#last year it was so hot even with the massive fans they had going

[nerdierholler]

It’s time to go to Spirit y’all!

Gotta go see what spoopy stuff they have this year.

[dreamcubed]

you need to calm down | theodore nott x reader

song; you need to calm down [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; e2l, smut, angst word count; 5,9k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption, implied drug consumption, hook-up, drunk sex, piv, oral sex (male and female receiving), discrimination (muggle-borns), smoking, violence, blood, mentions of the war, arguments, yelling summary; after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

masterlist

"stressing and obsessing about somebody else is no fun."

MINORS DNI!!! 18+ content.

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In the time that the Second Wizarding War had been going on, you had been absent from Hogwarts, attending a muggle school under a fake name. Also in that time, you had changed significantly, partially to help your cover, but also because you had made muggle friends with similar styles and decided that you loved it. There were no uniforms at muggle college, so you were able to explore. These days you loved having black hair, having both your septum and nose pierced, and dressing almost entirely in black.

Your witch friends hadn't recognised you when you showed up at the Summer party you had received an invite to, after Voldemort was defeated and you were able to come out of hiding. The party you were attending was for seventh and eighth years— eighth year being introduced as a subsidiary for the education lost last year. Even most of those who had attended seventh year elected to return, as the final exams had never taken place, and what they had learned had been heavily rooted in the dark arts.

The party was booming, the walls of the massive house shaking with the sound of the music. You had consumed your fair share of alcohol, amongst other things, and had enjoyed catching up with everyone you had missed so dearly.

And that was when you saw him watching you.

Theodore Nott, a Slytherin boy in your year, who was from a wealthy pure-blooded family. A cigarette hung from his lips, and the smoke billowing around him sent a shiver up your spine. He was a sexy man, personality aside, and intoxicated you conveniently forgot about his attitude towards muggle-borns. Fuck, maybe he had changed?

He started approaching you, eyes raking up and down your accentuated figure, and he lingered a while on your fishnets. When he was close enough to talk, he said a simple statement, "I've never seen you before."

Theodore Nott hadn't changed. Not one bit. While he had never wished death upon muggle-borns like Voldemort, he had despised them— viewed them as lesser than he. He had seen you, laughing with your friends and seductively moving your hips, and assumed you were from the year below. You knew in that moment that he didn't recognise muggle-born goody-two-shoes Y/N L/N.

But, you were too drunk to ignore the red flags.

"No?" you murmured, "What are your first thoughts?"

He smirked, "I think I'm in for a very interesting night."

You chuckled, "I'll say."

His hands found your hips, and he began swaying with you to the music, which made you move your body closer to his. Even in the warmth of the room, the heat of his body hit you like an electric spark, coursing through you— straight to your core.

He moved even closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as his hands moved round to your back. Then he lifted his head, his lips close to yours, and you let your eyes flutter shut as the kiss began. It was passionate: a hazy, powerful passion that had every hair on your body standing on end. His hands lowered to your ass, and squeezed, bringing a gasp from your lips, which he took as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

All of a sudden, he pulled away, only to whisper in your ear, "Wanna find somewhere more private?"

"Lead the way," you said breathlessly, and he took your hand in his.

Neither of you knew whose bedroom you had ended up in, but it was empty and had a lock on the door, so it was ideal. Sure, a little unlocking charm could get someone in, but hopefully they would realise what was going on inside if the door was locked.

Theo wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours again, pushing you back until you fell on to the bed, pulling him with you. He moved down to your neck, kissing and sucking in a manner that would definitely leave hickeys, before he returned to your lips. You tugged at his shirt, and he let you pull it over his head, revealing a toned chest and arms that had you drooling.

He smirked at your loss of composure and beckoned towards your shirt, "Your turn, miss."

This time, you smirked, and held up your arms to allow him to remove your upper body clothing. First your tight black mesh top, and then your bra, freeing your boobs for him to gaze at. "Look who's drooling now."

Your statement made him snap out of his shock: clearly the sight of your nipple piercings had been a new experience for him. He attacked your lips with a new fervour, then moved down to suck on your nipple and its barbell. Gasps escaped you at the sensation, and you arched your back up instinctively.

"You're so sexy," he stopped for breath, complimenting you, "How have I never seen you before?"

Your breath hitched, and for a moment the reality of the situation came back to you. Just as quickly, though, it left again, as he began work on your other nipple. It was a wonderful feeling, but you needed more, so you pushed him over until you were on top and began unbuckling his trousers.

His dick was big and thick, and you could tell by the glint in his eyes as he looked down at you that he knew and was proud. You shook your head, bringing your lips to the tip and pressing a gentle kiss. Your teasing didn't last for long, however, as you soon gave into the urge to take it into your mouth. He groaned deliciously in response, and you took that as your cue to lick a strip up the side as you began fondling his balls.

"Just like that, baby," he moaned, making you realise he hadn't even asked for your name.

You took him in your mouth again, this time going as far down as your throat would allow, feeling the urge to gag building up in you. His louder groans made the effort worth it, though, as you deepthroated him. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him with doe eyes and said, "If I'm sucking your dick, you might as well eat me out." And with that, you pulled your tights and panties down, leaving only your skirt on, before sitting on his face assertively.

The action made him groan more, and you leaned down to continue work on his dick as you felt him find your clit almost immediately. His tongue ministrations had you moaning around his dick, making you begin grinding on his face out of reflex. If you weren't drunk, you wouldn't be nearly this shameless and forward.

To his credit, he ate you out like a man starved, and it wasn't long before the pleasure became so much you had to give up on his dick and give in to the sensation.

"Fuck, Theo, I'm gonna come," you moaned, and his movements only got quicker, until you felt your core tighten and then release. Your body convulsed as he rode you through the high.

Eventually, you got off his face.

"D'you have condoms?" you asked, knowing he hadn't yet finished and also that you weren't yet satisfied.

"Always." He reached for his trousers over the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of his wallet.

You took it from him, tearing the packet with your teeth whilst making eye contact, and carefully sheathing his dick. His breath hitched once you were done: the only warning you got before he got up and pushed you down on to all fours, lining himself up behind you. The push in wasn't difficult, since you were quite well prepared, but it was still sensationally tight for him.

"Fuck, baby," he grunted, pushing in the last couple inches, "You feel so fuckin' good. So wet for me."

In reply, you moaned, and he took that as his cue to begin moving.

He pushed up your skirt to slap your ass, leaving a red imprint on your cheek, before gripping your hips and picking up the pace. You became a mess beneath him, even more so when one of his hands snuck around to begin rubbing circles on your clit. The bedsheets were crumpled in your hands with how tight you were gripping them, but Theo didn't stop.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna-" he cut himself off with a grunt.

"Me too," you squeaked out.

"Come with me." The assertive way in which he said it had you falling apart yet again, and by the way his movements were becoming sloppy, you could guess that he was too. When he then collapsed next to you, you knew that your guess had been correct.

Turning to lay on your back, you let out a content sigh.

"You know my name," he said.

You chuckled breathlessly.

"Who are you?"

You shrugged, deciding that you had given yourself enough time to regain your composure and getting up off the bed to clothe yourself. "You'll see," you said as you pulled your final clothing item back on.

And, with that concluding comment, you left Theo speechless on a random bed of the host's house.

***

You told no one of that night, deciding that you didn't need to hear your friends say what a stupid idea it was for you as a muggle-born to fuck a pure-blood supremacist. You already knew that yourself, but that didn't stop you from dreaming about how his tongue felt against your pussy, or how his hands felt on your body. Merlin, it was the best sex that you had ever had, and it just had to be with someone who would never want you again after finding out the truth.

It was on the train to Hogwarts that you saw him next. Despite how excited you were to return to the castle after over a year, the anxiety of your next meeting with Theo had been consuming you. And, in a lit up train in your classic school uniform, you were a lot more recognisable than in the dark in your own clothes. Especially considering you were with your friend group.

You stared at him as he stood in the doorway of you and your friends' compartment, with Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire stood behind him. They were likely on the hunt for some younger years to belittle.

"Well, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes has certainly changed a lot, hasn't she?" Riddle chuckled from behind Theo, who was simply staring at you with widened eyes and a clenched jaw.

"Theo? Mate? You alright?" Berkshire asked, snapping his friend out of his daze.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he said dismissively, "Let's go."

His friends appeared confused, but didn't question it.

Your friends, however, did.

"What the fuck was up with that?" your best friend, Elena, asked, "Is the man scared of a couple piercings or something?"

She didn't even know what she was saying when she said that, you thought to yourself, thinking back to his reaction to your nipple piercings. You simply shrugged at her, "He just hates to see a muggle-born succeed."

Everyone agreed with hums, and the conversation shifted to other subjects.

***

Theodore Nott had spent the last two weeks of Summer wondering what the fuck the mysterious girl he fucked at a party meant by, "You'll see," and then following that up with a wank using memories of you. But, in that moment, stood in front of you on the Hogwarts Express, where you were in better lighting and more recognisable attire, he felt the world crash down around him.

How had he fucked a mudblood? The one thing that was ingrained into his brain since childhood to never do? Ever? The worst part is, he hadn't just liked the sex, he had loved it. He had already had numerous wet dreams about your lips and your boobs and your ass. And now? Now he had to push all of that aside because he couldn't ever fuck you again.

He just couldn't.

"Theo- Earth to Theo," the voice of Lorenzo next to him brought him from his thoughts.

"What?" he snapped back.

"What's got you so worked up?"

Mattheo chuckled, "Can't you see him staring at mudblood L/N? I can't tell if you wanna kill her or fuck her."

That statement earned Mattheo a glare from Theo.

"Maybe both?" Lorenzo suggested, making them both laugh.

"Who was it again that you hooked up with at the party?" Mattheo asked before shovelling food into his mouth.

"He didn't say, remember? Said she never told him her name."

"It doesn't matter," Theo spat.

Lorenzo and Mattheo exchanged looks as realisation dawned on them, and they both slowly turned to Theo who was still glaring daggers in your direction.

"No, you didn't..." Mattheo said first.

Theo said nothing.

"You fucked a mudblood," Lorenzo stated, finishing Mattheo's thought.

"You didn't realise it was L/N," Mattheo continued.

"She'd changed a lot, okay?" Theo said angrily, "I thought she was from the year below or something."

His two friends began howling with laughter, meanwhile Theo sat brooding in silence at the Slytherin table.

***

Saturday rolled around, and you were relieved to be able to shed the school uniform and tug on your clothes that had become an important part of you. Thankfully, Hogwarts hadn't been too strict about your piercings, in fact you had even received compliments from some professors. But, honestly, the rules weren't all that strict since it was still a sensitive time with many grieving from the war.

The Summer weather was still lingering, and you basked in the sunlight as you walked down one of the open hallways, watching first years giggling amongst themselves as they played with their new magic skills. It brought a smile to your face, to see things returning to normal; you had missed Hogwarts dearly while you had been away, not knowing how long you would have to remain in hiding. You had even begun applications for muggle university— because, really, how could you have known whether it would be one year or ten before you could freely be a witch again?

You turned a corner, and in your drifted thoughts, didn't notice the person walking around the other way until it was too late and your shoulders had shoved against each other.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, realising all too late that it was Theo. He was glaring at you, just like he had at every meal and every class you shared all week.

"Watch where you're going, mudblood," he snapped.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled, "Wasn't a problem three weeks ago."

"Never speak of that," he said lowly, his voice threatening.

"Why? Annoyed sex with a mudblood was good?" you retorted, and then you found yourself pinned up against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, miss."

"Don't you mean 'baby'?" you smirked, relishing in the way his eyes darkened.

You almost missed the way his gaze flicked to your lips, but then he pulled away, refusing to look at you.

"Fuck you, L/N," he spat, storming off, and you watched in amusement with your back still against the wall.

***

Theodore Nott was livid. Absolutely livid. You wound him up in the worst way possible, only for him to try and scare you- fail- and then find himself wanting nothing more than to smash his lips on to yours. When you reminded him of the pet name he used while you were fucking, the blood in his body rushed straight to his dick: the feeling of his arms gripping yours and the close proximity had felt electric. Your very presence set him on fire in every single way possible.

He hated every second.

With previous hook-ups, he had hooked up a few more times with them until he had gotten bored and moved on to the next. Before he found out who you were, he had been planning on doing the same, and now the fact he couldn't was driving him crazy. He thought about you every minute of the day, every minute of the night, and- unfortunately- whenever his hand was wrapped around his dick. And, after his interaction with you in the hallway, he knew that he needed a good fuck from at least a half-blood, if not a pure-blood.

Yes, that was all it was, his body was desperate for sex and as you were the last person he fucked, his thoughts simply went to you first. That was all it was.

Definitely.

***

Potions lesson on Monday rolled around quicker than you would have liked, but it wasn't all bad, as Slughorn was a nice enough professor. You sequestered yourself next to your best friend, ready to begin the lesson. He had promised you all your first practical lesson today, and you were excited to use a cauldron again after so long.

The only real downside of the class was that Theo was in it, and he seemed even angrier (if that was possible) than he was last week. His eyes were pinned on to you like you had murdered his family. You shrugged it off, setting up the work station while Elena went to fetch the various ingredients that you required.

Meanwhile, Theo sat across the class from you, feeling incredibly frustrated. Saturday night, he had tried to fuck another girl, but he couldn't get himself hard until he imagined that she was you. And, even then, he couldn't finish. His imagination couldn't go as far as making her feel and act like you, after all. Now, all he knew, was that you were his enemy, and his remedy. And you had the audacity to act so calm and unbothered all the fucking time.

"Your obsession isn't healthy," Mattheo spoke from next to him, dumping the potion ingredients on the table.

"It's not an obsession."

"What is it, then?" his friend scoffed, "Love?"

Theo furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Mattheo watched as Theo rose to his feet and began haphazardly chopping ingredients, the tiny knife taking the brunt of his anger.

"If it's affecting you so bad, just fuck her again."

"She's mudblood."

"It's not like you're impregnating her," Mattheo reasoned.

Theo sighed deeply, "It's not that simple. I've had it trained into me since birth that we don't associate with mudbloods."

"Well," Mattheo shifted on his feet, "Parents aren't always right."

"Since when did you sympathise with them?"

"I don't- I just," Mattheo muttered something inaudible to himself, and then said, "I don't want people to think I'm my father."

Theo said nothing.

"I'm just saying, mate, your mother's dead and your father's in prison for life— who gives a fuck what they think?"

"It's the principle."

"What even is the principle?"

"What would Draco think? Lorenzo? All of our friends?"

"Draco's not the man he was before the war," Mattheo said quietly. He knew better than anyone, being Draco's cousin, he had grown up with him due to his parents' absence. "I'm just saying. Maybe we should leave some beliefs in the past."

"You've gotten soft," Theo grumbled, "Just last week you were shitting on me for fucking her."

Mattheo shrugged, "Force of habit, I guess. I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"That's rare."

"Shut up."

***

Truth was, despite all of Theo's dick behaviour and discrimination of your kind, you still found yourself waking up in a sweat thinking about his hands roaming your body. That goddamned Slytherin was the bane of your existence and the reason for your catharsis. He had diseased you, plagued you. He was a parasite that you couldn't get rid of, that was eating away at your sanity. What happened to your self respect? To your pride? You got fucked into heaven, that's what. And now your sexual urges were spreading like fire all throughout your bloodstream.

Wanking didn't feel the same anymore— your fingers didn't hold the electricity and passion that Theo's did. You craved him like a drug: and that's exactly what he was. He was something you shouldn't do, something that was bad for your health, but something that could have you seeing stars. Why did he have to be a blood supremacist?

But would it feel this intense if he wasn't? Maybe you two being forbidden, being star-crossed, was the reason that it made you feel so alive. You loved the fact he stared at you, even if it was with fury so powerful it made his whole body shake. It made you feel as if you had gotten to him the way he had gotten to you.

Just one taste of heaven had left you wanting to experience it a thousand times over.

"Get your shit together, Y/N," you cursed to yourself, forcing yourself out of bed.

