as heeseung nods before leaving you two alone again. you both finish getting settled before heading downstairs. you gather around the couch as ponyo plays on the tv and you reach for a tray of sushi. 

the night continues, the moon sitting high amongst the stars. after the movie, dinner, and some drinking games, everyone retires to their respective rooms. you plop yourself onto the bed, tired after the day’s activities. you hear sunghoon getting something from his bag along with the rustling of some plastic. you crane your head up to see him approaching you. he sits on the edge of the bed, now with fluffy headbands and face masks in hand.

you scoot back a bit, “nope. no way you are getting me to do that.”

he laughs lightly at your antics, “oh come on… let me take care of you, at least just for tonight. please.” he gives you a pleading look with pursed lips, dragging out the “please” to show how desperate he is. 

that was the deciding point that led to a spa night. you both changed into comfier clothes, you borrowed one of his hoodies and sweatpants. sunghoon got settled in closer to you and you reached for his wrist to grab one of the elastic bands. you adjusted your position to sit on your knees, reaching up to tie his hair back. he, on the other hand, took one of the headbands to bring your hair back and away from your face. 

by the time midnight rolled around, you two were snuggled under the comforter with face masks, surrounded by junk food, and on the fourth episode of some random netflix show. as the night continues, a wave of sleep starts to overtake both of you. you help each other take off the masks and clean up, getting distracted every few minutes because one of you would start messing around. the boys had stopped by to say goodnight, catching you two in the middle of a mild pillow fight. after sending them off, you fall asleep in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of your shared embrace. heeseung had snuck in at one point and stole a few quick pictures to tease you two with.

the dawn breaking through the sheer curtains causes you to stir in bed. you turn to see the alarm clock on the nightstand say 6:02. untangling yourself from sunghoon’s grasp, you sneak outside. you climb up to sit on the rooftop, feeling the cool chill of the dewy morning. the time alone gives you a sense of serenity.

meanwhile, sunghoon moves under the covers, confused why he can’t feel you. his eyes open and he doesn’t find a trace of you in the room. worried, he gets up and quietly searches the house, making sure to not wake the others. he goes into the backyard, seeing a shadow on the ground with an unusual shape. he looks up to find you perched on the roof, facing the opposite direction. he eventually climbs up to sit next to you. he hesitates before getting closer and putting his arm around you. you sigh as you lean into him. there you both stay, watching the sun come over the horizon in a comfortable silence.

x. disaster averted

the following week, you all return to campus. needless to say, the break was well used—the days at the cabin mostly being spent at the lake or around the campfire. another day spent hanging out at en-4’s dorm after classes. sunghoon went out to pick up food for everyone. you are in his room, trying to cram for an upcoming test and failing miserably because the other three are all playing fifa way too loud.

while the boys are playing, the doorbell rings. jay gets up to check who it is, seeing a young girl and immediately recognizing her. he lets in yeji, sunghoon’s little sister. she casually joins the boys around the tv, catching up on whatever has been happening in their lives. sunghoon arrives back home within twenty minutes. 

“i’m back with the food,” he shouts out loud enough for everyone to hear including you behind his closed bedroom door. he places the plastic bags on the table, looking up to see another face. “yeji? what are you doing here?”

she gets up to greet her brother, giving him a hug, “it’s my spring break and i wanted to stop by.” sunghoon then realizes that his family doesn’t know about him becoming friends with you again or about your current situation. he drags her into the kitchen hurriedly, “ok so here’s the thing… you remember y/n?”

“of course! she’s like my big sister.”

his breath gets caught in his throat for a second, “yeah, don’t call her that. anyways, her and i are friends again,” he sees yeji’s eyes widen with excitement and continues with his explanation before she can cut him off, “and she’s my girlfriend.”

“what?!”

sunghoon panics and covers her mouth with his palm, “fake girlfriend!” he rushes out the whisper. “the guys don’t know that our relationship isn’t real and i’d like to keep it that way. they don’t even know that we were friends beforehand. yeji, i’m begging you to go along with it. please do this for me.” he clasps his hands together in front of him with a pleading expression.

the young girl crosses her arms in front of her and pretends to think about it, “hmm… fine.”

sunghoon blurts out a chant of “thank you’s” not knowing that his sister only agreed cause she always thought that you and sunghoon would’ve been a good couple. he tells her to help the others set the table while he goes to you. he quickly explains what’s happening and you’re just excited that you get to see yeji again. you both leave his room and you make your own way to the living room, spotting the other girl and exchanging glances.

yeji stops what she’s doing to turn and face you, “who’s this?”

you answer back casually, “y/n. i’m a friend of the boys, and you are?”

“yeji, sunghoon’s younger sister.” she says it proudly, bringing a grin to the aforementioned boy.

“oh, you’re yeji? hoon was right… you are pretty.”

she tilts her head and cocks an eyebrow, questioning you “why would he tell you about me?”

jake chimes in like it’s second nature, “i mean, why wouldn’t he tell his girlfriend about his sister?” he states like it’s so obvious. “they’ve been together since december.”

“girlfriend?” she takes a step back in false shock, “since december? why didn’t i know about this?” 

“what? i don’t seem like your brother’s type?”

“it’s not that. i’m just surprised he managed to get and keep a girlfriend. you’re like, way out of his league and he’s a loser.” one thing to know about yeji is that as much as she loves him, she will never miss a chance to tease her brother. 

with a scoff, you finally hear sunghoon join in beside you, “not gonna lie, that one hurt a little.”

“i’m so telling mom,” she says with a mischievous smirk.

you laugh at sunghoon’s shocked face and smile at the younger park, “i like you, i think we’ll get along just fine.”

“i like you, too.” she looks at sunghoon, “keep her.”

everyone laughs at the interaction as they settle in to eat. sunghoon sits to your right while yeji sits on your left, wondering how his two favorite girls learned to be such good actresses.

xi. returning the favor

fast forward another month, the end of the semester means the dreaded finals week again. sunghoon has been, for lack of a better word, slacking on some of his classes and is now juggling to prepare for exams and revisions. couple that with yeji telling his mom about your “relationship” and her nonstop questions, all of this stress has been piled on. this all amounting to him getting sick. 

now, sunghoon being sunghoon means that he pushed everyone away and hasn’t told you about his condition. luckily for him, you’ve been cooped up in your studio trying to finish your portfolio and also prepare for your exams. unluckily for him, the boys have gotten worried and heeseung called you. 

which brings us to the present, sunghoon stuck in bed with a fever, congestion, and neglected notes. a knock on his door does nothing to help his headache but seeing your face meekly peek in makes him relax. “what are you doing here?” he asks hoarsely.

“did you really think i wouldn’t find out?”

he avoids your glare, “i didn’t want you to worry.”

