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rafeysdoll · 6 days

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/rafeysdoll/748215216138059776/bsf-rafe-convincing-reader-that-its-normal-to

i’m literally FERAL

could you please do one where rafe somehow convinces reader and he FINALLY gets to be inside of her🫶🫶🫶

definitely rushed in the end so i’m sorry :( kinda struggled with this but i really hope you like it anyway.

"rafey," you mewl, tugging at his polo as he laid on the couch, writing emails and conducting business. "im.. needy, want help." you whisper, biting your lip as you tilt your head to the side. "what was that?" he taunts, shit eating grin displayed on his face as he dismisses his phone, tossing it aside as he gets up anyway.

you eagerly head back into his room, quickly jumping to his bed as you wait for him to lay, ready to hump him as if he was your very own toy to get rid of all your overwhelming desires.

but yet he remains the same, standing still with his tongue nudging at the side of his cheek as he sighs rather dramatically, hand now over his hip. "you know, baby.. i.. uh," he pauses, tactifully letting silence fill the room for you to worry, wanting you get yourself worked up.

"i just dont know how to say it," he continues, turning around so he can only give you a show of the back of him. “what is it?” you question, voice bordering a whimper. “did i do something wrong?”

rafe smiles menacingly, taking a deep breath. it was time for the last stone to be set.

“here, come stand next to me alright?” he requests, turning back around to offer his hand. you quickly listen, right besides him in seconds as he caresses your hand in his own. “baby, i don’t know if i can do this.” he states, brows meeting together in a tight line, leaning in slightly as if he was offended.

you take a shaky breath and gulp, a strong queasy feeling in your stomach. “w-why?” you reply, bottom lip put out. “you.. you don’t like it?” you frown.

“no, no i do. that’s the problem, im a man.. and, well uh.. it’s hard, you know baby? got all these feelings and i can’t even act on them. i mean, it can’t be fair.” he confesses, pretty blue eyes staring at your own.

“oh,” you realize, looking down at your connected hands. “well.. well that can change, can’t it? we can just.. you know.” you whisper, heat and desperation tingling through your body. you didn’t want any of this to end, you were willing to do anything before he had to be ripped away from your hands. “oh.. oh i dunno baby, that’s a big step.” rafe pretends to deny, his cock already twitching and throbbing. he was so close to what he had been working towards for so so long.

“no, no really rafe. i.. i mean now we can both.. enjoy it.” you carry on, nodding. “please? don’t wanna go to anyone else,” you plead, small tears collecting in your lower lash line. “you.. you sure?” he smiles, his own heart thumping profusely in his chest. “i’m sure, ray.”

the rest was a fast blur, your best friend’s thick length bullying himself inside you, crying at every single ministration he gave you, hoping this could never end.

it was the first night rafe finally got through to your tiny hole, writing and squirming under his touch as he mumbled sweet nothings besides your ear — telling you he had been waiting for so long.. that the wait was worth it to finally do this. it was perfect in both of your minds.. rafe finally getting his best friend on his cock and you simply thinking you were only making both you and him happy.

you were always rafe’s girl, even before you ever realized it.

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andersonsgirl · 9 months

Text

better boyfriend !

abby anderson × fem! reader

a/n: hello, hello, yes, yes… another late night inspiration. hope this isn’t tmi, but i was having a little fun in bed by myself iykyk and once i finished, i was laying there and boom. this idea hit me like a train🚂

warnings: cheating, r!has a shitty ex boyfriend, dirty talk, use of strap, r! receiving, fingering, r!receiving, praising,

masterlist

“fuck, look at you. taking all this. i bet your little boyfriend couldn’t make you feel this good, mhm?” abby chittered out, the feeling of her strap slowing sinking into your desperate cunt had her turned on beyond belief.

you lay sprawled out on your bed, your cute little stuffed animals long gone on the floor, your fluffy flower comforter pushed down to the edge of your bed— you and abby taking up the main space of the matress, both raw on the sheets.

you couldn’t even respond to her words, your throat dryer than a desert, eyes watering from the pleasure.

she grabbed your hips, quickly flipping you over to your stomach, causing a moan to escape you, landing in your soft pillow.

“I’ll take that as a yes..” she said deeply, her voice dropping. You let out a soft squeak when she began to move her hips— her big, purple strap slowly pumping in and out of you.

you grabbed the sheets, soft hums of pleasure escaping you, but that wasn’t enough for abby.

she suddenly jerked her hips up, dick clashing down on the certain spot inside you that you hadn’t known you had.