"What was that?" one of your dorm mates asked.

"Nothing," you replied, "Just going crazy."

"Aren't we all?" she agreed.

***

"Party in the Slytherin dungeons tonight," Pansy stated to you one hellish week later.

You blinked at her, "And I'm invited?"

The girl nodded, evidently feeling awkward, "A lot of us are trying to- uh- make amends with mud- muggle-borns."

You raised an eyebrow at her near slip-up.

"Look- I'm- I'm sorry for how I treated you in the past," she said, actually appearing genuine, "It wasn't right."

"Um, thank you," you replied hesitantly.

"I know I don't speak for all the Slytherins, but a lot of us have done some thinking over the Summer," she continued, "We've lived in an echo chamber for too long."

That you agreed with.

"And, honestly, I think you're really cool- and I hope we can be friends."

You were taken aback by her words, never imagining that a pure-blood like Pansy Parkinson would be saying such words to you. But, maybe, forgiving her wouldn't be such a bad thing. "I... forgive you, I think," you said slowly, "I hope we can be friends too."

She gave you a small but warm smile, "Thank you. Will I see you there?"

You nodded cautiously, "Yeah, I think so."

"Great, uh, come say hi when you get there."

And with that, she disappeared, leaving you in a state of shock and confusion.

***

"Why are there so many mudbloods here?" Lorenzo asked irritatedly, sitting down on the sofa next to his friend group.

"Be civil, Enzo," Pansy gently scolded, "They're witches and wizards just like us."

"But they're not, though. Right, Matt?"

Mattheo shrugged slightly, "I'm with Pansy on this one, I think."

"See, Enzo? Even the Dark Lord's son agrees with me."

Mattheo grimaced at being reminded of who his father was.

"What about you, Theo?" Lorenzo asked.

But Theo wasn't listening, too busy glaring at you with his jaw clenched as you entered the common room, dressed up in an annoyingly similar way that you were back at the Summer party. Lorenzo followed his gaze, but he already knew where it would be leading to.

"Theo is not the person to ask," Blaise chuckled, appearing out of nowhere and sitting next to Theo, "I reckon he's about two interactions with L/N away from saying 'fuck it' and accepting his fate."

"What fate?" Theo snapped.

"The fate of falling in love with a muggle-born," Pansy said with a giggle.

"I'm not falling for her."

"Yeah, you just think and talk about her all the time," Draco, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke.

"Do you not have a problem with it?" Lorenzo asked Draco.

The blond boy shrugged, "I have a lot of regrets regarding muggle-borns. I don't want anymore."

Lorenzo groaned.

"Times are changing, Enzo," Pansy said gently, "I think you should change with them."

The man scowled and stormed off.

Meanwhile, you had finally spotted Pansy across the room, surrounded by the Slytherin boys— including Theo. You took a deep breath, deciding for the sake of a potential friendship you would have to bear it and fulfil her request of saying hi. You arrived at their group moments after you had seen Berkshire leave angrily.

"Uh, hi," you said to Pansy.

"Hi," her face lit up, "Have you got a drink? I'll get you one."

"Oh, thank you."

"It's no worries— make yourself comfortable," she then turned to the boys, "Play nice."

Mattheo raised his hands in mock surrender, but all Theo did was keep his eyes glued on to you.

Zabini shifted along the sofa, gesturing for you to sit in between him and Theo, which you cautiously accepted. The second you felt the warmth of Theo's thigh brush against yours, sparks jolted through your body, and you nearly jumped. You could have sworn you heard his breath hitch, too. This was the first time in two weeks that he wasn't looking at you, instead his eyes were trained ahead like he was retaining every ounce of self control within him.

"The sexual tension is suffocating," Mattheo remarked, standing up to go after Pansy.

His statement seemed to fuel the flame that you had desperately been trying to keep dim inside of you, and suddenly staying sat next to Theo seemed like an entirely impossible task. You were not nearly drunk enough for this. Thankfully, Pansy returned quickly with Mattheo lingering behind her, and she handed you a glass.

"Firewhiskey and coke," she said simply.

"Thanks," you accepted the glass, and downed the entire thing, "I'll get another one."

You left them all, hearing Pansy scold Theo for scaring you off, but you could still feel his eyes burning holes into your back. Just a couple more drinks and then you would join the dance floor, you decided.

And there you soon were, grinding up against a Hufflepuff boy with liquid courage flooding through your veins. You had just about managed to push Theodore Nott to the back of your mind, but you knew that it was only a temporary fix. This Hufflepuff boy was attractive, but he didn't set you alight.

"Someone's jealous," Blaise chuckled, watching as Theo glared daggers at the boy you were dancing with. Ever since you had joined the dance floor, he had been necking back drinks like his soul depended on it, and it just might. With every gulp, he was feeling more reckless and dangerous. "Accept it, mate, you're in deep."

Theo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"The only thing stopping you is yourself."

And as Blaise's words sank in, and the Hufflepuff boy appeared to be going in to kiss you, something snapped within Theo. In a flash, he was on his feet and taking large purposeful strides in your direction. Then, the Hufflepuff boy was torn from your side and being punched directly on the nose with such a force he toppled over. He didn't even get a chance to fight back as Theo continued to hit him, merciless in his moves.

You stood in shock watching the scene unfold before you. After what felt like forever, Mattheo and Lorenzo showed up, pulling Theo off the poor boy who had done nothing wrong.

"What the fuck was that for?" the boy yelled, blood pouring down his face.

Theo said nothing, glaring at him as he finally stopped fighting his friends' grip.

"You need to calm down, mate," Mattheo said sternly, digging his fingers into his friend's bicep.

"Theo." You said, unaware what your intentions were when the name slipped out of your mouth. Regardless, his eyes snapped to yours, appearing to soften slightly as he observed your fearful stance.

What was stopping him, really? Did the purity of his bloodline really matter to him that much?

"I think you two need to talk," Mattheo said firmly, "And I think one of you in particular- not naming any names- needs to get over his own bullshit excuses and give into what he wants."

Theo's bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. You didn't fight him, strangely feeling your fear slip away despite what you had just witnessed Theo be capable of. When you were stood in his empty dormitory, face to face, you knew that you would have to be the first to say something.

"You were jealous," you said it as delicately as you could.

He said nothing, not even looking at you. This made you angry— enraged, even.

"Fucking look at me, Theo!" you screamed, "You haven't had any difficulty with it all week— staring at me like I'm the shit on your fucking shoe!"

His eyes locked on to yours.

"If you regret fucking me, just say it!"

"I don't regret it," he said, his volume low but tone dangerous, "Everything I've been raised to believe wants me to regret it but I can't."

You stood, stunned at his confession.

"I need you like I need water, you're an itch I can't scratch," he was stepping closer to you, making you step back, "You make me feel fucking ecstasy and misery all at once."

Your back hit the wall, and he grabbed your wrist again, bringing it to press against his crotch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he said darkly, "I've never been so hard in my life."

You gulped, "I'm not just gonna be another of your bitches, Theo, so forget it." Even though you wanted it so bad, and you were dripping from your core.

"That's the thing, L/N," he chuckled sinisterly, "I don't think I could ever get enough. I don't think anyone else will be able to satiate me ever again."

You jaw dropped.

"I think..." he continued, "...that you're a drug I got addicted to after only one hit."

You closed your mouth, looking up at him expectantly.

"And I don't think I ever want to be sober from you."

"But, I'm a muggle-born-"

He cut you off by slamming his lips on to yours with such furious passion your mind became hazy as you eagerly returned the kiss, lifting up your arms to wrap them around your neck. For a moment, he pulled away, just to whisper, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't think I care. I think I just want you in every humanly possible way."

"Then have me," you murmured.

It became a blur as his lips crashed on to yours yet again, and he picked you up by your thighs with his blood stained hands, leaving imprints on your bare skin through your fishnets. He moved you over to his bed, kissing down your neck while he blindly reached for the hem of your top. He wasted no time in pulling it off, along with your bra, so he could continue kissing down your body.

You relished the sensation— savouring it— feeling like you were the only girl in the world. Theo was treating you with such roughness and yet such care, like he had tunnel vision for you and only you.

He pulled off his shirt, before moving down to pull down your skirt, fishnets, and panties all at once. You watched breathlessly as he dived into your leaking pussy and ate you out like a man starved. He groaned, murmuring, "I've missed this taste so fucking much," before continuing his ministrations, eliciting the filthiest moans from you that had ever been produced. This felt even better than the last time.

"You are my goddess," he licked up your pussy, "And my devil."

He began sucking on your clit, and your body felt as if it was lifting from the bed as your orgasm hit you like a shockwave, coursing through your body and sending you to places you had only brushed against before.

"Fuck, Theo," you moaned, "Please fuck me."

The man didn't need telling twice, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his trousers. He didn't waste any time going to his bedside table to grab a condom out of the drawer, tearing it open and pulling it on in record speed. You would have helped him, but your orgasm had you borderline paralysed.

And, then, he was lining up in front of you— for the first time in his life, all he wanted was to fuck missionary. He wanted to see your face (and your nipple piercings that had him drooling) and he wanted to see your expressions as you came undone below him. To him, this was the most intimate that you could get in sex, and he only wanted that with you.

He groaned louder than he had ever groaned when he let himself push inside you, knowing that no other pussy would ever feel as magical as yours. Knowing that he should never have even considered depriving himself of this for some stupid blood purity reasons.

"Fuck, baby, you feel fucking amazing," he breathed out. You reached your arms up, gesturing for him to come down closer to you.

Theo obeyed, kissing you as he began thrusting, while his bloodied hands explored every inch of you, leaving a trail as they went.

"I'd rub your clit, but I don't want to get blood there," he said through heavy pants. You couldn't help but let out a small giggle, moving your own hand down to aid yourself along.

Your moans increased tenfold, as did his pace, and it wasn't long before he was biting down on to your neck in order to contain the groans that were fighting their way out of him. Who would have thought that such plain love making could make him feel so on top of the world?

"Theo- I'm gonna come," you choked out, and the way his teeth sank deeper told you that he was going to as well. As you both reached heaven in unity, he gave up suppressing his moans, and gave you the most melodious earful that you had ever heard as his movements became sloppy and tingles spread through your veins.

Eventually, he collapsed on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his hair gently as you lay in a post-sex haze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, making your brain short circuit.

"You what?"

"I'm sorry for being a pretentious asshole."

A smile creeped on to your face, "So, is this just a sex thing, or...?"

"Fuck no," he snapped, "I need you all the time. You're mine."

"So, it's a girlfriend boyfriend thing?"

He froze, but then relaxed, and said into your neck, "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You guess?"

He sighed, "Well, you've ruined me for anyone else."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 07/04/2024 —> 08/04/2024 published; 10/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

[asapeveryday]

The Last Time Pt1

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex

Summary: You rarely go out due to how hard your classes are, but a rare outing to a Halloween party draws you to a certain blonde’s attention.

Authors note: Not my first fic, but my first time writing for Paige, or writing anything on this app!!!im nervous asf but it’s okay 😇 pls point out any spelling mistakes pls I write these at like 2am.

Minors DNI beyond the cut!!

The house was one of the massive ones off campus, white picket fences and a big kitchen perfect for partygoers to escape the loud music. Fall had turned the hot, humid and vibrant summer nights into colder ones. Streets were littered with brown and orange leaves, and houses decorated with cobwebs and blow-up ghosts.

Your friends were used to going out for Halloween parties, but you never really bothered. Your classes just got harder by the year, so you always put off a long night out. To you it was worth it, because your grades were top 3 in your program.

“When was the last time you even got laid?” Your best friend asks you.

You shrug. “I dunno. July?”

“Whatever.” She sighs, realizing it wasn’t as bad as she thought. “Still, that’s like almost 3 months of no puss. Please just come to this party, it’ll be fun!” She whines.

“Isn’t it early for a Halloween party? It’s only the 20th. We still have a week. Plus, I don’t have a costume.” You say, hoping she’ll let you stay home.

“You don’t understand, this is massive. A Halloween-birthday-party is not one that you wanna miss” She beams at you. “And I have a basketball jersey you can wear for the night. Wear shorts with it, be sexy.”

“Shorts?? It’s October!” You groan.

Regardless, you found yourself inside of this house. Your friend wasn’t lying when she said this was a pretty big party, with all the people shoving up against you it was uncomfortable to be in in your sleeveless jersey and black shorts. The kitchen was slightly less rowdy so you started to search the fridge for some comfort in the form of food or alcohol before you heard a cough behind you.

“Yo.”

You turn only to find yourself having to look up at a much taller girl. Her blonde hair was long and down on her shoulders, except for the front pieces which were Dutch-braided closer to her head. She was wearing a really casual outfit, a matching Nike tracksuit. The only thing remotely Halloween-y thing on her was the pair of fake Angel wings on her back.

“Nice costume.” You almost scoff.

“You can’t be talkin. What are you, a fangirl?” She looks down at you. Her eyes are so blue you almost stumble backwards into to fridge.

“Fair.” You sheepishly smile at her. “It was really last minute, this isn’t even my jersey.”

“That’s cus it’s mine.” The mystery blonde laughs.

Immediately you look down at yourself, a white number 5 is sprawled against the navy fabric of the women’s basketball jersey you borrowed. You look up at the blonde again and your face drops.

“Oh shit! You’re-“

“Paige.” She finishes your sentence. “Not a basketball fan?”

“Not really.” You smile. You tell her your name and she repeats it back to you with a smirk that you feel straight in your gut. You’ve rarely seen Paige on campus, so having her right in front of you has helped you realize just how fine she really is.

“The jersey looks good on you.” Her eyes sweep throughout your body.

“You don’t come off as much of an Angel to me.” You raise your eyebrow at her, referring to her half-assed costume. You haven’t heard too many rumours about Paige Bueckers sex life, but you can just tell by her silent confidence, the way she stands and even just the way she looks at you that she gets around. Being a D1 athlete probably helps too.

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” She shrugs, maintaining eye contact with you.

“So Paige, is this your place or..”

“Nah. My friends threw this party as a surprise for me. Not even sure who’s crib this is but whatever.” She rubs the back of her neck. “You didn’t come with a gift, did you?” Paige asks.

“No, was I supposed to?”

“It’s my birthday ma, I think you owe me something.” She steps closer, looking at you through her long eyelashes.

You actually feel your heart drop to your ass at this point, and she can tell. Paige cocks her head to the staircase nearby and you almost run after her when she leads you upstairs.

You’re already making out by the time you crash into a bedroom, she slams the door shut and pushes you up against it. You almost faint when you feel her knee between your legs, applying pressure to your clit. She kisses you slowly, taking her time to memorize the feeling of her hands grazing your face, then trailing down your body and finding themselves inside the jersey. Her blonde hair tickles your neck as she starts to trail her kisses downwards.

Paige’s hands trail from your abdomen to your hips, roughly pulling your shorts down and kneeling to be face to face with your heat. You resist the urge to cover yourself from her, and can’t help but think about how awkward you must look from this angle, but she doesn’t seem to care. Gripping your thighs and looking up at you with her ice-blue eyes, she licks a slow stripe onto your already wet undies, chuckling when you shudder.

Pulling your underwear to the side with one hand, she slowly eases her finger inside of you and you throw your head back with a breathy moan that makes her smile. She sucks at your clit while adding another finger, then pumping into you almost on beat to the music blasting downstairs. Her tongue is insane to you, circling your clit so skillfully while curling her fingers inside of you, your knees almost buckle and your hands find her long hair, pushing her head. “Oh my god.” You breathe out. “I’m close.”

“Already?” Paige chuckles into you. When she removes her fingers and quickly replaces them with her mouth, lapping and licking inside of you you almost scream. The vibrations from her voice huffing around you are enough for you to feel that tight, building feeling in your stomach, and you cum right there and then.

She cleans whatever she can before pulling up your shorts for you and kissing you chastely, enough so you can taste yourself on her lips. When she pulls away you slump to the floor, legs twitching.