“honestly i’m not upset that you’re sick, but that i had to hear it from your roommates.” you come closer to him, clearing out the scattered papers and textbooks from atop his bed. you sit on the edge, taking out some medicine and cooling packs that you picked up from the convenience store.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he twiddles his fingers in embarrassment.

you tie back his hair and place one of the packs on his forehead, “you’ve always been the one taking care of me, so i might as well return the favor.” 

you busy yourself with getting the cough medicine ready and sunghoon takes an actual look at you. he notices that you’re wearing his old skating jacket, the same one he gave you at your high school graduation. he makes more room under the covers, allowing you to come closer and lay next to him. he drapes one arm over you and holds onto the end of the jacket sleeve, “i can’t believe you kept this.”

“we stopped hanging out and we weren’t in each other’s lives for a year and a half after being together basically since birth,” you pause, a little saddened thinking back. “this was the last thing i ever got from you. it’s all i had left.”

he brings you closer, neither of you caring if you got sick. “well… now you have me again. for good.”

xii. the party

the end of the school year has finally arrived. some seniors from the txt frat are hosting a big party to celebrate. of course, en-4 was invited—mostly thanks to heeseung being close with them. although you have made more friends and now have a more active social life, parties are still not your thing. 

yet, much to your dismay, being friends with designated party people means that you’re getting bombarded with pleas to go regardless. sunghoon took the lead on convincing you, “please, i promise that it’ll be fun.” the boys join in, their voices overlapping. sunghoon practically tackles you onto your couch while pouting and furrowing his eyebrows in desperation.

“stop looking at me like that. i can’t think properly when you do that.”

right on cue, the boys start to tease you. jay clears his throat and jake makes kissing noises, meanwhile heeseung starts singing y/n and sunghoon sitting in a tree… while you just glare at them.

“if i say i’ll go, will you all leave me alone?” 

they all shout “yes” in unison. which is how you ended up at the crowded frat house. although they had begged you to come, they practically abandon you and sunghoon when you get there. jake had yelled back to you that his friend sunoo from his econ class called them over for beer pong.

you and sunghoon find a big bean bag in the corner and stay there for a bit. he offers to get you both some drinks and leaves to the kitchen. you’re not sure how long he’s gone but you eventually get uncomfortable. you start wandering the house for some space to get some air. you find an empty room and make your way into the connected bathroom to wash your face. you take some deep breaths, then realizing that you didn’t tell sunghoon. as you’re about to step out, he enters the room.

“i figured you would want some space.”

“how’d you know where i was?”

he comes up closer to you, “in the sea of people, in this mess, in this frenzy… i will always find you. no matter what happens or who comes into my life, i always find my way back to you.”

“what the hell is that even supposed to mean, park?”

“i mean…” he stops to compose himself, “oh for fucks sake, i’m tired of this being pretend. i’m tired of being allowed to call you my girlfriend in public but not treat you like it in private. when i kissed you at the showcase, i had wanted to do that for so long, and i’ve been wanting to do even more.”

“sunghoon, look-”

“wait, i’m not done. what i’m trying to say is that i want you to be my girlfriend, for real this time—not as a joke, not as a trick. i want us to be together as an actual couple because i like you, a lot more than you could believe-”

you cut him off this time, kissing him like he did all those weeks ago. you kissed him in the way that you weren’t sure what words to say other than, “i would love to be your girlfriend.”

sunghoon shines with the biggest smile, picking you up and spinning around. when he lets you down, he incessantly leaves pecks all over your face. he holds you close, “now, how about we go enjoy the party?”

you nod and lead him hand in hand towards the door. you turn the nob, only to have the three remaining members of your friend group fall at your feet. heeseung landing on top, shouting out, “i fucking knew it!”

[piedpiperslists]

JJK: Friends to Lovers AU [#-D]

List of all Jungkook fics under 'Friends to Lovers' AU with titles starting with '#-D':

* s - contains smut sm - social media format

* Last updated: 18/02/2024

D R A B B L E S

[drabble] by 1kook soulmates au Summary: Your soulmate smells like your favorite food and Jungkook is too dumb to make the connection.

[drabble] by cactiijoonie

[drabble] by candlewaxandp0lar0ids fratboy!Jungkook, nerd!reader

[drabble] by def-initely-soul Summary: “Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to.”

[drabble] by hobibliophile Summary: “Wait a minute. Are you drunk?!” + “Shut up, okay? I’m getting you out of here. We’re going home.” + “Do you know how hard I’m trying not to kiss you right now?”

[drabble] [AO3] by lamourche Summary: “She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

[drabble] by soraviie idol au

[drabble] by ubemango friends to not lovers Summary: Big poo poo at the bar aka oblivious best friends who are in love.

12:40 PM by beomcoups Summary: You are playing games with Jungkook and you decide to take your friendship to another level.

Accidental Kiss by babeejeon Summary: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

* Affection by army-author Summary: affection /əˈfɛkʃ(ə)n/ noun. a gentle feeling of fondness or liking

Arabesque by gukyi college au

Be Mine by koostarcandy Summary: A summer of a lifetime, which you hope would be the first of many to come. Alternative? Jungkook hopes you never disappear from his sight.

BFF -> Lovers by gukooky sm

* Butterflies by army-author Summary: We’ve had this tradition as besties to have a sleepover once a year but this year….it feels different…were your pajamas always this cute??…did I always have butterflies???

By the Light of the Moon by minisugakoobies s college au Summary: Just you and Jungkook, and the ocean, under the moon.

Cherries and Vodka by luvjimins Summary: Jungkook's had his fair share of kisses, but god yours is the best he’s ever fucking had.

* Club by taleasnewastime

Distance by kthvluvr college au Summary: As much as you hated the way he only ever seemed to contact you when he wanted something, the sentimental part of you was willingly to keep any piece - no matter how small - of friendship you two had left.

“Do NOT throw that snowball or else!” by breadoffoxy

O N E S H O T S

A Night at the Mall by bunnybubae s wc~8.6k Summary: Your best friend Jungkook works as a security guard at the mall and everything takes an interesting twist when you go to visit him during is shift on a friday night.

Anpanman by honeymoonjin s wc~6.6k / fake dating Summary: Your best friend Jungkook finally convinces you to seek therapy for your failing mental health. The only catch? The one therapist that’s within your price range is an alternative marriage counsellor, Jung Hoseok, and the only way Jungkook managed to get you an appointment was by saying the two of you were married. Will couples counselling actually be useful for your wellbeing, or will something that runs much deeper rise to the surface instead?

At the End of the Day by starshapedkookie s wc~13.3k / ex-baseball player!Jungkook Summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

Awkwardly in Love by strawberrynamjoon wc~20k Summary: Even if everything changed, yours and Jeongguk’s friendship would always stay the same - at least you thought so. But jokes on you, cupid had other plans for the two of you, making you reconsider everything you thought you knew about your best friend of twelve years.

Baby Don’t Go (I’m Bad at Being Alone) by whoreternal s wc~25k

Before Sunset by bookyeom wc~2.4k Summary: In which Jimin thinks you and Jungkook should make out… and you know what? Maybe he’s onto something.