You gasped, the sudden feeling you’ve never experienced overflowing inside you.

“I want you to be loud, baby. as loud as you can be. your stupid little boyfriend isn’t here; remember? it’s js’ me an’ you, ‘kay?” she huffed out, her hands gripping your hips in a bruising way.

“i.. i dunno, abs.. i..” you tried to reply, the pleasure causing your voice to dissipate.

“if you aren’t louder, i won’t fuck you.”

her hips jerked up again, and you obeyed; a loud, gargled moan escaping your pretty little lips. The sound abby wanted to hear oh, so badly. she continues to jerk her hips up, but also down— pumping in and out of you at a different angle every few fucks.

The moans coming from your mouth were enough to make her cum just from the sound— and the strap rubbing against her needy clit.

“ahh— abby… i…” you’re words barkey made her ears, so low due to be covered by your pillow. “yes, baby?” she cooed, continuing to thrust herself in and out of you; her hands still grabbing your waist for stability.

she could tell that by your shaking body, the way your face was settled and the way your cunt was desperate squeezing abby’s dick i’m further, you were gonna cum.

but, not on her watch. She sped up her pace, keeping an eye on you to make sure your orgasm doesn’t hit— not yet, anyways. you haven’t had the best part. stop and go.

abby’s favorite thing was to lead you to the tip of an orgasm with her strap, than stop and fuck your cunt with her tongue. she loved it, and, for first times with you, she was gonna do it.

Your breaths were shaking— and right as you were about to flow over— any halted her movements, quickly causing your pleasure disappear.

you gasped, frowning like a child. “abby? w-wha—”

“shh.. it’s okay, pretty girl. don’t worry, i got you.” she shushed, flipped you over to your back, smiling at the displeasure upon your face.

“abby.. something was happening and you stopped.. did i do something wrong?”

“no, of course not. i just… wanted to try something.” she murmured, slowly pulling out the strap, causing a moan to leave your mouth.

she kept it around her waist, her body moving down to where her head is between hour shaky thighs. “abby? what are you doing?”

you’d told abby your boyfriend had never eaten you out, and seeing as how he was your first boyfriend, she wanted to take the privilege he tossed away.

“j’ trust me, okay?”

you nodded, your eyes watching her closely. her head ducked— and something warm touched your puffy clit. you gasp, not sure what to think. you couldn’t exactly.. see what she was doing down there, but the feeling of her, what you assumed to be, tongue, was enough for you to not care.

you gasped again as she licked once more, quickly shutting your eyes and allowing the gasps and whines to leave you.

abby loves the sounds, she knew you’d like this. She started off with kitten licks, trying to adjust to your comfort— than, she moved her hand up and began to tease your hole, poking the tip of her finger in and out of it. Every light motion of her finger had your cunt trying to suck her in, desperate trying to get her to touch that spot inside you. so she did.

abby began to lightly suck on your clit, her fingers effortlessly slipping into your soaking cunt. Your moans were loud, louder than when she was fucking you from behind.

her nose brushed your clit when she dragged her tongue through your folds, fingers beginning to fuck you deeply.

“angh— abby, oh.. oh my god.. i..” you couldn’t even get out a sentence; the feelings of her down there enough to make you cum a thousand times.

her tongue rolling itself on your sensitive nub once more made the familiar full feeling come back again, as if you were going to pee. and that’s what it felt like.

your boyfriend never made you cum, and you never had the guts to touch yourself. so all this was new.

“ahh.. abby, i.. i..”

“mhm?”

her persistent in and out of your cunt with her fingers and the sucking of your clit with her tongue made you unsure of everything.

“abby.. i.. im gonna..”

“you gonna cum?”

“abs.. i feel like i’m gonna pee..” you moaned out, tears bringing at the edges of your pretty eyes. abby stifled a laugh, “go ahead, baby.”

your orgasm over came you, and you swore you were in a different dimension, silence followed for a moment— only the sounds of abby eating your cunt the noise in the room before a loud, high pitched moan left you.

“oh.. oh my gosh.. ab-abby i.. holy..” you threw your head back, hands coming to cover yours eyes.