“Shit!” You embarrassedly mumble. Paige laughs and sits next to you. With both of your backs to the door you turn your head to meet her stare. “Happy birthday.” You laugh. She rubs her face, hiding her smile. “Pfft, thanks.”

“I thought I was supposed to gift you? You just gave me like, the best head I’ve had since I started college.”

“Seeing you fall to the ground at my head game is enough of a gift for me.” She shrugs, a smug look on her face. “Plus, there’s always next time if you wanna make it up to me.”

The two of you exchange numbers, the situation is so unreal to you that you’re convinced this is all some mistake.

“Did you even plan on hooking up with someone tonight?” You ask her suddenly, and she seems surprised at your honesty.

“Uhh…I’m not gonna lie, not really. This party was a surprise, remember?” She sighs. “I think seeing some cute girl in my jersey, totally oblivious, jus did something to me.”

You raise your eyebrow. “You didn’t even get to see what was under it.”

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” She laughs. “I’m exhausted, giving ankle-breaking head does that to you.”

“Shut up.” You say, shoving her lightly.

There’s a pause before you take a chance and say “There’s a good burger place nearby if you want to recharge a bit.”

The minute you say it you regret it. Paige Bueckers was in no hurry to get upstairs with you, there’s no way she’s gonna take you out for food too. Plus, since when did you go out with girls you met at parties?

She looks at you for a second, considering you. Finally she says “Fuck it, why not.”

Paige gets up and you follow after her lead. She laughs at the way you walk down the stairs and the two of you slip out of the house as sneakily as possible. Paige offers to drive you even though it was your suggestion. “What can I say, I love my car.” She smiles.

The burgers are good and her laugh is contagious. The two of you sit in her car while you eat, she almost screams when you steal a fry and you pretend to be annoyed when she takes a sip of your drink in retaliation.

You feel so nervous being around her, Paige seems so sure of herself. You can tell she already knows what she wants out of college, out of basketball, even out of girls. Sometimes, even though you devoted so much time to preforming well academically, you weren’t entirely sure it was all gonna work out for you. You feared all your hard work wouldn’t be worth it in the end.

After a moment of silence, you ask her “Does it ever freak you out, having so many people betting on your success? If I were you I’d be so scared of letting people down.” You disguise your own fear as a question for her. Paige looks at you for a moment, then smiles.

“Yeah, It does. I’ve already had moments where it felt like I let everyone down.” She says, looking down at her leg. “But no success comes without pressure, so I guess feeling that way is more of a blessing from God than anything. It’s like He’s reminding me of everything I have to lose. Ion’ think there’s much wrong with that.”

You’re surprised at how mature her answer is. “There’s no way you’re talking about God after you just gave head to a stranger.” You laugh.

She shrugs, a guilty but satisfied look on her face. “You’re not human if you don’t sin once in a while.”

“Amen.” You smile.

The two of you talk about stupid things until it’s well past midnight, and when she drops you off at your dorm you turn to say “I had more fun then I thought I would tonight.”

Paige smiles, her blue eyes staring holes into yours. “It won’t be the last time you have fun with me.” She says, laughing to herself.

“Shut up.” You nudge her. She shakes her head, and waves at you when you start to walk to your building.

You turn to wave back. Even though you know you can’t be anything serious with Paige, you can’t ignore the warm feeling in your stomach when you think about the night you shared. You seriously hope it won’t be the last time.

[wizard-on-whales]

Devils Dance

(NSFW)

You're a violinist for the San Francisco Symphony, excited to work with your favorite band, but when you can't get a part right during rehearsals you hid away only to be found by the singer himself

Warnings: Smut, Unprotected sex, praising and degrading, semi-public, pet names

Word count: 2.6k

✭-----------------------------✭

Nothing had been going right today. First your alarm didn't go off on time which meant you were almost late for rehearsals, then when you finally got there you bumped into someone and they spilled their coffee all over you, and now you couldn't find your sheet music. You were digging through your violin case and folders, looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. You let out a silent groan, frustrating already starting to spill out of you even though it was only 10 AM. You leaned over to the second chair violinist and asked if she had an extra copy of the music and finally luck was on your side because she did. She handed it over and you set it on your stand, getting to work practicing the familiar tunes.

Although you were a huge Metallica fan and had spent the last several days practicing and studying the sheet music there was one part that you could not get right. And sitting here practicing it in front of the whole orchestra and your favorite band was not helping your already terrible day. Several times now the conductor has had to stop and restart the entire song because of your mistakes, and as it happened again you couldn't help the tears falling from your eyes. You wasted no time before running out of the room, the hot streams of frustration and embarrassment trailing down your cheeks. You found a corner to hide in, setting your violin down in front of you. You wanted to throw it, smash it to pieces, but you held back.

You brought your knees up to your chest, dropping your head into them as you cried. You were sure your spot as first chair violin would be ruined after this. Another sob left your body as you curled further into yourself, wanting nothing more than to go home. You didn't hear the footsteps approaching you as you wiped your runny makeup off of your face. The hand that was gently placed on your shoulder made you jump and turn. Standing there was none other than James Hetfield himself, the man you have had a massive crush on for years. Your cheeks heat up, your heart racing in your chest as you quickly try to compose yourself.

“You alright?” He asked kindly, picking your violin up off the floor and moving it so that he could sit next to you. He sits the stringed instrument on his lap, plucking the strings slightly as he awaits your answer.

“Yeah, just…just a bad day,” You stutter, trying to smooth out your now wrinkled skirt. You tried to think of something else to say but god he smelled good and it was the only thing you could think about. Just the size of him and the feeling of his shoulder pressed against yours made your brain go blank. He was not a small man that was for sure, his broad shoulders and chest strained against the tight button up he wore and you were convinced if he made one wrong move a button would fly off.

“I noticed that. You sound great though, that part you can't get down seems real tough so I don't blame you,” His words seem genuine as he looks over at you. His fingers continue to fiddle with your violin and just as he grabs a tuning peg, his instincts telling him to turn it, you panic. You grab his hand to make him stop and he quickly pulls it away, noticing your worry.

“Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. They probably aren't like guitars are they,” He chuckles awkwardly, placing his hands off to his sides instead of the instrument.

“It's okay, same concept just a little harder,” You reassure him, your panic temporarily making you forget that you were upset.

“Play something,” He says, picking it up and handing it over to you. You stare at him in disbelief for a second before slowly taking the violin from him. You sit up a little straighter, positioning the instrument on your shoulder before taking the bow and placing it against the strings. You glance at him for a second and he gives you a nod. You take a breath before playing a song, deciding to play a version of Fade to Black that you composed yourself. It was a song you had prayed would be part of the album but unfortunately it wasn't. He watched intently as you played, a smile splayed across his features, and something else in his eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You tried to avoid his gaze as you played but it was hard, his eyes were intense, drawing you in with interest and beauty. As you finished playing the intro to the song you removed your violin from your shoulder and awkwardly set it back down on the floor next to you.

“That was great! We should have added it to the setlist. Are you a fan then?” His praises cause you to blush, not expecting him to be so sincere. And the smile on his face as he spoke made you want to trip and fall right into his arms.

“Yeah..I've been a huge fan for years. I had posters of you all over my walls when I was a teenager and in college,” You admit shyly to him, trying to laugh it off so he didn't think you were weird. He chuckles slightly, his gaze still burning a hole through you. You catch his eyes flick down towards your chest for just a second before looking back towards your face. His tongue swipes over his lips and you finally realize what that look behind his eyes is. You feel as if he could devour you with just one look, ripping your clothes off with his stare.

“Oh yeah? What type of posters? Just me or the whole band?” His voice seemed to have gotten deeper somehow. You wiped your sweaty palms against your skirt, looking away from him for a second, but his gaze didn't falter.

“Well..it was mostly just you. I had one above my bed that I loved,” You swore he could hear your heart beating against your chest with how fast it was pounding.

“Really? You ever touch yourself to it?” He asked the question so casually that it almost didn't register in your brain. Your voice gets caught in your throat as your face burns red. He smiles wider, your reaction telling him everything he needs to know.

“Did you look up at it with your legs spread wishing I was really there?” He comes closer, resting his hands on the floor on either side of your legs. You lean back a little as you feel his breath on your face, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“C'mon baby girl, use your words. Did you?” He leans further forward, causing you to lean away again. You were resting on your elbows, looking up at him at this point. You bit your lip slightly, unable to speak so you just nod your head thinking of all the times your fingers worked themselves against your sensitive parts, the image of him in your head. You had always imagined what it would be like, what he'd smell like, what he looked like under his clothes but you never imagined it would actually happen. Now you were laying underneath him, his lips grazing your neck, his cologne invading your nostrils.

“Yeah? Fuck yourself with your fingers trying to imagine they were my dick instead?” His voice was raspy and quiet in your ear. By now his body was resting fully against yours, pinning you to the floor. You could feel his boner pressed against your leg. His hand slid under the edge of your skirt making you shiver, his calloused fingers grazing the skin as they trailed up your leg.

“Someone might see us,” You whimper, glancing away from him and up and down the long, empty hallway you were in the middle of.

“You'd like that wouldn't you? Solid proof that you got to fuck me for real,” A moan slips out of your mouth just by his words alone. The feeling of his warm and heavy body pressing you to the cold, hard floor made you ache between your legs. His hand trails even further up your thigh reaching the band of your panties. His fingers slowly graze you through the fabric causing your hips to jerk.

“God you're already soaked princess, I can feel it through these little panties,” You bit your lip at the words he's whispering in your ear and the feeling of his fingers slowly rubbing you. His lips finally press against your neck making you let out a moan. He nips the skin gently, making sure to not leave any marks that would be visible. You moved your hands from the floor and placed them firmly against his chest, feeling his strong pecs through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You feel him smile against your neck as your hands wonder curiously over his chest, memorizing everything you can, hoping it isn't just a dream.

“I'm all yours, baby,” He whispers in your ear again while his finger slips your panties to the side to feel you further. You quietly whine, gripping his shirt as he slides one of his fingers into you. James hungrily connects his lips to yours, getting lost in the taste of you. His tongue pushes into your mouth, feeling every inch of you it can as it dances with yours. His finger slowly move in and out of your gummy walls, the wetness between your legs gradually increasing. He pulls his finger out, pushing two in, causing you to moan louder against his lips. You turn your head to the side, making his sloppy kisses stop.

“James please,” You cry out, his pace was painfully slow, making you beg for more. You didn't have to say anything else before he pulled his dripping fingers out of you and got to work on his belt. He unbuckled it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. You brought your hands up to your chest and unbuttoned your coffee stained shirt, exposing your breasts to him. Lucky for him you had forgotten to put a bra on with the rush of the morning. A groan slips from him as he watches you squeeze the soft flesh. He pushes his jeans down just enough for his cock to slip out, holding the thing like a trophy in his hands. He gives you a smirk as he watches you drool over his size. You wanted to curse him for being right, all those times you stared up at that poster, your legs spread, wishing it was his dick in you instead of your fingers. Now it was actually happening and you were too drunk on the taste of him to be nervous. He pushed your legs further apart and situated himself between them, his tip grazing your entrance.

“You ready for all your dirty little fantasies to come true,” He grins with a whisper, his face dangerously close to yours. He grips your hips tightly as he drives himself into your wet walls. You throw your head back, wanting to scream in pleasure but only a quiet moan escapes.

“Gonna have to be quiet unless you want an audience,” James grunts into your ear before biting the skin. He jerks his hips, the size of him stretching you more than you had ever been, almost splitting you in two. You clutch his shoulders tightly, trying to hold on as he starts pounding into you. His body had you pinned down, making it hard to move but you couldn't care less. You grab the collar of his shirt, quickly unbuttoning the top buttons as he continues to thrust into you. His necklace falls out of his shirt, dangling in your face. You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, connecting your lips with his exposed collarbone. He gladly lets you puppet him, groaning as you suck on the sensitive skin. He removes one of his hands from your hips before placing it above your head, supporting himself as he pushes deeper into your walls. You bite down harder, muffling your whines against his skin. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, your heels digging into the top of his ass.

“Mmmfuck.. Harder,” You moan, pulling him even closer. The cold metal from his necklace grazes against the exposed skin on your chest, making you shiver.

“I knew you'd be…fuck…dirty from the second I saw you,” He groans, pushing harder into you. His thrusts were deep enough you could feel him in your stomach. Everything in your body tingled, craving every bit of him.

“Thought you were being subtle, staring at me, but I knew this is what you wanted…wasn't it?” James leans down and kisses your breasts, biting your nipple harshly, making you squeal.

“Yeah…this is what..what I wanted,” James abruptly stops his movements and pulls out of you. You give him a puzzled look, having no time to react to him flipping you over with ease. He delivers a harsh smack against your ass, a moan slipping from your lips before he plunged himself into you again. Your hands grip at nothing against the floor as he pins your wrists together. His hips harshly smack against your ass, the sounds seeming to echo down the long empty hall. You weren't sure if you cared about anyone walking in on you anymore. He was right again, you'd like it if someone watched him fuck you like his life depended on it.

“Fucking hell,” He grits through his teeth. Your walls contract around him, drawing a groan from him. You could feel yourself getting close, the feeling of his thick cock, dragging against your tight walls at this angle was overwhelming. You didn't care if anyone heard your moans at this point, you were no longer holding back as his name spills from your mouth. Your sounds encourage him to push harder, his movements getting sloppy.

“I'm gonna cum,” You whine, the feeling washing over you, about to spill out. He grips you tighter, his cock twitching inside you.

“Yeah? Cum all over my cock, baby, do it,” His filthy words encourage you to let go. You swore it was the most intense orgasm you had ever had. You wanted to scream but nothing but a strangled whine came out. Your ears rang and your vision got blurry as you rode through your high, James hips still desperately snapping against your ass, chasing his own orgasm. His movements slowed as you felt his sticky cum coat your walls. He stayed inside you for a few seconds longer, pumping everything he could out of his cock before peeling himself out of you. Thick strands of his cum followed, getting on your legs and skirt, causing him to groan. He grabbed your panties that were only pushed to the side and snapped them back against your sensitive pussy, causing you to moan.

“They're probably looking for us,” James speaks, flipping you over onto your back. He keeps your legs wrapped around his waist, his eyes watching as his cum seeps out of you and soaks your panties.

“Mhmm.. probably,” You say quietly, your brain not able to think of much in your fucked out state. He grins at the sight of you, grabbing your arm and pulling a sharpie out of his pocket. He writes something on your arm before shoving the marker back into his pocket.

“Let's do this again sometime, yeah?” He leaves you with one last kiss, pinching your nipple, before shoving himself back into his pants and standing up, leaving you on the floor. You glance at your arm as he walks away, seeing his phone number sprawled across your forearm. You smile to yourself, wondering how the hell you got yourself into this situation, praying it wasn't just a dream.

✭-----------------------------✭

[nikkento-writes]

Toro! Toro!

We're waking up the people down the hall, you're a bull and I can't help but say, "Toro! Toro!"

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.3k

cw: canon universe, popstar!reader (stage name Luna Lux), all characters are 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – cunnilingus, blow job, vaginal fingering, nipple play, spit play, PIV sex – doggy, cowgirl, pet names, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie

Summary: Breaking news! International up-and-coming pop princess Luna Lux is causing quite the stir with her alleged boyfriend! Witnesses say the two were having loud sex well into the night until hotel staff had to take matters into their own hands. But who is this mystery fellow? Despite multiple accounts of being heard doing the deed behind closed doors, the pop star’s supposed boy toy continues to elude being seen by both the media and even her own manager! With his knack for disappearing into thin air, it sounds like this stud is a real sorcerer!

Author's Note: Completely and unabashedly based on the song “Toro” by Remi Wolf. This SCREAMS Aoi Todo to me. This was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Divider credit to the wonderful @/cafekitsune.

It’s past midnight by the time you and your manager make it back to your hotel room, exhausted from tonight’s rehearsals. With only a protein bar and a few handfuls of popcorn as your dinner, you’re desperate for a proper meal before calling it a day. “Can we please, please order room service?” you beg her, collapsing onto the bed, too tired to change out of your sweaty clothes. “I’m starving and I won’t be able to sleep unless I get some real food in me.”