Bite Me, Jeon by sailoryooons s wc~19.3k / college au, vampire au Summary: Somehow you convince Jeon Jungkook to look into theories of vampirism for a research paper. What Jungkook doesn’t expect, is for vampirism to become a very real and very personal problem for him.

Blueberries by softyoongiionly s wc~7.9k Summary: It was always him, wasn’t it?

Blush by jhsbrat s wc~9.8k / fake dating Summary: A red thread tugs you through the crowd and towards him.

Calling It Now [AO3] by reliablemitten s wc~14.5k / brothel au Summary: Jungkook has always been there for you, a steady friend and supporter. But when you cross the line, does he really return your feelings or are you just another client?

Can't Be Without You by ahundredtimesover s wc~30.2k / underground fighter!Jungkook Summary: One night you’re gushing over rom-coms and Jungkook’s cooking; a few nights later you’re tending to his beat-up face. But while it’s his stubbornness that’s saved you countless times before, it’s that same quality that constantly puts him in danger. OR your best friend just can’t let go of underground fighting and so, drama ensues.

Can’t Get Over You by kwonjiyong wc~7k / staff!reader, idol au Summary: Jungkook lives to love people, and as he would take a break from the chaotic energy of loving, he falls head over heels for someone yet again. Are they the actual love of his life this time, or is the universe messing with him?

Catch 22 by alluremin s wc~7.2k / FWB, college au Summary: You and your best friend had agreed: college was for a good time only, no serious relationships were necessary. Who knew that a frat boy would be the one to shake up that notion?

Cockblocked by mercurygguk s wc~15.8k / roommates au Summary: In which a pair of best friends are hopelessly in love with one another but they’re both too dumb to realize, even when everyone around them are dropping hints every five minutes. Or alternatively; “You’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t love you back.”

Comfort by strwberrytae wc~2.6k Summary: You had a really rough day that made you want to scream and seclude yourself. Fortunately, your best friend invites himself over to help distract you and make you feel better.

Confessing to My Crush *NOT CLICKBAIT* by scriptaed wc~3.8k Summary: When your best friend Jungkook asks you to partake in his next video on YouTube, the shock of the script’s title quickly becomes the least of your worries; because unbeknownst to you, while you’re spending time crestfallen over a confession you could only wish was reality, Jungkook treats the entire video as practice for the real deal.

Crush on You by moonbelt wc~9.4k Summary: Maybe falling in love with your best friend wasn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever had and that’s perfectly fine. The only problem here is that he’s dating someone else. Someone who, by all physical and emotional analyses, is not you.

Daydream by luffles424 s wc~7.8k / college au Summary: You never thought that simply waking up your best friend would lead to something more.

Dissonance by gyukult s wc~19.4k / rockstar!Jungkook, grad student!reader Summary: Something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. Screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. He has everything… but all he’s missing is you.

Don't Ever Let Me Go by thedefinitionofbts s wc~6k / FWB Summary: You were ten years old when you first met Jeon Jungkook, seventeen when you decided he was your best friend, and twenty one when you agreed to be fuck buddies upon his proposal.

T W O S H O T S / S E R I E S

Bad Boy Good Thing by yoonpobs s fuckboy!Jungkook, FWB Summary: A series of drabbles where you're confused and Jungkook's confusing

Blackout by jjungxkook s college au, roommates au Summary: Utility bills shooting up like this should be an international crime. Luckily, Jungkook has the perfect idea(s) to save up money and make your night sinfully unforgettable.

Boy in Luv by ggukiepie s athlete!Jungkook, college au Summary: Just two idiot best friends in l*ve.

Casual by muniimyg sm college au Summary: While everyone on campus has their eyes on Bangtan’s frat boys, the boys have their eyes set on YN. She’s a mini fashionista, has a small boba addiction, and is completely unaware of just how much these boys love her.

Constant Craving by ephemerlskies Summary: Your best friend decided to confide in his best friend on how to win his girlfriend back after a fight. You tell him exactly what to say to her, however he is unaware that what you were saying was a sincere delivery of your once undeclared love.

Day by Day by hansolmates s single dad!Jungkook Summary: A series of drabbles about two best friends raising a child together.

[hockeyboysiguess]

a partridge in a pear tree -> a jersey under the tree | b. boeser

a/n: happy december 1st everyone and welcome to the first day of 12 days of christmas! as a reminder here is the whole list. these will be posted every other day through christmas eve. this one is where this whole thing started, a gift for my bestie bae, the apple to my peanut butter forever, @brockadoodles​​. i hope you like it most of all!

word count: 3,740

wine drink pairing recommendation: hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows

warnings: pregnancy. some seriously wholesome content.

You took a deep breath and pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, then pushed them back up again when you started pulling at the threads at the edge. Your sweater didn’t deserve to take the brunt of your stress in that moment. You bounced your foot up and down nervously instead as you waited what had to have been the longest three, absolutely agonizing minutes of your life. When the timer on your phone went off, you lurched forward to grab it, turning it off, as your other hand reached for the small, plastic test. You took a deep, centering breath before glancing down at the word in the small window.

Pregnant. 

You were actually pregnant. You knew everything had felt wrong for a few weeks now, food didn't taste the same or sit right, you were absolutely exhausted all of the time, and you had snapped at Brock a time or two for well-meaning actions. You knew something was wrong, but your mom had been the one to have to tell you to take a test before going to the doctor’s. You had told her it wasn’t possible; you and Brock were doing the opposite of trying since you had only gotten married over the summer. You agreed to wait. That single word, which came with a lifetime behind it, wasn’t in the plan for another few years, but it was here now and it would be your reality in seven short months. 

How were you going to tell Brock? 

You knew he would be overwhelmed, his eyes glazing over as the timeline of his life abruptly shifted forward several years, yanking him right along with it. You knew Brock though; you wouldn’t have married him if you didn’t know him as well as you did. You knew that glazed over look would give way into a smile so broad it practically broke across his face. The waiting a few years, the shattered plan, was mostly you with a dash of Brock trying to make you happy. If you suddenly changed your mind and wanted to try for a baby tomorrow, unnecessary now, he would’ve dragged you to bed that instant. In full truth, your husband had baby fever as soon as he slid the wedding band onto your finger, probably before that really. Brock was going to be over the moon. You didn’t have any doubts about it, you really just needed to get yourself on board with this more than anything, this new timeline. 

You grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over Brock’s name in your contacts. You debated calling him then, letting the nervous words spill out of your mouth, letting him wash away your concerns with words of love and affirmation. But you knew Brock. You knew Brock wanted the cliché, cute surprise. His scavenger hunt of a proposal set the standard for how big news was delivered, a cliché bang of sorts. You were more of a whimper than a bang sort of person, but you could lean into the cliché of it all for him.