“yeah.. that’s it, pretty girl. i bet your boyfriend couldn’t make you do that, mhm? bet he couldn’t fuck you as good as i did.” she cursed, slipping her hands from your cunt, moving up to travel soft kisses from your pussy to your abdomen and neck.

you were huffing, breaths heavy and face red, eyes dazed. she smiled at you, grabbing your hip with her cum coated fingers.

“right?”

“yeah.. yes, my boyfriend could never do that.”

“good.” she pecked your cheek, hand traveling up to cup your perked nipple, quickly rolling the nub between her fingers.

“ready to do it again, baby?”

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iluvpjo · 2 months

Note

HII !!

HEAR ME OUT. Charlie is definitely a thigh guy,he loveeeees to just lay on ur thighs and kiss them and theyre js so squishy and UGH.

I think he'd be very sweet in general like if you had scars (Sh or just normal scars) he's definitely kiss them and tell you how beautiful they are

REMEMBER TO EAT ENOUGH AND STAY HYDRATED !! 🫂

-🌻

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓰𝓱 𝓖𝓾𝔂

Synopsis: Charlie being a thigh guy, basically headcanons but also not rlly ??? Idk what this is tbh

Warning(s): IT GETS NSFW! MDNI, thigh stuff, talks abt scars, talks abt sh (in its own seperate bit so ur able to avoid it, I’ll put a warning there)

Pairing: Charlie Bushnell x fem reader (could be seen as GN except for one part where he calls u a sweet girl but you can just imagine otherwise if u wish!)

Word count: 528 words

Notes: I tried to write this n tumblr closed on me n didn’t save my draft ARGH 😭 but I’m so sorry I been away for a moment.. on an unrelated note last night I dreamt abt cuddling w Charlie n omfg

ALSO I’m so sorry it’s a lil short ahhh

Come find me on AO3!

Send me a request! Here’s my req rules!

(NSFW-ish!) Charlie whenever he sits beside you will always have a hand on you wether it be on your shoulder or on your knee, or other times where he’ll be squishing you’re thigh under the table in public somewhere. He of course does this at home too, and occasionally if he feels like it sometimes his hand will wander upwards. He still likes to do it nonsexually though, squeezing softly whenever he wants your attention.

(NSFW!) He would love to kiss your thighs while laying between your legs, often using it to tease you and not touch you where you need it the most. He also gets a little distracted, the feeling of your warm cushy thighs near his face can easily make him lose time. Charlie will kiss softly at your thighs, but he will also nip them gently too between his teeth just to watch you yelp and whine.

He would definitely get super hard from eating you out, I mean just in general, but especially when you cum undone and you squeeze your thighs around his head. Fuckkk he’d be in heaven, and he’d let you know that too when he dives back in for round two and has you repeating the same actions over and over. He will do it until you tell him to calm down, but if you don’t then I’m sure he’d be going on forever and ever until something inevitably disrupts the two of you.

(Scar stuff, more specifically sh) If he noticed you had scars on your thighs he wouldn’t be quick to point them out, maybe he’d spend a little extra time kissing over the marks or trailing them gently with his finger tips if they were healed. If they weren’t healed fully though maybe he’d ask about them, cooing softly for you to talk to him about what happened to make you do it. He’d leave it if you didn’t wanna talk about it though, simply comforting you with gentle kisses and cuddles.

“Don’t look at them..” You’d say, perhaps being a little insecure about them when his eyes would linger a little too long on your thighs, and Charlie would smile up at you dumbly before placing soft pecks to them and saying “Why not? Your thighs are so beautiful.” And you’d grow a little flustered. “No, they’re not, my scars-“ he wouldn’t even let you finish the thought about them, because he’d butt in and say “Your scars are beautiful sweet girl, I ‘dunno what you’re talking about..” and then his voice would get muffled n a lil quieter as he gets lost in the feeling of ur soft plushy thighs and he keeps leaving kisses all over them, his hands gripping at them like they’re his favourite thing in the world (and they are, after you as a whole of course.)

#luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader smut #percy jackson smut #percy jackson x reader smut #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell x reader smut #charlie bushnell x you #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #🌷 anon

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billskeis · 1 month

Text

ᡣ𐭩 beach days w the kaulitz twins

the water felt amazing to touch as you dipped your feet in. it’s been a while since you’ve actually been to the beach and had made plans to go with the kaulitz twins.

luckily, the plans made it out the groupchat and with your busy schedule as a solo artist and theirs as tokio hotel, everyone was able to follow through.

swimming by yourself, you moan in satisfaction to how the water cooled you down from the heat of the summer.