Kina doesn’t respond, the room phone already up to her ear, ordering the usual. When she hangs up, she snaps at you to get up, crinkling her nose. “You stink.”

“Aw, thanks K. Always the sweetest,” you grin at her, rolling on your stomach to rest your chin on your hands, kicking your feet back and forth in the air. 

She rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance as she retrieves one of the bath robes in the closet for you, laying it on the nearest armchair. “After we eat, you should shower then go straight to bed. You need all your rest for tomorrow’s show.” 

Manager K is right; it’s the last show and probably the most important. After tomorrow, you can officially say you’ve completed your first tour. It hasn’t been an easy journey; years and years of practicing your craft at malls, local fairs, small stages in front of people who had no clue nor cared who you were. You’re finally here with your best friend slash manager right alongside with you. Not only that, you’ve amassed quite the following of fans who cherish you, so much that they’ve made your debut tour a massive success. You appreciate every single one of them. 

However, there is one that you are particularly fond of, and his name is Aoi Todo. 

Todo’s been to almost every show since the start of the tour, with the exception to a few he absolutely couldn’t attend due to work obligations. He’s been to all of your meet-and-greets and is the current president of your fan club online. Most of his wardrobe is merchandise with your face on it, always proudly wearing it like a badge of honor. He even keeps a locket with your picture in it, next to a photo of his brother, Yuji, which you surprisingly find very endearing. 

It just so happens that he’s also your boyfriend. Your very hot, massively ripped boyfriend. 

You met a little over two years ago, when you were opening for your good friend Nobuko Takada, famously known in Japan as Tall-Idol Takada-Chan. At the time, Todo was her biggest fan, so much so that he considered her his future wife. Somehow, someway, he found his new obsession in you. You’d normally tend to avoid fans like this, but Todo is different. He’s the exception. You find his presence comforting. Even when you mess up the lyrics to a song, experience bouts of stage fright, miss a step in your choreography, Todo always gazes at you with the brightest stars in his eyes, as if you’re the most talented, beautiful person he’s ever seen. He loves you with every fiber of his being, whether you’re on stage as Luna Lux the popstar or offstage as you. And you love him right back. 

That being said, his prowess in the bedroom is an added bonus. He knows all the ways to help you relax after an especially grueling day of practice and rehearsals. Just like tonight. 

You’ve become notorious now for sneaking your boyfriend into your room when you’ve been explicitly told not to, specifically by Kina. It’s not that she dislikes him; in fact, she hasn’t even met him yet. You and Todo decided from the start that your relationship would remain a secret to protect his identity. Being a highly ranked Jujutsu Sorcerer already comes with its own risks and adding an extra spotlight on him will only cause more stress. Besides, it’s quite fun seeing how far you can push against the boundaries until you’re actually caught.  

On the other hand, Manager K doesn’t find it fun at all. Her expression is somber, voice stern when she states your real name, talking to you directly and not to your pop persona Luna Lux. That’s when you know she means business. “Do not meet with your boyfriend tonight. Understand?”

You knew this was going to come up. Playing dumb, you respond, “What boyfriend?”

One of her eyes twitch, clearly fed up with your antics. “I’m serious.”

She stares you down until you give in, flipping over on your back and groaning. “Why not?!” you whine, purposefully being an annoying little shit. “You know I perform way better after a good fuck.”

Kina makes a face, disgusted by your vulgarity. “Gross. Seriously, though. There are reporters all over this hotel, on this very floor even. They would have a field day with this.”

“Yeah. If we’re caught,” you add. “Which won’t happen.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, smirking. “You do realize how close you’ve been, right? The two of you have been getting more and more reckless. It’s bound to happen soon.”

You raise a brow at her. “Sounds like you’re hoping for it.”

She eases up, sitting at the edge of the bed beside you. “I’m getting real tired of running around and doing damage control for you two horny freaks. And I’ll admit, I’m curious. What’s so great about this guy that you can’t reveal his identity, even to me?”

You sit up, smiling at her. “Kina, as much as I want to tell you about how amazing he is, I just can’t. Not yet at least. I want to protect him from this craziness for as long as possible. You just have to trust me for now, okay?”

Kina has your best interest at heart, you know that. She wants to make sure that this guy is really worth it, is not some crazed fan only interested in Luna Lux and not the real person behind the popstar. At the same time, she can’t force you to give up his anonymity. She knows better than anybody how insane the other fans will get once he becomes known. So, she has no other choice but to relent. “Fine. But please, for the love of god, can you just keep it in your pants until tomorrow night, after the show is over?”

You give her a sly grin, wrapping your arms around her in a big hug. “Whatever you say, Manager K.” She’s totally unaware that you’ve got both your fingers crossed. 

After the two of you scarf down a late dinner, Kina bids you goodnight, warning you once more not to do anything reckless, though you have no intentions of following through with that plan. As soon as she disappears down the hallway into her own room, you lock the door and send out a text to Todo:

The hawk has left the nest.

Setting down your phone on the nightstand, you strip completely out of your sweaty clothes, leaving you stark naked, except for the locket around your neck. You feel it, tracing the edges before unclasping, laying it neatly on the bed. Leaving the robe Kina laid out for you on the armchair, you head straight for the bathroom, door ajar, running the shower on hot. 

Even with the loud splash of the shower, you hear the faint Boogie Woogie clap from outside the bathroom, the exact one you’ve been looking forward to all week. Smiling to yourself, you continue to lather soap onto your body, letting the water stream down to rinse off the suds. The creak of the door grabs your attention and through the shower’s glass, you see Todo walk in, wrapped in the robe that barely fits him. When he catches your eye, he smirks and the butterflies in your belly flutter. “Hey there, handsome,” you greet him, your pussy already throbbing with arousal.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He steps towards the shower, stopping to admire you, wet and dripping. 

You open the door for him, giving him a better view. “You look good in my hotel robe.”

“Yeah?” He’s practically drooling over your naked form.

Beckoning him in, you reply, “Yeah. But you’d look even better without it.”

He chuckles, slipping out of it, completely naked underneath. You move to one side of the shower, making just enough room for him. Water splashes off his massive chest, down his bulging biceps, dripping off his huge cock sprung hard against his six-pack. God, how you love having this himbo as your boyfriend. He watches silently you as you rub him with the bar of soap, lathering him up, a good reason to get your hands all over him. “How’s my baby doing tonight?” you ask him, spreading the suds across his shoulders.

“Fine. A bit tired from work. Missed you like hell.” His eyes follow your fingers as you graze his nipples. He holds you by the hips, pulling you closer. “How was rehearsals?”

“Exhausting.” You set the bar of soap aside, smiling as your hands travel farther, past his navel. “Luckily, I have a super sexy boyfriend to help me relax.” 

You surround his cock, slick and slippery with suds on the shaft. He shudders from your touch, grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck,” he mutters, looking down between you, resting his forehead on yours. “I’m the lucky one. So fucking lucky.”

You tip your head up to meet his lips for a kiss, cupping his balls and stroking his cock. He moans into your mouth, his fingers squeezing at your ass, spreading your cheeks apart. You turn around, teasing his cock between your butt, craning your neck to keep kissing him while he rubs at your clit, water still drizzling over the two of you. So clean and yet so dirty all at once. 

He makes you come with his fingers, tapping and massaging your sensitive bud until you’re gushing for him. “You want my cock now, baby?” he asks, mouth hot on your ear, his erection throbbing against you. His other hand plays with your nipples, pinching them with the precise amount of pressure to have you mewling.

As much as you’d love to get fucked in the shower, there’s simply no room for that with Todo’s massive body taking up nearly the entire space. It’s better for the two of you to move this onto the bed. You face him, shutting the shower off, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Let’s do it on the bed. More room for us to get nasty.”

He grins, lifting you up and hoisting you over his shoulder easily. “Got it, boss.” 

You giggle, punching his back playfully as he wipes you with a towel. “You’re a brute, you know that?”

When it’s dry, he slaps your ass, staring at it in the mirror as it jiggles from the contact. “You love it.” And he’s right, you do.

He carries you all the way to the bed, tossing you onto the mattress. As soon as you’re spread out for him, he positions himself between your thighs, eating you out sloppily, slipping two fingers in your wet cunt. “Fuck!” you whine, already sensitive from your first orgasm. He doesn’t relent, pumping his digits in and out of you while he flicks his tongue on your swollen bud, sending you into your second climax of the night, body in total bliss now, still greedy for more. “Fuck me, Aoi. Please,” you beg him. “Need your cock.”

“Not yet,” he muffles, sucking hard on your clit, causing you to cry out louder in pleasure. “One more for me, baby. I know you can do it.” He adds a third finger inside you, bucking his hips into the bed, desperate for any type of friction against his rock-hard cock. The sound of his fingers squelching with each pump is obscene. He hums into your skin, the vibrations adding to the sensation, encouraging you to give him another, which you do. 

You’re practically a puddle in the sheets now, your entire body slack, ecstasy coursing through you. He can do whatever he wants to you. You’d yield to his every desire, so fucked-out and intoxicated for him. Legs spread even wider, you reach for your pussy, spreading your cum on your clit. “More,” you whimper, touching yourself. 

“You’re extra greedy today,” he teases, pulling out of you to suck on his cum-coated fingers. He hawks a frothy wad of spit on your cunt, watching you rub it into your clit.

“It’s been a long day, I deserve it.” You stare at his cock, the tip leaking with precum now. “Can I get a taste, too?”

He obliges enthusiastically, moving up the bed to straddle your face, your favorite way to take his cock. You lick your lips, using your free hand to stroke him, taking his balls in your mouth first. “Fuck,” he curses, gripping onto the headboard. 

You smile, enjoying the way he’s unraveling above you. After a little more teasing, you guide the tip into your mouth, sucking on it. He swears again, his eyes shut, the sensation too much for him. You eventually make your way down the rest of his cock, taking him deeper until you’re to the hilt. 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy drooling all over my cock like that.” He slowly fucks your mouth, your lips smacked to the base of his dick with each thrust, swallowing him all the way down to the back of your throat. Your eyes water as you resist the gag reflex, too eager to satisfy him like this. When you reach your limit, he pulls out of you, panting softly as you guzzle all the saliva pooling in your mouth. Once you catch your breath, you give him a smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip. 

“You are such a dirty fucking girl,” he growls, crawling back down to peppers soft kisses along your body. “Sucking my cock while you touch yourself. What a naughty slut you are.” He pauses at your pussy once again, spreading his tongue on your clit for one more taste. You grab onto his hair, not bothering to contain the moans pouring out of your mouth. 

“Flip over,” he mumbles, eyes hazy with lust and desire. You can tell by the tremble in his voice that’s he’s trying his best to control himself from going absolutely feral on you, which makes you want to bring it out of him even more. 

You obey his command, yelping when drags you to the end of the bed, legs hanging off the edge, feet planted on the soft carpet. His thumb teases your slit, soaked and slippery from all of the previous orgasms. Carefully, he guides himself inside you, gradually making his way until he’s all in. “Fuck,” he purrs, staying still until you’ve fully adjusted to his size. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

It's like electricity all over your body to finally have him inside you like this, to be so full of him. You twist your neck to get a glimpse of him and when he meets your gaze, he grins. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

You smile back at him, clenching the sheets to brace yourself for the ride. “Fuck me hard.” 

Unlike before, he’s rough now, pounding into you like his fucking life depends on it. “Oh god, right there! Right there, fuck!” you encourage him, not bothering to cover your mouth. You’re sure by now the neighbors can hear, but you don’t care. All you care about is Todo and his cock pummeling into you. 

Once you come in this position, he slows the pace, increasing the severity of each thrust, fucking you so hard that the bedframe slams against the wall every time he plummets into you. “You love taking it like this, don’t you?”

“Yes!” you cry out, choking on your own spit as it dribbles out your mouth. You hear your phone start ringing on the nightstand; you ignore it, too lost in euphoria to give a damn.

Before you know it, Todo changes positions again, laying himself out on the bed. “Ride me, sweetie. Ride this fucking cock. Fuck me too.”

Desperate to be full of him again, you hop on top of him, teasing your pussy along his shaft before sinking down. He grips your hips firmly, rocking you back and forth on his lap until you’re able to muster the strength to ride him. You swallow thickly, finally able to speak coherently. “You should change your name from Todo to Toro,” you joke, grinding yourself against him.

“Huh? Like fatty tuna?” he asks, sweat dripping off his forehead, his expression genuinely confused.

“Toro is a bull in Spanish,” you explain, grinning at him, gyrating your hips for a deeper angle. “And you, big boy, are most definitely a toro with the way you’re pounding into me.”

He laughs, tightening his grip, wanting to regain control. “It’s fine, you can call me that if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean down to kiss him as he wraps his arms around you, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you. The phone keeps ringing beside you, and even through your incessant cries of “Toro! Toro!”, you can hear the buzz of excited chatter on the other side of the door. It’s the reporters Kina warned you about, getting another juicy story for the tabloids.

Todo continues to fuck you like this, his own moans louder now as he approaches his orgasm. The room phone starts to chime too, the staff trying to get a hold of you after noise complaints, something you’ve gotten used to since being with your incredibly sexy and voracious boyfriend. Still, no matter how hard they try to catch you in the act, they never will. And that’s what makes this so much fun. 

When he comes, you kiss him sloppily, clenching around his cock to keep his load inside you. You hear a familiar voice amidst the chaos on the other side of the door. Manager K shouts, “Luna Lux! Open the door. Now!”

Todo looks spent below you, in complete bliss, unfazed by the ratchet going on outside. “I should probably leave, huh?”

“I guess you should,” you pout, nuzzling your nose to his. “I miss you already.” 

“I miss you too. I’ll see you again in a few minutes,” he reassures you, caressing your cheek tenderly. “When the coast is clear.”

There’s pounding on the door, upper management getting involved to give you a stern talking to. “You better hurry back.” You lean closer, grazing his ear with your lips. “I want you to fuck more of your cum inside me.” 

He sucks in a breath, squeezing your ass cheeks with his big hands. “Fuck, baby. I promise I won’t make you wait long. Keep it in until then, okay?”

You kiss each other passionately one last time before he claps behind your back. Like magic, he’s gone, the shiny locket replacing him on the bed. 

The door opens, getting caught on the chain, your manager yelling your name through the tiny crack. “I know he’s in there! There’s no escape! I finally caught you two!”

You put on the locket then quickly slide into a robe, checking your reflection briskly in the mirror. Not that there’s anything that can reverse the damage done at this point. Reluctantly, you go to the door to unlock the chain. Kina barges in, staving off all the reporters and staff from bombarding you with questions. She searches the room for Todo, checking each nook and cranny for any sign of him, but no luck. Finally, she faces you, expression awe-struck. “Where is…how did he…?”

“I told you.” You flash her an innocent smile, crossing your legs and fiddling with the locket around your neck, fondly thinking about Todo who’s just two floors below you. “You just have to trust me.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain. 

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside. 

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him. 

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already. 

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to. 

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you. 

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness. 

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

[sukunas-princess]

tell me what's behind those eyes!

NSFW 18+ content ahead. Minors, do not interact with me or my works.

notes from poppy: Unclean Vocalist Sukuna has been living in my head rent free since I started talking about him two months ago and I'm about to make that everyone else's problem.

content warnings: spit play, size difference, exhibitionism

Wanna read more about Unclean Vocalist Sukuna and his band Scarlet Sea? C'mon! You know you wanna!

UNCLEAN VOCALIST SUKUNA is incredibly secret about his private life, but even more so with what he's into sexually. Fans like to make educated guesses back and forth in their own DMs, but that's all they are at the end of the day. Guesses.

Lucky for you, I'm here to tell you all about what he's into.

SPIT PLAY

Sukuna being into spit play started as a joke. It was just an honest-to-god joke. But if Sukuna were to lay the blame with anyone, it would one hundred percent be Choso’s fault.