Instead of calling him, you dropped your phone into your purse and grabbed your keys, needing to make a last minute trip in order to make this happen before he got home later that day from his road trip for the Christmas break. Two stores and one confused holiday worker later, you had everything you needed for your last minute announcement, letting the excitement of the anticipation of seeing Brock’s happiness calm your nerves in place of him doing it in only the way he knew how. Slowly but surely, as you carefully wrapped everything up, you could feel yourself getting more excited, hands shaking a little as you wrapped. A family with Brock was always the real plan; everything else was secondary, including the timing of it all. 

You and Brock had found each other by chance, a complete accident four years prior to the day actually. A department store the day before Christmas was a terrible place to be, but it was the only place in your area that said they had the last gift you needed before you could head off to spend Christmas with your family. You spotted it in the store, the last one on the shelf, and made a beeline for it. As your hand reached for it, a large hand reached for the item as well, grabbed onto it the same time you did. You both recoiled, and turned to face each other. 

You would have been furious with him if it wasn’t for the everything about him when you saw him. Blond hair peeking out from a gray beanie on his head, blue eyes that reminded you of the sky the morning after a snowstorm, bright and beautiful, and a small baby in his arms who was already reaching out for your hair, even though he didn’t know you at all. 

“Whoa, Easty, don’t grab the pretty girl’s hair,” he laughed as he intercepted the baby’s hand on its way to fist into your hair. “Sorry about Easton. His parents are trying to teach him not to grab, but you can see it’s not going well.”

He readjusted the baby in his arms, hoisting him up a little higher, before continuing, “I’m Brock, by the way, and this is my nephew, Easton.” 

“Um, hi,” you mumbled out, tucking your hair behind your ear as a blush rose to your cheeks as you added your name at the end of your half statement. You had a warmer smile for Easton though. Brock, a terrible name for a cute boy who liked babies to boot, who on the other hand was trying to take your gift that you needed. He was on the naughty list for sure. “Hi there, Easton.”

“I see we like Easton best,” Brock laughed, picking up on the stark difference in the tones you used. “Look, you want that, right?” 

Brock pointed up toward the shelf where the gift you desperately needed sat, taunting you, daring you to reach out and grab it. You nodded in response to Brock, unsure where he could possibly be going with this. 

“How about I let you have that if you’ll grab a drink with me?” Brock asked you, completely stunning you in the middle of a department store in the middle of the holiday season, a lawless place where one should always expect the unexpected. 

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, a look of disbelief clear on your face. 

Brock let a lazy smile roll across his face, “I get a drink with a pretty girl for the price of a Christmas gift for one of my cousins who would probably break it the day after I give it to him? Yeah, I’m coming out on top here, if you say yes.” 

You had said yes and the rest was pretty much history, an accidental meeting led to all of this, so maybe the accidental baby you were carrying just in time for Christmas was just the right thing for the two of you, a nod to your past in the setting up of your future. Just as you finished tying the bow around the box, the front door jingled, the sound instantly followed by barking from Milo and Coolie, and then followed by cooing from your husband at the pups. 

“Hey bud, hey bud. Yeah, Dad missed ya too,” he managed to get out as he was being practically tackled by the pups, like they did whenever he came home. 

You slid the surprise gift under the tree, tucking it in the back, before Brock could notice you were adding one more gift after you said you were done a few days ago. You lifted yourself off the floor, tucking the wrapping paper under the couch to hide it from Brock, as he rounded the corner into the living room. Brock looked at you like he always did, like you were his entire world, like you were his first breath of fresh air he’d had in years, like you were the living embodiment of a Christmas miracle. He shuffled across the floor to wrap his arms around your waist, and you gasped as he lifted you up. He laughed, but you were just panicking that maybe your stomach wasn’t as flat as you thought it was and he was going to find out about the biggest surprise he was ever going to get a little earlier than you wanted. 

“Hey, baby,” he breathed out as he set you back down, tilting his head down in one another motion to capture your lips in a soft kiss. 

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled as you pulled away from his kiss, a hand threading into the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. 

Brock smiled down at you, and gave you another quick kiss before saying, “How were the last couple days? Were the pups good for you? Do I need to be bad cop with them?”

You laughed and shook your head softly, “Brock Boeser, we both know you’re not capable of being the bad cop with anyone, let alone Milo and Coolie.”

Brock was laughing as he kissed your forehead, “Sorry you’re going to have to be the bad guy all the time when we have kids. Whenever that is, no pressure.”

Your heart picked up in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You tucked your face in his neck to try and hide the expression on your face, letting the ease with which Brock brought up kids calm you. He wanted this baby, even if he didn’t know they existed yet. Your nerves that maybe he wouldn’t want this baby were just misplaced anxiety coming from your own feelings about becoming a parent yourself; they weren’t about him. Brock was here, again, being your perfect partner, comforting you and assuring you, even though he had no idea he was actually doing anything at all. 

Sliding into bed next to him later that night, his heavy arm slung over your stomach made you as nervous as when he picked you up earlier, even though nothing had changed since that afternoon other than everything that had already changed since the morning. Brock kissed your shoulder and relaxed into his pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed. He was out less than a few minutes after closing his eyes, as per usual. Your husband was a creature of habit, and you were about to throw the most welcome wrench into his routines that you ever could. Your nerves had shifted into ones of excitement, of wanting a beautiful thing to happen on the morning of Brock’s favorite holiday. You wanted to see him open that gift. You wanted to see the moment he realized everything was changing, the moment he realized he was going to be a father, the one thing he’d wanted for so long, under the lights of the Christmas tree, and the dawn of a winter Vancouver morning in late December. 

All you had to do to get to that moment was sleep, but it was the one thing that eluded you most of the night. The combination of excitement, nerves, and the fact that this baby seemed to have the goal of making you incredibly nauseous all of the time, all working in tandem to rob you of sleep. You tossed and turned most of the night, and slept terribly when you did manage to sleep, but it was Christmas after all Brock didn’t feel any shame in waking you up when he normally got up. He woke you up with a soft kiss to your shoulder, and a comforting arm around your waist. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbled softly against your shoulder when you stirred. 

“Merry Christmas, husband,” you breathed out and you felt Brock smile against your shoulder. He loved when you called him by his favorite title, his words not yours. “What time is this?” 

Brock laughed lightly against your skin, “Early,” which was what he said when it was before seven thirty in the morning whenever you asked, “but it’s Christmas early, so it’s appropriate today.” 

You groaned, making him laugh deeper in response, “Still not sure how I married an early bird?” 

“But you love meeeee,” he muttered against your skin, voice soft with an edge of youth that perfectly fit the holiday, his days old stubble scratching across your skin as he talked. “And I love you so much.” 

“I do love you,” you smiled as you spoke. “It’s the only reason I can tolerate you waking up this early on days that aren’t Christmas.” 

“Well, today is Christmas, so we’re putting our matching pajamas on. I’ve got Milo if you take Coolie, and we’re opening some presents, baby!” 