“bill! tom! hurry up!” you exclaimed to the twins as they begin to usher themselves towards the shore.

“fuck! it’s cold,” bill complained.

“man up bill, don’t be such a puss,”

“oh shut up tom!”

tom laughed but immediately gasped as the black haired twin splashes water, getting tom somewhat soaked.

“my..my hair..!”

“that’s what you get!!”

“you little shit.. wait, y/n?”

…

“oh shit y/n! i’m so sorry,” bill made his way towards you in the water, a little slow as the water provided a little resistance.

“y/n—FUCK..!”

“TOM—!”

“GERONIMOOOO!!¡!”

both you and bill screamed while bill fell into the water as tom leaped on top of him, the impact of the water and the weight of the two twin’s bodies held you underwater for seconds longer than they were.

tom was the first to raise his head from under the water, seeming to no longer care about his locs being wet.

giggling, he witnessed as his baby brother came up second gasping for air.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“hey! you started it first,”

“you fu—y’know what—nevermind.. where’s y/n?”

“dunno, weird.. she was just here,”

the twins called for you, voices muffled due to the body of water.

you hid underwater. in a panic. you have no fucking idea as what to do. the twins cannot see you like this.

imagine your childhood friends seeing you in this state. god, how fucking embarrassing.

your bikini top came off, and is nowhere near to be found in the water. it must’ve come undone when tom jumped on the two of you, that little shit.

you cannot hold your breath for any longer, fuck, what do you do?? it’s getting harder and harder to stay underwater. you panic, bubbles escaping as you then begin to gasp in the water.

fuck it.

you choke, but your head rises above from the water and the twins flinch at the splash of water and the uncalled for jumpscare.

“y/n!! are you okay??” bill exclaimed as he ushers himself closer to you in a worry, tom quietly following behind as he also worried.

“d-don’t come any closer,” you squeak as the twins stop in their tracks, “are you hurt?? why were you under the water for so long—oh..”

tom scrunches his face in confusion as he sees the surprised expression on bill’s face. your face heats a bright red as you realize that bill notices whats wrong, clutching your bare chest between your arms even closer.

“what?? what is it??” tom asks, “you’re not hurt right y/n?” you nod your head, slowly turning around to reveal the situation that is completely tom’s fault! how could he!?

he swallows a hard lump in his throat, swimming trunks becoming a bit tight. he questions whether it’s the heat from the sun or the fact that you’re presented topless in front of him.

bill cannot also help but feel a little bashful, as your back is turned to him he holds a hand to his mouth in shock, also hiding how red his face is.

“i—i think it’s time for me to go..”

“wait y/n! stay, the water is still so nice,”

why was he so insistent?

“how can i tom!? i lost my bikini top and it’s nowhere to be found..”

tom clutches the piece of fabric behind his back, he attempts to shove the garment down the trunks of his shorts without you noticing.

bill smirked as he places a hand on your shoulder, you turning to him to look up at how he smiles ear to ear.

“y/n.. do you wanna go back to the hotel?”

you gulp, what’s with this sudden change of atmosphere. bill’s body was way closer than expected you cannot stop but stare at the star tattoo that was peaking through his shorts.

“i, uhm..”

he’s really close, you’re getting all flustered and you don’t want him to catch on to that. he’s one of your best friends for god’s sake! get it together y/n..

as you begin to widen the gap between you and bill, your back hits a rock. there’s rocks this shallow on the shore?? you swore that the spot the three of you went to swim in was pretty open.

a hand grips your waist, you whip your head in shock to meet tom’s gaze, his lids a bit lowered as he bites his lip slightly to hold in a groan.

your backside was pressed onto his crotch, obviously hardened.

“y/n..”

“t-tom!”

in a frenzy, your attempt to escape was feeble as bill closed the once open gap between you two. completely sandwiched in between the twins, you look down to hide how completely shy and pathetic you look.

bill grabs one of your arms, you gasp in trying to hide your chest once more as he places the hand he ripped from you onto his lower groin.

“see what you do, y/n? god—we’ve been giving you so many signs but your little head just didn’t see them hm?”

“what’re you talking about??”

“cut the crap y/n,” tom chimes in from behind, “we want you. we like you. so bad. since the moment we met you,”

“…”

the twins?? like you?? no fucking way, not one but two?? unbelievable. your heart thumps an unexplainable speed as you cannot help but feel giddy and anxious given the current situation.