Because if Choso hadn’t been off somewhere else being a freelancing producer every so often, then Sukuna wouldn’t be forced to record demos with his mishmash of second-hand equipment he had collected over the years. He’d much rather be over at Choso’s, with his sound-treated bedroom studio and immaculate set-up, but the muse refused to shut up.

And you would figure after doing this for over ten years, Sukuna would know exactly what to do in Choso’s absence, but that’s where you’re wrong. While Sukuna’s the heart of the band, Choso’s the brain. Sukuna barely gets microphone placement, room treatment, blah blah blah – why even learn when Choso was always going to be there?

Choso wasn’t going to come back for a couple weeks this time though, and Sukuna needed to get some sort of vocal track down or he was going to fucking explode if the song idea didn’t leave his head.

That’s where you came in.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you were over here?” You had asked him that night, dutifully hovering over the record button for whenever he gave you the signal. But he just shook his head before facing his mic set-up in the corner of his bedroom and disappearing back under the blanket. It was hot as Satan’s asshole under it, but he’d do anything to dampen the outside noise and give Choso as clean a take as possible to work with.

Don’t even get him started on his fucking spit problem. He swears It’s almost like there’s a little army of droplets in his mouth that goes Okay, hold off, men! He’s about to record! Aaaaaand… NOW!

“Wait!!” You heard the massive blanket monster call to you.

“Now? Press it now?” You teased him.

The heavy blanket fell to the floor with a soft thud before Sukuna whipped around and squinted at you.

“Please be good. I’ve been tortured all week by this idea.” He begged you, and you giggled.

You watched on as he maneuvered a wastebasket over to him with his foot, and then spit deeply into it before disappearing back under the blanket.

And from over on the other side, even with the thick blanket muffling everything else from the outside world, he heard you as clear as day.

“God, I wish that were me.”

(He ended up having to do three takes, by the way, because the first two were trash. It was damn near impossible to remember the lyrics when your words kept rattling around in his head).

And it would’ve been fine, if the joke never left the house...

But then it left the house.

Any time he’d spit into the dirt – “God, I wish that were me”. Any time he’d spit in an alley after a show – “God, I wish that were me”.

And you swear on your fucking life, you didn’t do it on purpose in front of everyone, but Sukuna still thinks to this day you’re lying. Because the last straw for him was at a soundcheck, where, in front of all his band mates and some fucking strangers, he found a wastebasket to spit into, and you said, “God, I wish that were me.”

Yeah, it started as a joke, but not so much when you went home that night and shut the front door.

It wasn’t a joke anymore when you turned around and he swiftly pinned you up against the door, kissing you fiercely and leaving you breathless.

It wasn’t a joke anymore when he finally pulled away, his hand immediately reaching up and gripping your cheeks, squeezing your mouth open.

It wasn’t a joke anymore when he growled, “You want me to spit in your mouth? Mm? Is that what you want?”.

It wasn’t a joke anymore as you nodded, whimpering pathetically and opening your mouth as wide as you could.

How was he not supposed to indulge you when you looked so precious between his fingers like that?

SIZE DIFFERENCE

Honestly, nothing gets Sukuna harder than knowing he’s bigger and stronger than you. Nothing gets him going more than knowing he can just manhandle you and put you in any helpless position he wants to. Just a little fleshlight to him. The cutest little fleshlight to ever exist – your eyes all glazed over and your hands squeezing on to everywhere and anywhere on his body. You don’t need to do any work – no, all you need to do is be good and let him use you however he wants.

It was adorable to him the first time you tried to take him though. You insisted on getting on top, trying to be very logical about the situation – “That’s the only way it’s gonna fit”. He could get it to fit, you didn’t need to worry your pretty little head about that. But you looked so fucking determined to do it without any help, that he found it impossible to tell you no.

What followed was him trying not to laugh at how cute you looked, huffing and whining trying to get just the right angle, until your thighs finally ached enough and you gave up.

But oh, the look on your face when he held on to you tight and flipped you onto your back. How you whimpered after he gave you the softest of kisses.

And how your eyes grew wide as you felt him press against you and he murmured, “My turn.”

EXHIBITIONISM

Exhibitionism was always rooted there, deep down. He thinks it’s some psychological bullshit of wanting to be caught after years of having to be The Responsible One while looking after Yuji. He never got to take risks or do anything remotely scandalous, so he thinks his brain is making up for it now.

Or maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it isn’t that deep at all, and he just wants to fuck you in front of the other members to show them who you belong to.

Because he’s not stupid. He sees the way that some of them look at you. Choso at least as the common sense to not hit on you because of the best friend code he’s had with Sukuna for the past fifteen years. And Sukuna isn’t intimidated by Junpei, especially since he looks at Junpei as a little brother and a mentee. But Toji, Aoi, and Suguru are… a whole other monster.

While Suguru is much more methodical in his seduction – cheerfully listening to you talk about everything under the sun while also seeing how far he can push Sukuna’s buttons with flirty compliments for you – Aoi and Toji just like to show off. They like to brag to you about how much they can bench press, or how many one-handed push-ups they can do. The push-up contests usually end though with Sukuna walking over and shoving his foot into one of their sides, and one colliding into the other so the competition ends in a draw (and Sukuna being very touchy for the rest of practice).

And while Sukuna swears to god he isn’t jealous, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t occasionally go to bed with a certain little scenario to send him off to sleep.

The scenario of those three sitting across from you and him, their hands pathetically stroking their cocks because all they can do is just watch him fucking you into next week. Just watch as Sukuna tells you to keep your eyes on him and only him. All they can do is just watch as you tremble against him, being so pliant in his large, calloused hands and watch his cock stretch you past your limits.

All they can do is watch until they come all over their hands, groaning deeply, wishing that they could have filled you up inside.

[genericpuff]

I really enjoyed seeing your last post!!! It reminded me of something else that I noticed when I was younger and not really seeing LO through the eyes I am now- even when I lived LO, I noticed that Minthe’s bust size.. Might’ve changed? (I could be remembering wrong, and I’m sorry if I am!) I didn’t think on it too much back then, but it felt a lot like the “she could never measure up to Persephone”, or the “she’s nothing to worry about when it comes to Persephone”!!

But then, when Minthe was supposed to be more of a “problem,” I noticed she’d get drawn with a larger bust- or at least larger than it had been back in the earliest episodes!

This could all make absolutely no sense, (and I apologize for just rambling in your askbox!), but I watching a character’s “worthiness” be portrayed through something as simple and neutral as their chest size stuck out to me then, and sticks out to me now!! 😓)

Oh don't apologize, you're literally pointing out exactly the things we've even talked about in the ULO community !

Literally here she is in S1:

And we even get a scene of her smooshing her boobs together in Episode 35 in an effort to make them seem bigger because she legit feels like Hades is pursuing the "new hotness" in the office based around their physical appearances:

But then she conveniently goes up like 3 cup sizes when it's time for her to be cemented as the villain and suffer her fate by getting turned into a plant?

I've literally seen fans grasp at straws to explain that maybe she got a boob job but then they don't realize that the story at this point has only been going on for like, 3-4 weeks at most. At best you shouldn't have to make those massive leaps to explain the inconsistent character body types. If Minthe really did get a boob job, don't you think that's something that should have been explained in the comic?

And let's be real, we all know what it's really about because it's just more of Rachel pitting women against women:

What's wild though is that Rachel is vastly misinterpreting a classic image here:

A lot of people look at that image of Jayne Mansfield and Sophia Loren and just immediately assume that Sophia is giving Jayne the stink eye over her outfit. And of course, we see this misinterpretation in Rachel's drawing that swaps Sophia and Jayne with Minthe and Persephone.

When in FACT what was actually going on was that Sophia spotted Jayne getting dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction / nip slip and the camera just happened to catch her making a face that could be misinterpreted as slut-shaming.

"Yes, Paramount had organized a party for me. All of cinema was there, it was incredible. And then comes in Jayne Mansfield, the last one to come. For me, that was when it got amazing. She came right for my table. She knew everyone was watching. She sat down. And now, she was barely… Listen. Look at the picture. Where are my eyes? I'm staring at her nipples because I am afraid they are about to come onto my plate. In my face you can see the fear. I'm so frightened that everything in her dress is going to blow—BOOM!—and spill all over the table."

Ans Sophia has actually stated that she doesn't like those misinterpretations and is trying to actively distance herself from it.

"Actually, many, many times I am given this photo to autograph it. And I never do. I don't want to have anything to do with that. And also out of respect for Jayne Mansfield because she's not with us anymore."

Jayne died in 1967, only living for about 30 years, and Sophia herself is actually still around. I can imagine how disheartening it is to see people still misinterpreting a photo of two friends and colleagues especially when it's through the lens of slut-shaming an accomplished actress who is unfortunately no longer with us.

Sooo yeah all that said, I'm less inclined to believe it was Minthe getting a boob job and more inclined to believe it was more of Rachel's weird internalized misogyny picking and choosing which women are "sluts" and which ones are "victims" for dressing or being built a certain way. It's really gross when you start to notice it.

People have also pointed out how odd it is that every single character who gets into a relationship or is in a relationship by S3 seemingly morphs into copies of Hades and Persephone, which is really just more of a testament to how lazy Rachel is in her character designs. In her head she's just trying Hades and Persephone all the time but different colors, I imagine at this point the H x P relationship is the only thing that she's interested in writing/drawing about (and even that's arguably hanging on by a thread because she couldn't even let their long-awaited wedding scene have real room to breathe) so it's almost like she's defaulting to just zoning out and drawing nothing but H x P and then having her assistants color them differently based on who it's actually supposed to be.

But I digress. The body shaming and slut shaming is definitely hard-baked into LO and how it portrays its characters. Despite Rachel having written an actual comic portraying sexism in the past, she still can't seem to express her ideas around sexism, to the point of, again, saying she "didn't know sexism was that bad" until she worked on LO. Like, girl... you drew a comic about sexism before LO, what are you talking about? Is this more of you not wanting to acknowledge ANY of the work you did prior to LO, or are you telling me you didn't intend for those older works to be interpreted as sexism???

"I feel like female characters in general, people will be a little harsher on them and sometimes way harsher on them, and I used to be like.. before I started writing the story and like making a story I was like yeah, sexism is not that bad, and [now] I was like oh it's bad. It's quite bad [laughs], so like, I don't know, I feel like the female characters in the story don't get so much of a pass. But this isn't consistent across the board, it's not all the time." - Rachel Smythe, Girl Wonder Podcast circa 2022

[always-andromeda]

⋆⁺. ❅ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ❅ .⁺⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ With Sarah away for the holidays for the first time ever, Joel is stuck without a single clue as to what to do for Christmas. That is when you decide to show him the most wonderful time of all. ♡

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Jana (@janaispunk)!! I'm your Secret Santa!! I really liked your prompts, so I ended up going with a little bit of almost all of them. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write some absolute tooth rotting fluff and hopefully you enjoy some of the creative liberties I took!! I am a massive fan of your writing so I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy this little piece!! Happy Holidays!! (divider credits go to @saradika-graphics)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ absolute fluff, bits of angst (Joel misses his daughter and has a hard time adjusting ;-;), no actual smut but there are a few suggestive moments (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no outbreak universe, mentions of Sarah sprinkled throughout but no mentions of Ellie whatsoever, mentions of alcohol consumption, non-religious celebration of Christmas, overall it's a decent helping of fluff with Joel learning to enjoy the holidays in a new way.

Sarah wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

When she had first called to deliver the news, Joel hadn’t known how to reply. He gave a curt affirmation and listened to go on about Christopher and everything pertaining to him. Christopher’s sister was going to take her shopping. Christopher’s parents owned horses. Christopher was going to take her to see a production of A Christmas Carol after having dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher.

The protective father in him was glad. Hell, he was overjoyed that she’d managed to find a guy who was so good to her. But the lonely, single father in him was…deflated.

For two decades she’d been home for the holidays. Year by year, no matter what changed, she was the one constant. There she was, dragging him off the couch to make cookies – because no matter how old she got, Sarah always insisted upon leaving some out for Santa. They’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate and for that moment in time…everything was wonderful. It didn’t matter how the business was doing or what kind of trouble Tommy had gotten himself into. Joel had his little girl. And for the longest time, he told himself that that was all he needed.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Work kept him busy enough. He took pride in being one of the few contractors in town who’d take work with the holidays looming so closely. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the celebration forever. Especially when you started questioning, “What are we doing this year?”

For the last two years you’d joined him and Sarah on their yearly tradition: takeout and Christmas movies. It had been the time of his life, spending Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and waking up to you beside him on Christmas morning while Sarah made cinnamon rolls. And before Christopher came into the picture, he could’ve replayed that Christmas over and over again and he never would’ve gotten sick of it.

The first time you asked about plans, he evaded it, giving some vague excuse about not knowing what his schedule was going to look like.

The days flew by and your tone grew more impatient until one day, while you sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your question turned into, “Joel, what’s going on?”

He’d just pulled into his driveway. If he wanted, he could dodge the question again. He could get out of the truck and slam the door behind him, putting an end to the conflict before it even had the chance to begin.

Then he risked a glance at you. Already, your brow was furrowing in frustration. A solid pang of guilt thumped heavily in his chest. He really couldn’t afford to avoid this one.

“I just–” he hesitated, not knowing how to word it; not wanting to embarrass himself. “Usually Sarah would be home and–”

“Oh…” you trailed off, obviously detected.

Joel quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’m just used to her bein’ here.” You still wouldn’t meet his eye. He softened his tone before carefully taking your hand in his. “Listen, darlin’, it’s not that I don’t wanna spend the holidays with you. Believe me, I do. It’s just that I haven’t had a holiday without that girl in so long. I ain’t even sure what I’m supposta’ do.”

You nodded solemnly, voice quiet but rigid as you replied, “I get that.”

Joel sighed. “I raised that girl for her entire life. Every year I had to figure out what a girl her age might want for Christmas. An’ every single year she’d get all excited waitin’’ for Christmas mornin’. Gettin’ to see that girl smile as she opened up her presents…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Finally, you spared him a look as he stared off into space, his eyes getting a tad misty from the memories.

He met your gaze, smiled wistfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I just miss my little girl. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed to put on a smile with pursed lips. Even if you didn’t understand exactly how he felt, he was grateful for the compassion. If he had told Tommy or one of the guys on his crew…hell, he didn’t think he’d have been able to express it in the first place.

But they wouldn’t have accepted those emotions like that. Tommy especially probably would’ve offered to take him out for a few drinks later to forget about it all. And sometimes Joel didn’t mind that. But something told him that this wasn’t something Joel could just drink to forget about.

You continued suddenly, “How would you feel if I came up with some activities for just the two of us? Every day this week leading up to Christmas, we’ll do one thing. And you can opt out on whatever days you want if you have something else in mind. Let’s just have a quiet, gentle Christmas, okay?”

Sarah was only going to get older. And if things with Christopher went well enough…there were going to plenty of Christmases without her to come. Joel had to accept that sooner rather than later.

And that was how the so-called Wonderful Week began.

Day one was simple enough, or so it seemed.

In all of his grief, Joel hadn’t really thought to put up the Christmas tree. After all, that was something he usually did with Sarah. And he’d done a pretty damn good job at avoiding anything relating to her for the first half of December. But if there was any hallmark of the season, a tree was most definitely the big one.

So he wasn’t incredibly surprised when he came home from work to see a massive box sitting in his living room.

“Hey, what’s this box for?” he called out in the house as he set his keys down in the dish beside the front door.

You emerged from the kitchen, smiling ear to ear, two whiskey glasses filled with a milky substance in your hands.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey?” Joel cocked an eyebrow, noticing the bright red Santa hat on your head. “What the hell do we have here?”

That only seemed to make you smile wider. Your eyes lit up as you walked across the living room and handed him one of the whiskey glasses. “What we have…is a brand new Christmas tree,” you answered proudly, pausing and waiting for his reaction.

Joel only squinted before stating, “I still got a perfectly good tree in the garage that you coulda’ dragged out.”