One torn set of dog antlers, one discarded set, two embarrassing adult pajama sets Brock loved so much, and two cups of coffee since neither of you could function without it, later, and you and Brock were sat by the Christmas tree together, legs crossed, each with your first present for each other in yours laps. You had an order in mind for Brock’s gifts, saving the last addition, the announcement of your new addition, for last. Brock usually just grabbed whatever was closest to him with your name on it and handed it to you. 

“Sorry I still can’t wrap things,” was how he handed you the first one, snagging the box with his name on it off your lap in one smooth motion.

“Wouldn’t be from you if it wasn’t wrapped like you ran over it with your car first,” you joked. 

“Ho, ho, ho,” he rolled his eyes. “So kind of you, wifey.”

“I’ve got to keep you honest.”

You smiled brightly at him, earning yourself a quick peck on your lips before he ripped into your impeccably wrapped present, sending bits of paper and ribbon everywhere. You eyed Milo carefully as he started ripping up some of the paper Brock had torn off the box, but he wasn’t creating more of a mess than Brock was making himself, so you let it slide under a watchful eye. Brock loved his first gift, and his second, and his third. You cried at the first, and laughed at your second, and your entire chest felt warm with your third thinking that Brock Boeser was made for Christmas. He was warm and unfailingly kind and hopeful in the face of absolute hopelessness. You didn’t really believe in the idea of the magic of Christmas, chocking it all up to people making the holidays feel special simply because they wished for them to be special, but you believed that sometimes people were greater than the sum of their parts, of even their experiences, of their very atoms. There was something else to Brock Boeser, something so indescribably wonderful, that had drawn you to him in the first place, and that reminded you of what people said was the magic of Christmas. It was pure and good and so astoundingly bright that you thought maybe Brock Boeser was made of stardust from better stars than anyone else you’d ever known and maybe Christmas was made for Brock Boeser instead. 

You were just hoping that your little surprise was going to make this Christmas his best one yet, rather than derail Brock’s favorite holiday and every repetition of this holiday after. 

“Okay, I know we said three gifts,” and Brock was already groaning as you reached for the small box you hid behind Coolie and Milo’s gifts at the back of the tree, “but I had to get this one. It’s technically not really for you actually, but it’s kind of for you.” 

Brock gave you a curious look, eyebrows furrowing down and lips pursing, but you waved him off and shoved the pristinely wrapped box into his hands. You grabbed your phone and opened up your camera, knowing if you didn’t film this moment and it was as good as you hoped it would be, you would regret it for the rest of your life. If it wasn’t as good as you hoped, well, you could always delete it. 

“Oh, we’re filming me open a present that’s only sort of for me?” Brock laughed as he asked the question and you just shrugged in response and waved him on. “Okay then, weirdo wifey.” 

You rolled your eyes as he opened up his last present. Your breath caught in your throat as he popped open the tape keeping the lid on the box down. Your eyes bounced back and forth between his left hand and his right as he slowly pulled at the tissue paper, going painstakingly slowly for the sake of the camera. You groaned at his actions and whined his name, which just made him laugh, but at least he finally picked up the pace. You watched with your breath held and your body tense as his soft blue eyes looked over the contents of the gift. His brows furrowed together in confusion as his shaking hands picked up a small Canucks jersey, an incredibly small Canucks jersey that wouldn’t fit anyone in your household with your shared last name on the back.

“Baby, what is this?” Brock asked you, his voice tense, his emotions screaming behind the wall  he’d haphazardly built to try and keep the hopefulness out of it, but it was seeping in through the cracks in streams. 

You took a deep breath, your first one since he’d started opening the present, and whispered, “I’m pregnant, Brock. We’re having a baby.” 

Brock’s bottom lip quivered as he looked at the small jersey in his shaking hands. His brows softened and his chest started to heave as his breathing picked up. 

“You’re serious, right?” he managed to get out. “You’re actually pregnant? We’re actually having a baby?” 

He lost his voice a bit at the end, pitch going so high that he thought you didn’t even understand him, but you were listening and watching every single facet of him right now to miss what he said. You nodded slowly, letting out an unsteady breath as you did. He wasn’t angry, not that Brock had ever been angry with you even once in all the time you knew him. He was far too patient and by the time his patience wore thin, he loved you too much to ever be angry with you. But you couldn’t place how he was feeling, the emotions flashing over his face in the faint light of the Christmas tree and the Vancouver sunrise too complicated and changing too quickly for you to understand. 

You understood when Brock dropped the jersey and reached for you. It wasn’t really a reach. It was a tackle, your back ending up flat on the rug with Brock hovering over you. 

“We’re having a baby!” 

Brock’s voice shot up several octaves and decibel levels when he shouted. A wide, gorgeous smile broke out across his face, one so true and joyful you’d only seen it a handful of times before; when you agreed to be his girlfriend, when you agreed to marry him, and when he saw you walk down the aisle. But here it was again, his “overwhelmed to the point of absolute elation” smile. And with the Christmas lights making a halo of light twinkle around his head from your position on the floor, Brock looked like every bit of the angel he was to you. 

“A baby, baby,” he breathed out as he slowly sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him, keeping your faces close. “We’re having a baby, baby.” 

You nodded as his hand reached out to cup your face, “We’re having a baby, Brock.” 

“Well, you’re having a baby,” he smiled at you softly as his thumb ran over your lips. “I’m here for physical, moral, and emotional support.”

“Thanks for acknowledging that I’m doing all of the heavy lifting here,” you laughed with a teasing roll of your eyes. 

“Are you happy?” His question was so soft, so hesitant, you always didn’t catch it. “I know you didn’t want this for another couple of years and I just, I’m thrilled, I’m over the moon and the stars and the whole freaking universe that we’re having a baby, but are you happy?”

Hearing Brock’s words, feeling the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, and the excitement absolutely radiating off him, you knew you were happy. The prospect of becoming a parent was terrifying, especially when you hadn’t been trying to become one, but knowing Brock Boeser, the man you loved more than anyone else you had ever met, the man that outshone all the lights on the tree and the stars in the sky, the man that was made of brighter stardust than anyone else, the man that Christmas could only hope to be as magical as, was your co-parent. And what was there to worry about after that? 

“I’m so happy,” you told him, your voice shaking as tears began to fill your eyes. “I’m so, so happy.” 

Brock nodded as his eyes matched yours, glassy and threatening to overflow with tears as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. He slowly pulled back and lowered himself down, bending over until his face was in front of your stomach. Brock let out a long, slow breath before reaching out a hand to place gently on your still flat stomach. 

“Hi, little one. It’s me, Daddy.” Brock’s voice cracked at the last word that left his lips and your first tears spilled over. “Your momma and I are so happy and so excited you’re on your way and we can’t wait to meet you. Thank you for showing yourself for Christmas. You’re the best gift I’ve ever received in my entire life. Can’t wait for next Christmas already, even though this one isn’t over, because you’ll be sharing it with us then. We love you so much, little one.”

The tears were flowing freely as Brock looked back up at you. There was so much to do, so much to plan, so much to figure out, but right now it was just you and Brock and your little Christmas surprise, the best gift you had ever received either. 

“Merry Christmas, Brock.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby, and Merry Christmas, baby.”

[canonicallysoulmates]

Just saw your post about the post phase 1 Marvel movies and the meme you used for CA:CW. So I'm here to ask and get you cancelled. What did you think about the movie? Are you Team Stark or Team Rogers?

........................................................I knew this day would come......okay, let's get me cancelled!

I hate this movie, I hate this movie with every fiber of my being. Watching it was torture, it as the longest 20hrs of my life. It was like living out one of those very confusing math problems I started this movie at 10am somehow 6pm rolls around and there are still 2hrs left! Coño cómo?! I watched this with my mom, and when we checked how much time was left we were left looking at each other like 'que carajo what twilight zone bullshit is this?' It's one of those Marvel movies that I am so glad I did not waste my money on, I wish I could get a refund for my time but I made my choice and I shall now have to deal with it.

I hate this movie for many reasons but I'm not gonna make y'all wait any longer for what you're really here for because I know what y'all really want to know is whether I am Team Iron Man or Team Captain America. When it comes to the political aspects ie. the Accords, I am Team Neither.

Now, I cannot get into a comprehensive debate about the Accords because the writers did a shitty ass job, in a 2 and a 1/2 hour movie that felt like a lifetime, at explaining what exactly the Accords are in the movie universe. Emphasis on the movie universe, because I have seen debates go on in this motherfucking fandom where some people will bring up aspects from the comics Registration Acts but we're not talking about the comics okay, we're talking about the movies! And they're two fucking different things! And the movie did a shitty ass job at explaining what the Accords are, and that's one of the reasons I hate this movie: that it's so badly written.

But back to the point, which is where I stand on the teams when it comes to the politics, I am Team Neither because ultimately they were both idiots on how they handled this, and I think they both have good points like yes the Avengers and other superheroes should 100% be held accountable if they fuck up, the fact that they are superheroes and the "good guys" doesn't mean that their actions shouldn't have consequences but at the same time Steve's mistrust of the government and concerns that the team and others could be weaponized are also valid so I think they both have good points when it comes down to it and the smart thing to do - and in my opinion what would have made a much better film- would have been to come together and make like a counterproposal, decide on amendments, try to ensure they can get a representative so they have a voice on the table.

So, there you go when it comes to the Accords I am Team Neither however when it comes to the characters and their actions I am 1,000% Team Tony. At the end of the day he wanted to do what was best for both people and for his team, he wanted to keep the team together because he knew they were stronger together, and he was thinking long term not short term.

And then there's Steve who is an asshole in this film and completely lacks self awareness, cause there's a scene in the film after they've found out about the Accords where Steve goes "that's because he already made up his mind" about Tony and I'm just like bitch so did you, pot meet kettle, Rogers you knew from the get go that you weren't going to sign those papers don't go acting different and then like- here's the thing Steve has some very good points when it comes to the Accords but one of his points is that the UN is filled with people with agendas and agendas change which true but also motherfucker you yourself have an agenda! The whole Sokovia mess is an example that they cannot be trusted to hold themselves or each other accountable because inevitably the time will come where they'll want to protect their team mate like we see in this movie Steve do with Bucky, or how he wanted to protect Wanda because he looks at her as if she were a child not an adult. Steve, you lot are not exempt from having your own agendas and biases.

And through pretty much the entire movie, he has this whole my way or the highway attitude like this man does not know the meaning of compromise in this film, and he has such tunnel vision for Bucky- and listen! listen, listeeeeeen, I get it, I don't judge Steve for making his bestie a priority; I understand that Bucky is incredibly important to Steve, that he's the one person who's gonna look at him as just Steve and not as the Steve Rogers, I get that he carries a guilt over what happened to his friend, I understand he misses him, I understand all of that and respect the ride or die game but goddamn he was so focused on being a good friend to Bucky that he forgot about everyone and everything else and was a shit friend to Tony.

Actually a lot of people in this film were shit to Tony for no goddamn reason but Steve was such a shitty friend not telling Tony about his parents, that was a shitty ass thing to do and listen! I know what some of y'all are thinking you're thinking some version of 'he wanted to protect Tony' shut the fuck up. No, no, that's an excuse and it's a cheap one, you know damn well that was a shitty thing for Steve to do and y'all know damn well you would have reacted the same way Tony did if someone who you thought was your goddamn friend knew about something horrible that happened to people that were important to you and they never told you; that kind of shit hurts, and finding out someone you thought of as a friend doesn't care about you as much as you care about them hurts.

And y'all know goddamn well how emotions work, you know emotions aren't gonna wait for the rational brain to kick in don't some of y'all go playing dumb as if you didn't know this shit. Same way deep down all of y'all know Tony was holding his punches, that man gave Thanos a fight and got some blood if he had wanted to kill Bucky he would have. Don't none of y'all motherfuckers try to play games and act like you don't know this info.

Steve was a shit friend to Tony. Period. The least he could have done is have some empathy or compassion towards Tony when he saw his parent's being killed- and I swear to motherfucking god to the person who is getting close to their keyboard thinking of saying he showed compassion by not killing him back the fuck away from your motherfucking keyboard what did I tell you about playing stupid, this is properly tagged, stay in your fucking lane. Some of y'all be acting as if it were still 2016 and we're gonna be talking about that too, anon wanted my opinion on this film so now I'm going off.

Back to what I was saying, in some ways Steve wasn't a perfect friend to Bucky either cause he kept looking at Bucky and thinking of the guy he used to know but Bucky's not that person anymore, he's been through a lot of shit and it feels at times like Steve didn't fully realize that.

I hate Steve in this movie, I wanna punch him in the throat; he's an ass, he thinks he's above the rules, he's unaware of his own flaws, he might be a good friend to Bucky but that's it. I don't blame Steve though I blame the writers cause they're the ones who wrote him this way; moving on from Steve, I wanna talk about Wanda real quick, I don't hate the character of Wanda but I do hate the way she was written in this film, I hate that the writers expect us as an audience to look at this adult and think of her as a defenseless child who should be exempt from consequences, I hate that instead of actually doing something with her and exploring some interesting dynamics they just give her an AI boyfriend and a pinterest quote which sounds nice but falls flat especially considering she says said quote as she uses her powers (which is what people are afraid of) to send her love interest down several floors of a building. They could have done so many cool and interesting things with her, shame they didn't.

Another thing I hate about this film is what it did to the fandom, and how it was promoted because it was very much promoted as a pick your fighter, pick a side type of movie and after this movie came out I feel like the divide between Tony fans and Steve fans grew toxically and the effects are still seen to this day like some people really do be acting as if it were still 2016 and attacking others for what side they went with or for who their fav between the two is, and I'll be very honest a lot of the hate I have seen has been directed towards Tony and Tony fans. I hate that, I hate when TPTB deliberately pits fans against each other cause it just encourages a toxic environment.