“Perfectly good?”

“Perfectly good,” he affirmed.

“Joel, remember when we put that thing up last year? Almost all of the lights were completely burnt out. Remember how we had to go buy a separate string of lights? And remember how much you hated putting them on and taking them off? You’ve had that old thing since–”

“Since Sarah was little,” he answered curtly.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Your smile turned sheepish and Joel could practically see the gears turning in your mind, wondering if you’d stepped over the line. 

Joel shot another hard glance at the box that sat smack dab in the middle of his living room. It seemed to challenge him. Was he really going to get this hung up over an old tree? Or was he going to take this opportunity in stride?

He looked back at you. You and your little Santa hat with the white puff ball at the end resting elegantly on your shoulder. Then there were your hands, nervously fiddling with the smooth edges of your whiskey glass. His gaze swept up to your hope-filled eyes that were awkwardly searching him for some sign of tension. He couldn’t be upset at any of that. You were only trying to cheer him up. What kind of Grinch would he be to get upset with a creature as gorgeous and lovely as you?

With a deep breath, Joel spoke, “Well. If we’re gonna put this thing together tonight…might as well get started, I suppose.”

At that, your whole being seemed to practically glow. You set your drink down on the coffee table before making your way to the box to cut at the tape holding it closed.

Joel took a swig of his drink. Egg-nog spiked with something. Another sip made him realize it was Kahlúa. He snickered and shook his head.

That was another little thing you’d gotten him into. Joe was firmly a hard liquor sort of guy until you insisted that if he liked plain coffee, he should at least try coffee liqueur. Sure enough, he liked it. Most of the time you were right about stuff like this. And here you were doing it all over again with this silly tree.

Before too long, you’d both lifted each section of the tree from its cardboard confines and nestled them on top of each other before locking them into place. Joel normally hated fluffing out the tree, and it certainly wasn’t made any better considering it was fresh out of the box. But the liqueur and the Christmas music you’d turned on and had softly playing in the background added a little ease to the task.

The best part was definitely adding the ornaments. Thankfully, you’d stuck with the old box of ornaments that he’d kept beside the old tree in the garage. For a moment he was grateful you hadn’t gone as far as getting brand new ornaments too.

He liked the old ones ten times more than he liked the old tree.

Of course there were random filler baubles in various shades of red, green, silver, and gold. But the ones that got to him were the handmade ones. Some of those went back thirty or even forty years. He pulled out a flat clay sculpture of a dog painted in blue that had faded significantly over the decades. Joel ran his finger over the words on the back.

Thomas Miller, 1980

Tommy had only been seven years old. His art teacher had just fired all of the ceramic ornaments the kids made before going off for winter break. Joel only vaguely remembered the day his little brother came home with that ornament in hand. But he remembered all too well how every year since he’d hit adulthood his brother would take a little glance at the little sculpture and proclaim that it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever made with his own two hands.

“Because I made it for my big brother,” he’d say in a faux sentimental tone. But underneath the machismo and the teasing, Joel knew that it really did mean a great deal to Tommy. Which was why he was still hanging it up thirty years later.

However, the next one made him stop in his tracks. Joel carefully pulled the ornament out from under a layer of bubble wrap. Though it was also made by Tommy, 

Sarah’s first Christmas hadn’t been the easiest. Her mother had just left and money was tight. Joel had been taking every job he possibly could to scrape together money for rent and the necessities. Tommy was still in high school and had his own life to live, yet he always offered to babysit Sarah after he got out of class.

That year, Joel hadn’t had the time to worry about the holidays. Little did he know that Tommy had been saving up since Halloween to get a little tree and some cheap plastic ornaments. But the cherry on top of it all was the one other ornament that Tommy made.

It was a small circle of clay, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Right in the center was a little footprint. Words carved into the clay underneath it said: Sarah’s First Christmas, 1988.

Joel could picture it then, fifteen year old Tommy carefully pressing his niece’s foot into the clay before rewarding her with Cheerios. That period of time forged them into something greater than brothers, Joel thinks. It made them Sarah’s protectors. The ones who would always make sure she was taken care of. And no matter how old she got, that would always be true.

Right as tears started welling in his eyes from the memory, he felt your hand brush his shoulder. “You alright, Joel?” you spoke softly.

“Look at this one,” he answered hoarsely before showing you the ornament.

To his delight, you smiled tenderly and asked, “Where did that come from?”

Much of the night went that way with Joel telling stories about the various ornaments that were in his box and you telling stories about the ones that were in yours. After another drink, he found himself loosening up even more.

The two years prior hadn’t exactly been like this. Both of those Christmases happened before you’d moved in. Back then you were merely observing his and Sarah’s celebrations. This year was different though. This time…you and him were making up your own celebrations.

In the days following, Joel found himself looking forward to whatever you had planned. It was a relief to know at the end of a long day, he’d get to come home to you waiting with some new trick up your sleeve.

Day two immediately presented a challenge in the form of two gingerbread house kits. Because, you argued, who better to construct a gingerbread house than a contractor? Joel couldn’t help but snicker and roll his eyes when you pulled out a level and the tape measure from his tool kit.

“Think you got this wall straight, Miller?” you joked, holding the level up to the solid cookie wall. 

“You’re funny.”

“Just making sure everything is all even,” you shrugged. “One would hope that the big fancy contractor would care that his gingerbread house was up to code.”

Day three was a bit of an unexpected one. You finally got him to load up the boxes of old clothing and other odds and ends that had been gathering dust in his garage for far too long. Joel kept telling himself he’d donate them some weekend but continually forgot. So of course you were the one to remind him by remarking how important it was to give a little for the holidays.

It was a little bittersweet, especially since a good chunk of it was stuff Sarah had gotten rid of before moving out for college. Joel was all too aware that there was a small part of him that feared that the second he gave it all away, his daughter would definitely be calling him up just begging to have that butterfly tank top she wore in fifth grade back. But he also knew that that probably wasn’t going to happen.

So bye-bye went the dusty boxes of hand-me-downs, off to homes that could appreciate them again.

Day four brought popcorn garlands. He opted out of spiked drink for that one, knowing that he needed a steady hand if he was going to be able to thread delicate little pieces of popcorn onto some string. However, with his thick fingers, he still managed to poke himself with the crafting needle.

And really, making the garland was soon forgotten by the dozenth time you grabbed his injured hand to kiss it better. Joel really didn’t need any sort of alcohol in his system to start feeling lightheaded before pulling you into his lap for a bruising kiss.

By the end of the night, both of your garlands were only long enough to hang in a single doorway. But that was just fine with Joel.

Day five was Christmas Eve. Another night where he was sure you had something big planned – he later learned that you originally wanted to make Christmas cookies. But Joel was never any good with the whole cooking and baking thing. And tonight seemed as good of a night as any to take a load off.

“What will Santa eat when he comes down the chimney?” you protested in a teasing tone.

Joel scoffed, “Santa can starve for all I care. Tonight, I want to settle down and relax with my lady.”

“Lady,” you rolled your eyes. “Who are you calling lady?”

“You, Little Miss Christmas. Now go put your pajamas on. We’re gonna have a nice night in and you’re gonna like it.”

You laughed one deep laugh from your belly and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The next time you showed your face downstairs, Joel had planted himself firmly on the carpet with a box of old photos.

“Whatcha’ got there?” you asked as you folded your legs and settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Joel glanced over, catching the tail end of a wide eyed expression on your face as you peeked over his shoulder. 

“What’s that look for?” he chuckled.

Joel tilted the photo in your direction. It was a picture of you and him from the year prior; the second Christmas you spent with him. You were ice skating, Joel standing firmly behind you, one hand placed firmly on your hip and the other wrapped around you, keeping you from completely falling over.

“I didn’t know you got a picture from that night,” you mumbled.

“Oh,” Joel set the photo down and picked up a small, leather bound album from the box in front of him. “Sarah took a whole buncha’ pictures that night. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Really?”

Joel didn’t miss the sentimentality in your tone. He himself had almost forgotten that Sarah had brought her camera along that year. She’d taken a photography class during her freshman year of college; so it was practically attached to her almost every time she came home that semester.

She’d surprised him with the album a few months afterwards, raving about how adorable you and him had looked the entire night. I’ve never seen you get so sappy about a woman before, she’d teased him before adding, but it’s kinda cute, ya know?

Joel had brushed it off then, putting it with the rest of his old family photos. But over time it quickly began to mean something more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled that little book out and flipped through the photos. And now, for the first time you were looking at them with him.

“Really,” he asserted. “You look real pretty in all of ‘em.”

And God, did he mean it. On the next page was one of you wearing this red, satin number at a dinner party. He could easily remember the way that the material practically flowed down your curves like water. And he remembers the way his attraction for you pooled heavily in his belly and the way he had to make himself stay cool until he could get you home and get that outfit off of you himself.

The shot right next to that one was from the same dinner party. Joel had a can of whipped cream in one hand and a dollop of the stuff in the other. And there you were, attempting to lick at the smear of whipped cream on your nose.

He showed you the album and you grimaced before smiling sheepishly, “God, I can’t believe Sarah got that moment.”

God, that smile, Joel thought to himself. He could never get tired of that smile.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “I’m glad she did. I tell ya’, that girl can really capture the beauty in a moment.”

You started to speak, “You say beauty…I say–”

“Beauty,” Joel repeated. “You’re beautiful. And that’s that.”

You were quiet for a few seconds as Joel continued to flip through the album. The more little moments he remembered from the year before, the more gratitude welled up in his chest. And before he could really control it, his mouth was moving.

“You know I’m glad I get to spend time with you, right?”

“Oh, that’s good. After last night I was sure that you were just sick of me,” you quipped.

“I mean it,” Joel said with a playful nudge at your side. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’m old and I’m ornery and I’m probably a real pain in the neck sometimes. And the fact that you’re willin’ to put up with a pain in the neck like me…especially around this time a’ year…it means a lot. Everything you’ve done this week…all for me? I’m grateful, darlin’.”

Your expression faltered and you batted your eyelashes, gaze fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I just like taking care of you. I like making you happy,” you murmured.

Joel turned his head and leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

“Good thing you always make me happy, darlin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

As he pressed a kiss against your lips, his hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you into his arms. The little photo album dropped between his legs and was soon forgotten, the same way a lot of his worries for the holidays had as soon as you came in.

At that moment…he didn’t think about Sarah. Didn’t think about her never spending another holiday in his home again. She'd come back home at some point, just like his worries probably would; he’d always worry about his little girl. Though he wouldn’t forget the years of memories he’d had before you, he wouldn’t let himself dwell on them for so long that he forgot about you. Your presence was more than enough of a present for him.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

ways journalists have really described alex turner and miles kane:

"Wearing matching outfits, gazing into each other's eyes, talking about their instant connection… Alex and Miles' claims that they wrote the Shadow Puppets' album about 'a girl' weren't fooling anyone. Quite simply Alex and Miles are hopelessly, madly, enviably in love with each other. Please lads, just be true to yourselves, embrace your feelings, and have a massive snog - we can't bear the tension any more."    - NME

“If there’s one sexual dynamic at work tonight at the Usher Hall, it’s homoeroticism. The Last Brokeback Mountaineers are a camp pair of strutting cocks, to be sure.”  - The Wee Review

"Speaking to them together feels like interrupting a conversation that's been going on since 2005." - NME

“Looking over at his manspreading counterpart, Kane gleefully points at Turner’s exposed bulge. Not wanting to be rude, I look away.” - SPIN

“Watching them finish each others’ sentences, agonise over their answers to how well they know each other and embrace when it’s time to leave... well, you’d need a heart made of Hoosiers CDs not to find it incredibly sickly sweet.” - NME

“Alex Turner and Miles Kane turn towards each other with fond looks when we suggest they’re best friends. Like doodle in each other’s notebooks BFF status. After spending 15 minutes with them though, we’re pretty convinced they’re going to grow old together in matching tracksuits.” - Sidewalk Hustle

“Miles Kane looks like he’s gagging for a great big man-hug (and maybe more...) off his buddy. These two have spent overly long admiring themselves and each other.” -  The Wee Review

“As soon as I decide to just get started without Kane, Turner accidentally Facetimes him from his pocket, and the two erupt into a fit of giggles, our conversation veering off course for the third time in as many minutes.” - Consequence

“While Turner stares on the ground during his answers, Kane watches him like a lovestruck teenager from the side.” - Musikexpress

“Say this for Lennon and McCartney, or Plant and Page: they never had their own romantic rock ‘n’ roll portmanteau. But “Milex”—Miles Kane and Alex Turner, for the uninitiated—have just that enviable kind of bromance. The two even moved to Los Angeles in tandem a few years ago. No wonder multiple “Milex” pages have cropped up on Tumblr, breathlessly re-posting the duo’s every embrace and droll quip; there is fan fiction, too, the kind that would make a coal miner blush.” - Interview Magazine

'"Alex Turner is like a princess in need of his prince Miles's assistance to get down from a tower." - Dutch Review

"You'd be forgiven for barely noticing anything beyond the front of the stage, though. Like a pair of teenagers egging each other on, Turner and Kane are the most infatuated frontmen since the Pete Doherty and Carl Barat." - Hot Press

"If Miles Kane had a 'hard on' for being a front-man before The Last Shadow Puppets, he's grabbed the opportunity Turner's patronage presented him with both hands. So to speak." - Q Magazine

"The feeling is contagious too, as though we're looking in on star-crossed lovers finally reunited." - Hot Press

[freckliedan]

wait i’m loving this can you elaborate more on the moon card for dan and death card for phil? and what your interpretation is?

i agree that they’ll need a little post tour break but that it’ll be more definitive, like ‘hey we’re going to take 4-6 weeks to chill so don’t expect anything��� kind of thing.

i mean phil's very clearly heading in that direction; death is about massive amounts of change. phil very clearly wasn't going to have a crazy girl era at the same time as dan, like?

in a long term relationship sometimes overlapping bad days are unavoidable but often you can like. take turns having a truly "i'm figuring out who i am and being insane and trying new things and processing some stuff for a while" era.

and i think dan and phil's relationship is healthy, but that phil also put a lot on hold for years that he didn't even realize he wasn't processing. but it froze him up. and dan had his crazy girl era first after they came out because it was still a part of his necessary journey yknow? and until touring WAD dan still hadn't fully self-actualized as an individual outside of the context of his relationship with phil.

so now it's phil's turn to reinvent/rediscover himself. to go crazy ahh go stupid. and we've been seeing the slow build of that, the phlonde is a MASSIVE early piece of it, but like. 2025. mark my words. will be for the fucking phillies.

the moon as dan's tarot card of 2025 goes CRAZY. btw. it's about emotions/dreams/intuition/anxieties+fears/possibilities and discerning what is true for you when things are unclear; it's very much so a card related to one's inner world and how connected they are to it.

and the moon can be very directly connected to femininity.

dan howell. gender is coming for you bad.

i do not think the moon will be an easy card for dan to integrate the learning from? considering the way he overthinks. but i'm also completely unsurprised that tour is going to contribute to something like this? i was already kind of anticipating the possibility but it wasn't something i was willing to Predict (tm) before.

but like. it matches the pattern. tour means interfacing with a lot of fans and we know that interactive introverts had a massive impact on dan's processing and readiness to share about his sexuality. so many of us are very gendery now and dan's been talking a lot about gender in the last year.

and now he's going to get whammied by the fucking moon. >:)

whatever. anyways. phil's gonna blow everyone's dicks plumb off with never before seen confidence and hotness and dan's getting a new gender. as far as i can tell.

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello amazing fandom :) I have been itching for this ep since the moment D sent me the ep description for it. I'm glad they didn't spoil much of this ep at all. I have a lot of feelings for this one so might be so mini LOL Off we go.

6x05 The Vow

Oh my lord starting out hot with a romantic dinner and a kiss. Also want to talk about they both light up when they see each other. Like they're still in that honeymoon phase somewhat. They’re both so happy to see each other I wanna die. haha Lucy of course has to question the gift. Saying gift giving is not his love language. Damn they cute. Tim saying he is trying to change things up. I’m squeeing and we’re like less than a minute in everyone.