Let me think was there anything that I liked about this film- wait, oh my god talking about all these other things I hate almost made me forget the thing I hate the most about this movie: it's pointless. Its existence is unnecessary; the biggest aspect of this film isn't the politics of the Accords, it's Steve and Bucky and how far Steve is willing to go for Bucky and have him by his side...but Endgame exists. The end of Endgame turns this film pointless, because the only true point of this movie is the relationship between Steve and Bucky that's the biggest takeaway from the whole thing, but then you have the end of Endgame where Steve just leaves Bucky.

I hated this film before I saw Endgame but after.....I never plan to watch Civil War again but if I did I'm pretty sure I'd self combust cause I'd be so angry I'd scream every time Steve appeared cause that son of a bitch ends up leaving; tears the whole team apart only to end up leaving his friend behind in the end.

I hate this film, I hate everything about it, well that's not true I love the Tony and Peter stuff, but aside from a couple of things I hate this movie, someone give me time stone I'm eliminating it from the timeline.

So, there you go those are my thoughts on CA: CW.

In conclusion, I am Team Neither on the Accords, Team Tony on everything else, Steve I still like you but this movie demoted you in my eyes and makes me wanna punch you in the throat.

[tlcwrites]

Two Hearts Make a Whole

Prompt: “Kiss me again, like you mean it.” Photo prompt below.

Summary: NYC Pride is for celebration, and occasionally, long-overdue revelations.

Word Count: 2,001

Tags/Content warnings: Marvel. Stucky. If you have a problem with it, there's the door. SFW. Slight TFATWS spoilers so read at your own risk. Platonic Reader. Two idiots in love. Technically canon-divergent because I'm still in my everyone-is-alive-and-in-this-timeline happy place that I will never ever leave fuck you very much Russo brothers but not AU. Found family. All the feels. Complete and total LGBTQ+ support. Lots of bad language words because #me. Un-beta'd.

Author’s Note: Okay so yes this is technically 4 weeks late for @autumnleaves1991-blog's Writer Wednesday weekly challenge. BUT, it was incredibly important to me to finish this one before Pride month is over. Made it by the skin of my teeth.

Happy Pride, y’all. If you’re out, you’re amazing. If you’re closeted, you’re amazing. However you identify is valid and important. Trans folx are LGBTQ+. Bisexuals are LGBTQ+. Ace folx are LGBTQ+. Anyone who identifies or thinks they may be as queer is LGBTQ+. All are welcome in the family. You have the right to choose your pronouns and we have the responsibility to use them. Live whatever your truth looks like to you and love each other. Love is love is love is love. If your family doesn’t accept you for you, I’m your mom now and I’ve got mom hugs available on demand. Homophobes and TERFS can fuck off and roll in poison ivy. Always punch Nazis. Pride shouldn't be limited to the month of June. And don’t you dare forget that Black and Brown trans women were the ones who rioted at Stonewall, and we owe everything to their bravery. Don’t forget that much of popular ‘gay’ culture was appropriated from Black women. And for more facts about Pride that you should absolutely know, Rawiyah Tariq (@ mammyisdead on Instagram) has a phenomenally good overview.

“Oh my god.” You gasp loudly. "Oh my GOD. Is that-"

“What?!” Instantly in First Avenger Protective Mode™️, Steve surveys the crowd, wishing he had an actual shield instead of the screen printed one on his shirt. “What is it?”

You gasp again, smacking Sam’s arm repeatedly. “OHMYGOD IT IS HOLY FUCK.”

“First; ow.” Now-Cap rubs his bicep. “Second; clue in the class before Steve has an aneurysm, please.”

Vibrating with excitement doesn’t begin to describe your current state. “HER ROYAL HIGHNESS MISS LEMON MERINGUE IS STANDING RIGHT FUCKING THERE.”

With the finesse of a shampoo commercial, Bucky's dark locks fly as he whips around. “What?!”

“RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE.” You abandon a relieved Sam and latch on to Bucky’s vibranium arm. “Oh my GOD I love her so fucking much.”

“She was robbed, absolutely fucking robbed,” he agrees, craning his neck to get a better view. “Divine Tension’s lip sync was shameful.”

Sam glances at Steve, who is slowly coming out of protector mode. “What the ever-loving hell are they talking about?”

“RuPaul’s Drag Race.” Nat flicks more confetti at both Cap-the-former and Cap-the-current. “They watch it every week.”

“Really, Steven, for a guy with enhanced super senses, you miss a lot.” Tony hefts a bedazzled Morgan higher on his back. The toddler, accompanied by Scott playing air-piano on the ground, sings along with the ABBA song being blasted at full volume through the street. Tony continues as if this is an everyday occurrence. “Why do you think both of your People disappear every Friday evening?”

Ears pink, Steve mumbles something.

“What?!” The only other one with hearing enhanced enough to hear a murmur over the cacophony of several thousand people belting out the chorus of ‘Dancing Queen’ at the top of their lungs, Bucky turns to stare at his friend. “You thought we were datin’?”

Steve’s blush extends down his neck.

You and Bucky stare at each other for a moment before you both collapse on each other, exploding into stomach clenching, thigh slapping laughter.

“I’m gonna guess that’s a ‘no’?” Clint confirms with Nat.

“Oh, a big ‘no’.” She watches affectionately as you and Bucky calm down enough to look at each other, breathe for a second, and both promptly dissolve into hysterics once more. “Like, the biggest ‘no’.”

Sam crossed his arms across his chest, his stoic stance so reminiscent of Steve it’s amusing (as well as a beautiful disparity to the sequined crop top he’s sporting. Oof, those abs.). “How do I not know about this?”

“Because you’re not a former super spy?” The usually-Black-but-today-Rainbow Widow tosses the last of her confetti at Tony, who spins a jubilant Morgan into it. “Or because you and that leggy barista from the lobby coffee shop are too busy playing hide-the-“

“-Baby Shark!” Morgan suddenly shrieks, flailing towards a guy on roller blades wearing a fin and tail (and not much else).

“Yeah,” Nat finishes with a smirk, “Hide-the-Baby Shark.”

Sam flips her a gesture that makes Clint laugh and Bruce sigh.

You and Bucky have finally managed to pull yourselves together. “Oh my god, Steven Grant,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes. “That’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve ever fucking heard.”

“Language!”

Steve glares at Tony. “One. Time. It was one. Time.”

Bucky slings his flesh arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Oh, punk. You may have perfect vision now, but sometimes you’re still as blind as you were before.”

Visiortn himself nods sagely. “Humans can be quite unperceptive when it comes to matters of the heart.” Vision casts a fond smile at Wanda, who is using her powers to make Pietro’s tinsel wig fly on and off. “Sometimes you have to look harder to see what’s right in front of your nose.”

A confused frown on that handsome face, Captain Clueless looks at Bucky. “Why do I feel like everyone else knows something that I don’t?”