Damnit he’s so romantic with what the gift is. It’s her radio from last week. Oh my word. Lucy is in awe of this man standing before her. Oh my goodness we get a second kiss I’m squeeing so hard. *screams into a pillow* A thank you kiss no less. Loving how he has his hand wrapped around her arm. Pulling her in close for both misses. You know I should've known this ep was going to hurt with getting two kisses within the span of 3 minutes and a cute ass moment to boot.

Like in a video game where they let you stumble upon a bunch of ammo right before a massive fight scene. You know shit is about to go down with them supplying you like that. How I felt with getting cuteness and two kisses right away. I am so excited Tamara has appeared. Wouldn’t be the return of her if she didn’t cock block them. Tim shaking his head too. Classic. Lucy telling her it’s ok. Also LOVING that they have a pre-planned date night. Be still my heart.

Tim gets his cryptic ass phone call and immediately takes off. Lucy looks crushed for a couple reasons. First that he can’t stay. She was clearly looking forward to a night with her man all day. Second the fact he's so short with her. Breaking my heart 'Just wait.' Her Tim radar is going OFFFF Lucy looks SHOOK with his hasty departure. Her heart just walked out the door and it shows.

Oh my word I knew It would be from his military past. The blind spot for the most part we have with his character. I was hoping it would be. The Tim fan girl in me is psyched af. I was thinking who is this Ray and why is Tim so spooked? Then we find out this dude killed their friends and there’s a promise.... Uhhhh the promise is to kill him? Uh Timothy, my love you are a cop….

Oh Lucy is anxious af without him. Ugh she knows something is wrong immediately. Knows this man too damn well. Side tangent about to start. I know some people complained how long it took for them to get together blah blah. BUT I wasn’t. These moments right here are exactly why.

The fact that the very second he took that call she knew deep in her gut something was wrong with him. That is not a connection you get with someone overnight. That is years worth of working together, leaning on each other, learning about one another and seeing each other through a lot of things together. That connection and instinct on someone is built over time.

The beautiful recipe they have now wasn’t ready till we got close to it in s4 and even then they still had some tweaking to do before we reached S5. That being said I love her missing him. My guess is other than 6x01 they’ve scarcely spent a night apart. Also her Tim radar is going bonkers right now. She looks so sick to her stomach when she hangs up.

Tim seeing Lucy’s call going off and not being able to answer. It's clearly killing him. We see him take a beat and a deep breath. Clearly doesn’t want to be here rather be there with her. Last thing he wanted was his date night interrupted. Also she is his ‘go to’ for pretty much everything. You know its actively tearing him up to not answer her.

Oh my he was called the 'Reaper'? Holy hell why is that so attractive? Everything with Tim usually is. But hot damn that being his nickname in the service? I am fanning myself. Idk if that's wrong but I am haha But it does give us insight to who he was in the service tbh. You don't get called 'The Reaper.' without good reason.... Why Greer thinks Tim is going soft on him.

I do love Tim reinforcing the law also very attractive oh my goodness. You tell ‘em love. I don’t love this guy guilting Tim into keeping this pact. He’s SOOOOO loyal he’s gonna keep to it. Even at his own detriment. The man shoulders SO MUCH he already doesn't need to. Ugh Tim saying they’ve built lives. Yes you have. With Lucy. The love of your life you walked away from tonight to be here right now. After this chat I knew this ep was going to hurt so good. I could feel it.

The jokes in the car are cute was hoping he’d ask Tim about Lucy. Sadly we didn't' get this. This whole situation makes me nervous af. God Tim looks extra fine in this episode street clothes on him are a wonder. A delicious one.

My god this list of crimes this guy has done sweet lord. Stole money. Called in an air strike on his own men when they came for him holy shit …Wasn't enough to bury in a shoe box.....fuck they both lied to get Ray’s wife and kid death benefits and if they bring him in it’s a problem.

Crap this is so bad Tim... Saying they’ll get fired from their current jobs and be dishonorably discharged from the service. I’m nervous…this isn’t a good situation. Also not surprised in the least he broke the rules to take care of someone. That empathy of his ran deep before it got buried by his Isabel trauma later on.

First off let me say Eric KILLED ME in this scene. I was tearing up at how tore up he is about all of this. Tim wanting to take the fall.... Damnit Timothy you have a life too. Don't fall on your sword my god imma cry. Tim’s integrity is one of his sexiest traits IMO. I too have a deep sense of integrity drives everyone I work with insane. He’s in tears saying he would arrest him. Oh my word. I'm crying again. Eric killing me softly holy hell. I'm so mad at Greer for putting that on him. I had a bad feeling about Greer the minute he guilted Tim into this side OP.

How dare you put that on my Tim. He already has so much on his soul. A chunk of it not even his fault. The man is a deeper empath than he gets credit for. He absorbs the feelings and pain of those around him and shoulders things he doesn't need to. I'm learning in therapy I do the same thing. My therapist told me one thing to be empathetic. It's another to feel responsible for other's feelings or the outcome of actions I've taken and how it affects others. I feel like Tim is the same way. He's such an empath he's taken that responsibility to the extreme and is carrying things he doesn't need to be.

I wanna hug him oh my god. His sigh when Greer left. My heart. I'm sure part of the reason he's hiding this from Lucy is the shame he feels. This man (Ray) stole half a million from the government then bombed his own people on his watch. Tim breaks the rules to make sure his widow and child are taken care of and its bites him in this ass. There is a reason he was/is so damn rigid as a cop. 'Rules matter boot.' His PTSD in a line. Anytime he has let his guard down and skirted the rules people have been injured (Mitch) or in this case killed. Ugh. My poor boy. The hitch in his breath like he couldn't breath that entire convo. I'm hurting so much for him in this episode.

Poor Lucy kept it together at work but lost it when he finally gets home. That look of hope when he walks through the door then instant anger. ‘Telling me you’re alive is not optional.’ Ugh she’s not wrong....I can only imagine what her anxiety was doing to her until he walked through that door. It's shown in her lines above. Her imagining him bleeding out somewhere.

She is not wrong it wasn't ok he didn't even tell her he was alive. I get why he didn't but he should've. Lucy straight confronting him. Asking him what the actual hell is going on with him? No one knows you better than her. You can't hide what you're going through. Tim of course wants to protect her from being fired and refuses to tell her what he's torn up about. Only alluding to it's serious enough if she knows she will be jeopardizing her standing at work.

Her saying 'Then what are you doing here?' God damn Lucy... telling it like it is. Holy hell. Poor Tim is so taken aback by her response. He breaks my heart when he says 'I came to see you.' Lucy has become his safe place. His comfort zone. So by default he came here to seek that comfort. She is home now and he came home. But she can’t comfort you when she doesn’t know what to comfort you for. This scene hurts to watch. Because he is DYING for her compassion, her warmth and just her. He is denied access because she is setting a boundary with this as she should. Tim needs to share the load with her. To tell her the truth. She is willing to risk her standing for him.

My god if she actually knew she would be kicking herself for how much he needs her right now. But she doesn't know so she sends him away. The tears in both their eyes His 'Understood'. Man is about to cry in front of her. I’m dying. Someone revive me. I’m dead and not in a good way. I’m crying. Eric and Melissa out here crushing it though. Gah Tim would rather blow them up and protect her than not ugh Timmmmmmm I get both sides of this. Tim thinks since this is pre-Lucy and could get her in trouble he needs to bear this alone. When she is begging him to let her share the load of this. Sending him away is her setting a boundary. That he needs to think not just of her but of them. To tackle things together. To stop protecting her.

They’re both hurting in this scene. But the issue at hand still is them only thinking in terms of 'Me' not us. Even though when one of them does this it’s to protect the other. That’s fine and dandy but when it come to them as a whole it’s a problem. Shit hits the fan they eject away thinking that’s the best course of action. It’s been an issue for some time this lack of communication. This is just bringing it to a head. They don’t think how can we tackle this together? They think how can I protect my person from this? Or protect their feelings by lying.

Also think that radio being in this scene was there for a reason. That radio is the representation of Lucy not telling Tim exactly how not ok she was in 6x04. She was so willing to pretend she was ok. And instead of leaning on him. Voicing that so they could tackle it together. She ran into the line of fire recklessly instead to prove herself worthy again. Almost killing herself in the process. Because she was in her head instead of communicating to Tim. These two gonna be death of me...

Wanna hug Lucy. She is desperate for any kind of help. So she reaches out to Nolan. John per usual is completely useless for her in a crisis. Man is as useful as using a fork to eat soup. These are the moments I miss Jackson for Lucy so much. He would’ve had a much better an answer. Then just ‘you're shit out of luck.’ That’s not enough damnit.

Nolan basically saying. "What are you gonna do?' with a shrug. If I could clock you John I would. I don't normally watch the preview for the next ep till I'm done assembling my thoughts. But with this one I couldn't wait. This is why Lucy goes to Angela next week about Tim instead. She needed a real grown up to help her with Tim.

We rejoin Lucy looking at her phone. Trying so damn hard not to reach out. To be the trusting girlfriend for her man. I know we're in a bad spot but Lucy calling Tim 'her man' gah yes please more of that. I am grateful for Tamara. She needs her right now since Nolan is useless af. Lucy is trying so very hard not to spiral out atm. She confronted him and it didn't go well. Lucy is feeling at a loss right now and rightfully so. I adore Tamara for making her laugh in this moment so very much.

The lesson's Tamara has learned is too damn cute. I loved it so much. Lucy needed this moment of levity and her pseudo daughter crushed it. We pan back to Tim also starting at his phone wanting to call. Ugh Tim what are you gonna do babe? You can’t kill him. Can’t turn him in. I feel sick lol Also once again amazing song to close it out. I watch the ep with my gaming headphones on. One because I love hearing Eric’s voice straight in my ears not gonna lie. Don’t judge me ha Also catch onto music more so with them on.

But back to the matter at hand…Now do I think they’re gonna break up cause he’s gonna protect her? I don’t. Their angst since they got together has always been productive. Is it gonna hurt like a son of a bitch before we get there? Yes.

My hope is this drives them to depend on one another more and not just straight protect each other at the detriment of the one they're ironically trying to protect. Better communication which has been an issue for some time. To learn to face these challenges not only head on but hand in hand while they do so. These are the types of things they need to learn before their relationship gets any more serious than it is tbh. So while this hurts like a lot it'll be good for them in the long run.

This season has EXCEEDED my expectations ten fold. If you aren't happy with this season idk what will make you happy tbh. I said the same thing about S5 as well. I cannot wait for next week. Which I am hoping is full of worried/feral Lucy and their reunion and growth from it. Phew feel free to comment any theories or thoughts on my first take thoughts I love them so. Also thank you everyone supporting these mini reviews you're amazing and makes the effort always worth it.

Side notes -non Chenford

Ok Aaron seeing his therapist at the bar excited for him I knew low key there would be something there.

Bailey and John seem so cold I know they’re on duty but even grey held his wife’s hand at the hospital…

Of course Smitty takes his break at a therapist office

Lucy’s joke about Celina omg LOL I'm impressed with such a solid joke when she was low key worried the love of her life was dying in a ditch somewhere...

Also clearly his therapist is a lying liar who lies but how can she not be? She's his therapist and WORK one at that. Be interesting to see how this unfolds.

[nicolesainz]

Focus on me (MM 7)

Mason Mount x f!reader

A/n: I have to give credits to my bff willow @landooscar for sending me that Mason gif on the Manchester United chair where his thighs are spread. You will see later on what l mean. For now thank her and I hope you enjoy the story.

Summary: Mason loves to fool around. But isn't really a fan of you giving your attention to other boys. So he decides not to play nice with you and give you a taste of your own medicine.

Warnings: minors dni, 18+, smut content, teasing, thigh riding, praise kink

"Hey babe? Can you come down and help me with something for a moment?”

Mason got no response. He allowed himself to finish preparing dinner for a few minutes, before he called me once again.

“Hello? Y/N? Can you help me down here, love?”

I could practically hear him but in that moment I was too focused on the Tv screen and too pumped to remove my eyes from it.

Footsteps were echoing through the corridor that was close to our bedroom. There was a soft knock on the door, as Mason thought that I was probably sleeping.

“Darling, are you awake?”

He said so softly and calmly. Gosh, how can one not fall in love with this man.

I went up to him and opened the door, trying to hide the grin I had on my face. Mason raised his eyebrows suspiciously, wondering what I may be doing alone.

“Why weren’t you coming downstairs to help me? I need some cooking advice from your mother but she won’t respond my calls”

I blinked. I couldn’t respond. It’s not like I was doing anything weird or unfaithful, but it wasn’t my finest moment. I think all girls have celebrity crushes, even when they have boyfriends. Right?

“I, uh, I was watching F1’s qualifying. It just finished.”

That was partially true.

“Righttt. And who got pole? Can I see?”

He approached the TV and he saw that it had been paused to a very particular moment that the director had filmed.

On the screen, there was Carlos Sainz, slicking through his long black hair, whilst waving at the cameraman. See? I told you. Not my finest moment.

“Babe, that’s Carlos. Why did you pause at that moment?”

Now that was the moment I blinked even more. Unable to respond. How do you exactly tell your boyfriend of three years that recently buzzed his hair, that you were admiring another man’s haircut.

It was kinda weird, but I had no shame. Maybe a little.

Mason scratched his head as he was waiting for my response, when he actually realized why I had paused the livestream. He felt his shirt hair and then looked at Carlos’s lengthy hairstyle.

“It’s the hair innit?”

His face dropped massively. I’m not going to lie, I’m not the biggest fan of buzzcuts but it fit Mason beautifully. I was though an even bigger fan of his prince-like hairstyle. My god, the way my fingers would tangle around, was mesmerizing.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t want me to buzz my hair this short? I would have picked another hairstyle”

“Masey, it’s your hair. I’m not one to judge or say anything. I love every single one of your hairstyles. Nothing changes just because you have shorter or longer hair.”

“But apparently you’re a fan of long hairstyles”

“It’s practically in many ways”

I was hinting at the time we were having sex on the couch and as Mason was about to fall, I pulled him from his hair and pulled his body against mine, still keeping the connection.

“That was very hot babe”

I felt bad that he had to see such a weak moment of mine. I love Mason no matter what. I don’t care about his looks. I only care about the person he is. The hair is the last thing I pay attention too.

“I’m so sorry Mase. This doesn’t mean anything. This is silly, I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t even know why I did.”

He wasn’t responding.

“Do you maybe want me to leave for a few hours and come back? I’ll go to my mom and pick up that recipe you want”

Instead of saying anything, he turned off the Tv, and sat on the bed, with his thighs kneeling in front of my eyes.

Before doing that he removed his shorts and shirt, revealing once again his Greek god like built body, full of beautiful drawn tattoos. My weakness being the champions league one on his rib cage.

“I need you to come close baby”

He said stiffly, in a more manly manner than the one he usually has. His Adam’s apple was sitting on the center of his neck and vile thoughts of me kissing this spot entered my brain.

I approached the bed, only to be dragged by Mason on top of his thighs. In mere seconds I was left shirtless, gifting him what he was asking for. His girlfriend bra-less and in the most vulnerable position ever.

“I’m the only man that’s allowed to make your tits hard. Are we clear about that?”

I simply nodded, as my eyes were wandering around his toned muscles on his shoulders and hardened errection. I didn’t know where to look.

“You’ll do as I say, right princess?”

“Y-es”

I replied weakly

“Ride my thigh. I want you to ride me until I feel your cum running down it. Until your pussy is stretched to its limits but you beg for more”

I was left speechless. I don’t know how we went from him wanting to cook, to making me cum out of nowhere. But I liked it.

I started rubbing myself on his thigh as his hands were holding my ass firmly and his lips had attacked mine, removing the oxygen from my system.

Moving up and down, I was feeling the heat on my pussy and Mason’s thigh trembling and pushing itself upwards, close to my clit. His fingers were sliding from the back of my ass, to under my panties and at first softly caressing my wet folds.

As his lips moved downwards to my neck, leaving endless marks in a certain pattern I couldn’t really understand, my pussy came face to face with his knee that was almost deep inside me. Like his fingers. The pace kept rising and more moans were escaping my lips.

“You’re mine. Solely mine”

“Your neck, your lips, your pussy. All mine”

“You’re the only man you’re allowed to admire. No one else”

I had reached the point were Mason’s thigh was covered in my cum and he moved me to the left one, repeating the same thing but never removing his fingers from my clit.

I let out a squeak as Mason hit my G-spot, earning a soft laugh from him. His lips were now occupied with my nipples and bouncing breasts, whilst mine were kissing his collarbone and nails were dug deep into his back.

“You’re the only one Mase”

“I’m yours. Body and soul”

Mason let out a frustrating moan, before we both orgasmed at the same time.

“You complete me baby. I love you, Y/N”

“I love you too Mase. You’re my boyfriend and the only for me”

Let’s just say that at night we barely did anything but hug and make love to each other.

[venusvity]

Making her great return to the Waterbomb stage, Baebi gave a show stopping performance and drew in one of the largest crowds on Friday! Despite having one of the most viral performances, fans were confused why she didn't perform a single track off her latest solo release: PULL THE TRIGGER (AGAIN). Despite the debatable tracklist, Constellations were elated to see their "Waterbomb Princess" back on the stage!

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫     ( LOOK BOOK ! )    

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫     SET LIST !

GASHINA

OPENING MENT

DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY

TOP OF THE FOOD CHAIN

PICTURE

LIPLOCK

ENDING MET

BUBBLE POP!

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫     THE HOT RUNDOWN !

Oh, she was the talk of the town. You could not go online without seeing Baebi at Waterbomb 2024!

The setlist was a hot topic, truly. A lot of fans liked that it was a throwback, but also...They were just confused as to why she wasn't singing new stuff. At first, they thought maybe she didn't have the rights to the album since it was released under Flowerbank, but that just wasn't the case, as Mydol owns all of Venus' discography. So, like...What gives? Where's Baebi's Revenge? Where's You and Me? Where's—

Then the behind the scenes vlog came out and it all made sense. When I tell y'all, Son Jinhwa curated this entire performance from start to finish...I mean it. Down to the last second, it was his vision. He was barely even seen in Chloe's behind-the-scenes vlog, but you could see that man in almost every frame of Yoonah's. To the shock of no one, he picked out her outfit as well and even had the makeup artist redo her makeup before the show because he didn't like what she originally did.

So, yeah, no wonder there were no songs from the album where Yoonah had complete creative control and basically told him to kill himself. Yeah, Constellations did not like that realization. It got even worse when it was revealed Chloe got full creative control over her performance while Yoonah didn't.

But, despite all that, Yoonah had fun! And that's all that matters! She smiled the whole time, did amazing crowd work, danced like it was the last thing she was going to do, and kept her goodies from falling out the whole performance! She did great, guys!

BAEBI OPENING MENT TRANSCRIPTION: "What's up, Waterbomb? I'm your Baebi! Ah! I can't believe I'm back here! Oh my gosh! I missed you guys! Did you miss me?" Yoonah playfully leans toward the crowd and then laughs. "Sounds like it...I'm so happy to be here with all of you and to be wet with you guys! I hope you all enjoy this next song. It's been years since I've performed it, but I really like it, so...Get ready to–Okay, this joke won't really land because the sun is out, but–Get ready to dance the night away!"

After her performance, Baebi and the other Venus girls were spotted in the crowd for Fromis_9's set as well as Hyo's set! The girls are massive Girls Generation's stans and never miss a chance to see the members perform.

You could really tell Yoonah had a blast performing. She really loves her job, guys!

#BAEBIWATERBOMB would trend, and a fan cam of her set would reach 3.4 Million views in 24 hours. A massive hit with everyone! But that's nothing new for Miss Baebi!

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫     WAIT! TAKE A PICTURE !

[thebisexualdogdad]

could you write one where Edie and venom have a crush and reader who is a famous NASCAR driver and they hook up after meeting

Eddie Brock x Male!reader

Eddie has been a fan of you for years, he regularly watches Nascar and you were his favorite driver.

It also didn't hurt that you were hot and even Venom had a bit of a crush on you.

You were in San Francisco for a race and Eddie used his connections to get a vip badge so he could meet you.

You were attracted to Eddie the moment you laid eyes on him so him congratulating you for winning the race led to you inviting him out to dinner which led to him now making out with you in your hotel room.

He excused himself to the bathroom before going any further and ran the faucet so you wouldn't hear him talking to Venom who excitedly popped his head out.

"Eddie, you are about to have sex with Y/N Y/L/N," Venom hisses proudly.

"I know Venom so please don't mess this up for me," he whispers.

"How could I mess this up Eddie?" Venom says offended.

"You scared off my last date when you saw a fish market and nearly got me hit by a truck trying to drag me across the street," Eddie says, reminding Venom of that recent disaster where he did not get a second date.

"Are you ever going to let that go?" Venom huffs.

"Be on your best behavior and I will get you whatever you want to eat afterwards, deal?"

"Ooh deal," Venom says, retracting back into Eddie.

Eddie takes a deep breath and turns the sink off, returning to the main part of the hotel room where you are laying on the bed smiling at him.

"Everything good?" You ask him.

"All good," he says approaching the bed and climbing on top of you, "now where were we."

He kisses you and you begin fumbling with the buttons of your shirt.

"Can I take this off?" You mutter into the kiss.

"God yes," he groans and then his shirt is gone.

Your own soon follows and you roll him over, his back hitting the mattress but your lips never detaching from one another.

Eddie sighs in discontent when you pull away but it's replaced with a moan as soon as you start kissing down his neck.

His hips roll up into yours when your hand palms his chest, nipples getting hard from your touch.

Your lips move further down, tongue flicking over one of his nipples before sucking it into your mouth while your fingers pinch the other.

He looks for friction against your thigh that's placed in between his legs, moaning as his cock is straining under the material of his pants.

"Fuck I need you so bad," he grunts.

"That's what I like to hear," you smirk, taking your attention away from his chest so you could get the both of you out of the rest of your clothes.

Eddie's spread out across the bed and his cock is standing tall now that it isn't being confined by his pants.

"Do you want me inside you Eddie?" You ask with a grin, running your hands over his massive thighs.

"Please," he begs.

You stick two fingers in your mouth, lathering them before teasing his hole.

Eddie gasps as you insert one finger stretching him out and then the second finger follows.

Your cocks rub together as you toy with Eddie and a string of pre cum leaks out of him.

When you feel he's ready for you you remove your fingers, quickly easing your cock inside him as neither of you could wait for this any longer.

"Holy shit," Eddie cries out as you slowly thrust your hips.

"Does this feel okay?" You question.

"Fuck it feels so good, please go faster," he replies.

That was all you needed to hear, you throw Eddie's legs up around your waist, giving you a better angle as you move your lower half faster.

Eddie grips the sheets under him, intently watching sweat drip down your stomach as you fuck him.

You dig your nails into his hips, his chest arched in the air and he begins playing with his own nipples for more stimulation.

Eddie is a moaning mess for the next several minutes and he's getting close.

"I'm gonna cum," he groans so he reaches down and quickly strokes himself until he's cumming all over his chest.

He's moaning your name as he cums, his orgasm feeling like it's going to last forever as your hips never stop moving.

Suddenly your movements falter and he feels you filling him up telling him that your own orgasm hit.

"Fuck Eddie," you say when you eventually slow your hips all together after your release subsides.

"That was amazing," Eddie says breathing heavily.

"It really was," you chuckle.

Your heart rate returns to normal and you gently pull out of him, cum dripping out of his hole.

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom, grabbing some towels to clean up the mess you made.

"You know, when we met earlier at the race track I intended on this just being a one night stand but I uh, actually really like you," you confess on your way back from the bathroom, handing him a towel.

"I really like you too Y/N," Eddie smiles, sitting up and wiping off his cum on his chest.

"So can I give you my number? Maybe I can fly you out to my race in Dallas next week?" You suggest.

"I'd love that," he happily replies.

You wish he could stay the night but you had an important flight very early the next morning and if Eddie stayed you would surely miss it.

Once you get all cleaned up you kiss Eddie goodnight and when he gets to the hallway Venom pops up again.

"That was so hot Eddie," Venom tells him.

"You're telling me buddy," Eddie laughs.

"If you go to see him in Dallas next week does that mean he's your boyfriend?" Venom asks.

"Okay slow down we have to work our way up to that," Eddie responds.

Eddie's phone dings and he looks to see you had texted him.

'Miss you already' it says which makes him smile.

"Yeah he's your boyfriend," Venom says reading the message over his shoulder.

"Shut up Venom," Eddie scoffs.

One night together and both of you already had it down bad.

[redheadspark]

hawuuu don't mind my last one cause someone else did the same prompt with the same character so just change it to 11. "i wasn't blushing! it was hot out." "it is literally snowing outside as we speak are you joking." With Druig still

Thank u and happy new year

A/N - HAWUU! I love this request for him since he would be in denial and all ;)! Thanks for requesting this, dear friend!

Give It

Summary - Druig was afraid to give his heart away for the longest time. Maybe it was time for a change

Warnings - Mostly fluff

“Wow,”

“Never seen snow before, Druig?”

Druig glared at Kingo as he chuckled.  The fresh fallen snow over the small London park was enough to make Druig look around in wide-eyed wonder.  It was vastly different from the Amazon, the hot sticky humidity against his skin and the blazing sun on the back of his neck.  He was used to the tall trees, the plenty of wildlife around him that would screech day and night, and even the rolling mountains and again river outside his little shack.  Those 500 years away from the rest of the world were a protective bubble for him.

But London?  That was wide-eyed for the Mind Controller.

The small park they were at was right outside of Kingo’s London flat, a lavish penthouse he just bought months before to stay in while he would shoot a movie.  After it was decided to go out to find other Eternals in other parts of the universe, the group wanted to make a pit stop in London to say goodbye to Sprite and Kingo, and for Thena, Makkari, and Druig to see London and all its glory.  It seemed tempting, though Druig was a creature of comfort.  He would rather stay on The Domo, but knowing the rest of the group, a small stop in London was not a bad idea.

In fact, it was your idea.  

Knowing that it was going to be snowing, you wanted to see the city covered in snow before you would be stuck on a ship with the other three.  You loved the snow yourself, having the ability to control and manipulate water and ice with the tips of your fingers.  It was no wonder when the group separated 500 years ago, you went off traveling to the North and explored some of the color elements of Earth.  You landed in rural Russia, having your own cabin out in the middle of the woods.  The group found you cutting down your own wood, thinking of you more like a lumberjack and in your natural element of the dead winter with freezing winds and almost below temps.  But to you, it was home.

Sersi and Sprite had an apartment not too far away, the rest of the family went over to visit and see before they found themselves at a local park.  Thena was perched on a park bench, enjoying the small peace not too far away and admiring the fallen snowflakes that were dancing in her golden hair.  Druig was watching from the side, still in his black leather jacket and boots that were winking slightly in the snow and a small shiver was licking up his spine.  He couldn’t help but shiver, not used to the cold himself, and was never a true fan of it.  Inwardly, he was mentally glad they would be on the Domo with controlled temperatures soon.

Laughter was heard over to the left, Druig looking to see a snowball fight broke out with some of the group.  Makkari, Sprite and you threw snowballs at each other, almost seeming like childcare yourself. Sprite was literally the only child, laughing her head off as she threw a massive snowball at you, but you dodged it with ease before launching back at her.  Druig couldn’t help but watch, and if he was honest, he had his eye on you for some time.

But of course, being away for 500 years he thought those feelings were buried and no longer irrelevant.  He had a small crush, that was for certain, and it lasted for quite some time back in the earlier days on Earth. Druig admired how raw you were, the stubbornness you had in the way you fought and the way you defended yourself.  Your spitfire soul and the natural beauty you had in your cheeks and curves made him entranced.  

Makkari called him a “Lovesick Puppy” a few times, but he would only shove her and let it roll off his shoulders.  He ignored the side comments from the others, thought he would stay up at night, and wondered what it would be like to be with you.  Would you even think of him the way way?  Doubtful, though you were cordial with him all the time and always confided with him with your own insecurities. Not to mention you would stand up to him when the others, mostly Ikaris, would put him down and make him feel less than he was.  You saw goodness in him, and Druig never knew that you cried when he walked away all those years ago.  He never knew you had feelings for him and found him not only handsome, but kind and filled with a powerful urge to serve and help.  

Neither of you admitted to the other.

Now, after saving the world and bringing peace to the very species that they protected for centuries, the feelings were coming back with both yourself and with Druig.  

“You can’t use your speed, Makkari!” Druig heard Sprite chastise Makkari, whom was throwing out three snowballs back to back to back.  You laughed as you grabbed some fresh snow next to your foot, making snowballs as fast as you could before Makkari slammed one into your forehead.  Sprite roared in laughter as Druig smiled, seeing your face etched in snow and a wide grin on your face.  He didn’t notice Sersi walking over to stand next to him, her kind smile as she watched Druig look on.

“You should tell her,” Sersi said to Druig, who looked over at her within a second with an asked brow.

“Tell her what?” He asked, Sersi only giving him a knowing look that an older sister would give.  Your giggle rang in the air, both Druig and Sersi looking as you tackled Sprite to the ground and tried to get some snow down her backside.  Kingo was taking pictures on his phone, though his face was then hit with a snowball thanks to Makkari and he ran off after her to retaliate.  Druig’s eyes were on you the whole time, both you and Sprite sitting on the snow ground and laughing so hard tears were seen in your eyes.  

He was a coward for so long in not saying how he felt, how he imagined what it would be like to have you in his life.  He dreamt of it at times and daydreamed during most of Ajak’s meetings or on his patrols late in the night. Druig faced Deviants before, and facing the celestial Tiamut himself was intimidating.  But he knew deep down that the scariest thing that he would ever do in his Immortal life, was telling you he liked you.

More than liked, he loved you.

“ ‘ Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much a heart can hold’.” Sersi quoted to Druig with a gentle nudge of her shoulder against Druig’. Druig snorted as he looked at her.

“Who said that?” He asked in sarcasm, Sersi rolled her eyes.

“Mark Twain.  That’s not the point!” She said as she pointed her finger at him, “You should say something before you regret it.  And it’s quite obvious in how you’re looking at her!  You were blushing a few minutes ago when she asked you a question!”

“I wasn’t blushing!  It was hot out!” He tried to argue.

“Back in my flat it was, It is literally snowing outside as we speak, are you joking?” She asked him, seeing him about to roll his eyes as she laced their arms together, “Druig, for as long as I have known you since we’re been on his planet, I know deep down you have a massive and empathetic heart.  We all see it and love it, especially her.  You shouldn’t waste it, you should give it.  Give it to her, Druig.” 

She gestured to you, who was helping Sprite, Kingo, and Makkari make a Snowman together in the middle of the snowy meadow.  Druig couldn’t help but smile, knowing deep down that Sersi was in fact right.  He loved that about Sersi, her kindness and empathy for everyone around her was infectious and something he wished he had himself.  But he also had to wonder if she knew all this time of his feelings for you, or if the others knew.  They had to have known, and if they did they never said anything to neither you or Druig.

In the end, it was up to the pair of you to make it happen. 

“Come on, Druig!  Unless you’re scared!”  Kingo was teasing him as he was getting a few snowballs ready.  Makkari, yourself, and Sprite were behind him, already ready for a second round of a snowball fight and waiting for Druig to join.  Druig look over at you, seeing the flushness in your cheeks and how you too were filled with a sense of joy and happiness in such a simple love for snow.  Perhaps he would be brave, make the denial go away, and give his love to you. 

He carefully reach down to take some snow in his hands, the bitter cold ice against his pale fingers made him shiver as he made a ball and cocked his hand back.

He was ready.  Game on.

The End

January Prompt Session