His bestie sighs deeply. “Because, Stevie, almost everyone else on this planet knows that my tastes tend towards tall, blonde, blue-eyed knuckleheads who have zero sense of self-preservation.”

“And an ass you could bounce a quarter off of,” Scott helpfully supplies.

“And that,” Bucky agrees.

Steve frowns.

You press your palms to your eyes in vexation. “You, Steve. He’s talking about you.” (Seriously, how has this idiot survived for over a century while being so dumb?)

Whatever he was expecting, it was certainly not that. “He-“ The Man With A Plan gapes as he turns to his oldest friend. “You-“

“Me,” Bucky says gently.

Even though you’re slightly surprised that Bucky is going to do this in such a public forum, you can’t help but be so proud of your friend. It has taken a long time for Bucky to believe he deserves to be happy. There are days he still sinks into that dark place, where his inner demons whisper that he should have fought harder against his Hydra captors, and that his past actions were still somehow his fault. Those are the days no amount of baking or Modern Marvels will bring him out of his funk. You, Steve, Sam, and Nat have all held those strong shoulders as they shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the shame and horror at what his hands had done without his consent.

But he’s here. He’s free. And he’s smiling nervously at his best friend.

“I-” Steve is short-circuiting. “Me?!”

“Stevie.” With the kind of tender patience that can only be born of a lifetime of keeping (or attempting to keep) an idiot such as one Steven Grant Rogers from flinging himself headlong into every fight he comes across, Bucky moves his flesh hand to the back of Steve’s neck. His face is full of such soft affection that you almost want to look away for fear of intruding on this suddenly intimate moment. “What do you think ‘til the end of the line’ means, you idiot? You’ve been it for me since I was thirteen-years-old.”

Blue eyes are locked with blue eyes as Steve processes this revelation. “I-” He shakes his head as if to declutter his thoughts. “This whole time?”

“Since the first time I saw that asshole knock you down, and your scrawny ass climbed right back up.” A wry chuckle escapes as Bucky reminices. “You were ninety pounds soaking wet, and you stood there, against a guy who was three times your size, and never waivered for a second. It was magnificent.”

“I don’t like bullies,” is Steve’s quiet response.

Bucky’s grin is adoring. “I know, sweetheart.” He gently strokes the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. “You’ve always had a heart way bigger than your brain.”

Steve is still back on the first part of Bucky’s admission. “If you’ve felt- if you-” He’s practically pleading. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Bucky shrugs, attempting and failing nonchalance. “It was a different time, you know?” He’s uncharacteristically unsure of himself, the subtle waiver in his voice revealing the anxiety born of a lifetime of being forced to hide his truth. “I mean, you remember how it was; you didn’t talk about, no one talked about- about being- about people like...” He swallows thickly.  “And I was so scared you didn’t, that you weren’t-” His voice breaks.

Even though you’ve all been emotionally invested in this love story for years, the entire team respectfully pretends not to listen as the former Winter Soldier quietly admits his deepest secret to his closest friend. It’s enraging as Bucky confesses yet another way he's been a victim of his circumstances, and denied his right to live freely without derision. Once more, you’re awed by his resilience.

“-it was a risk I couldn’t take,” Bucky finally gets out, that stubborn fire back in his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you, Steve. I couldn’t chance it. I could live with just being your friend and only your friend so long it meant you were in my life.”

Stunned silence meets the end of his confession. Steve’s face is impassive, those cerulean eyes uncharacteristically inscrutable.

You can all tell Bucky is heading steadily towards dread and heartbreak the longer Steve takes to respond. You and Sam exchange a look, both ready to intervene if Steve demonstrates any of the abhorrent attitudes that were so prevalent in the society of his youth. It would be completely out of character for him, but...

Finally, Steve speaks. “You’re telling me,” he says, his words slow and deliberate, “that you made me wait ninety-three years to tell me you’ve felt the same way about me as I have about you since the day you picked me up out of that alley?!”

The whole found family breaths a collective sigh of relief as Steve pulls Bucky even closer, broad chest to broad chest.

“Okay, to be fair, you were an ice cube for most of that time and I wasn’t exactly available for a relationship.” Bucky’s grin stands in contradiction to his mullish defense. “But yeah, that’s the gist of it.” There’s the Bucky you all know and love, biting his lip with those perfect white teeth. “Now, punk, I’d really like to kiss you now, but first I need you to say you want me to.”

“You-” Steve’s throat works as he attempts- and fails- to rein in his emotions. “You jerk.”

And then the Star Spangled Man seizes the president of the Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club by his ridiculously perfect face and crashes their mouths together.

At any Pride event, seeing two men kissing is, obviously, to be expected. But seeing The First Avenger and The White Wolf attempting to swallow each other’s tongues is not at all routine. As people realize what is happening, the crowd is whipped into a frenzy the likes of which is usually reserved for the aftermath of sporting events and elections that defeat fascists.

Watching the two men embrace, Scott sniffles loudly. “I’m gonna cry, I’m so happy.”

He’s certainly not the only one. Wanda has a watery smile as she wraps her arms around Vision and Pietro; Pepper, Tony, and Bruce are watching with fond parental energy; you and Sam sandwich Peter between the two of you, grins practically splitting your faces. Even Nat’s eyes look suspiciously shiny and she and Clint sling their arms around each other with platonic affection. And that’s not counting the several thousand people who are cheering for love being love being love being love.

When they finally break their embrace, the Centennial twins are startled to see they’ve collected quite an audience.

“Uh, so…” Suddenly bashful, Steve glances back to his- partner? Boyfriend? Soulmate? Is there a word that can accurately describe two people who have found each other time and again in a world that seems hell-bent on keeping them apart?- his ears practically maroon with embarrassment. For a guy with one of the most-recognized faces in the world, Steve is still incredibly and endearingly uncomfortable with attention. “Buck?”

Bucky seems just as stunned as Steve.

Thankfully, the masses demonstrate the usual support that’s the hallmark of Pride. “LOVE IS LOVE!” someone screams in the crowd. It’s quickly echoed, and chants fill the park.

The attention momentarily off them, the former Winter Soldier and his giant himbo of a soulmate look back at each other. You pretend not to watch through the happiest tears as they embrace again, bringing their foreheads together. The relief they share is palpable, as they’re finally able to show the world- and each other- the love they’ve each hidden for so long.

Bucky’s voice is so soft you have to strain to hear it. “You have no idea how much m’in love with you, Stevie.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Steve answers, bringing a hand up to carefully wipe the tears from Bucky’s face. “‘cause it’s as much as I love you, Buck.”

Bucky's answering grin can only be described as saucy. “Then kiss me again, like you mean it.”

And Steve, for once in his long life, does exactly as ordered.

---

A/N: “The Sometimes-Former-Assassins Club” is from Starry_Emerald173’s BRILLIANT The Avengers Wrangler over on AO3. If you haven’t read it yet, drop what you’re doing and do so immediately. Make sure you're not drinking any liquids, or your keyboard/phone may be in peril.