“i’ll ask again, schatzi, do you wanna go back to the hotel?”

bodies pressed against yours, you’re chest flush against bill’s, your hand no longer guarding the breasts you so desired to hide. with your back against tom’s chest, you feel everything.

did he get harder?

you tilt your head up to look at bill and tom, obviously grinning. they’re expectant. needy. spoiled. you’ve always given them whatever they wanted when asked for but this is just a whole other level.

with a sharp breath you inhale,

“yes.”

“f-fuck..!” you yelp as the constant touching of the twin’s on your cunt has your brain turning into mush.

as the three of you made it back to the hotel room, it started off with kissing. quick and rough, both using their mouths to work on two different areas at once.

bill suckled on the right of your nipples as tom’s tongue danced with yours. knees buckling, you’re now losing the strength to stand up.

“up we go!” tom lifts you up princess style after the two of them unlatched their mouths off you. body littered with hickeys, you’re gonna have to find out a way to cover these while also dealing with the malibu heat.

or not.

as tom lays you gently on the couch, he lays your head onto his lap as he bends down to place a kiss on your forehead, smiling.

bill taps your thigh to catch your attention, looking down at the only piece of clothing that had covered what the two of them really wanted.

“can i take them off?”

“mmhm,”

he slips your bikini bottoms off in no time, throwing them somewhere far away, heck, probably even out of the balcony window as all they wanted to see you in all of your glory 24/7.

“fuck y/n..” bill moans as you instantaneously spread your legs out in front of him, tom’s hands playing with your hair that fell onto his legs.

“i’m so glad you said yes.”

and that’s how you ended up where you are now.

moaning like a bitch in heat as you clutches the cushions of the couch with how tom moved his thumb in circles over your clit while bill had two of his digits fucking into you, purposely curving them to press on your g-spot again and again.

they bullied your cunt to their liking, and they fucking loved it.

loved the way your moans slipped out of your mouth, lips swollen from how hard you bit them to not let the noises slipped. but bill only went harder.

loved the way your tits bounced from the impact of how bill pistons his fingers in and out of your wet pussy.

loved the way your legs would convulse from attention and intricacy to how tom would rub your clit. nice and slow to ensure you felt everything, a grip on his shorts when you panicked at how an orgasm would quickly wash over the other.

“no..no more..! please!”

it was like, what, the fourth or fifth time you came?? after each and every one of them the twins would giggle and continue to wring them out of your body dry.

cooing sweet nothings to you as they promised they would ‘stop after this one’ or ‘just one more baby okay?’

“fuck schatzi.. you’re so wet.. so fucking hot, ” as tom slaps your pussy lightly, fingers hitting your clit just right.

“can’t believe we didn’t do this earlier.. you’re just so perfect y/n..” bill moans as he thrusts his hips against the couch, tom palming himself as he lolls his tongue out to play with his lip piercing.

they’re drunk off of just seeing you in such a state. they’re so happy, so happy that you let them toy with you as if they own you.

“h-hahh.. stop.. please—unnnggghh..!”

your gummy walls are nothing but sensitive, feeling everything as bill thrusts his fingers into you, a constant squelch of your pussy as he fucks you. it didn’t help that tom also wasn’t done with your clit, the hooded bud only ever sending electricity through your body.

and then it came down. either your fifth or sixth orgasm as your cunt spills with squirt, the couch now becoming soaked with your come.

“what a fucking sight.. look at this pussy..” tom kneads at the flesh of your breast with his free hand as he slows the pace of his thumb on your clit.

“mm.. good girl, y/n.. doing s’well for us..” as he leans down to lick a stripe up your torso starting from your belly button, tongue traveling as he reached below your breasts to now bring his head up.

the twins admired you and how you grind your hips into their hands to ride your orgasm out. are they finally done? they slowed down, god please let this be over you thought.

you almost fainted from the pleasure

tom props you up to his on his lap as he pecks your cheeks and shrugs your shoulders playfully as nothing ever happened.

your chest heaves to catch a breath, body soaked in sweat and your own juices. you softly smile, “you okay?” he asks, “y-yeah..”

bill hands you an opened bottle of water from the hotel fridge, you thank him and take a swig of the cooling liquid, “had fun?” he giggles.

“shut up..” you grumbled, the twins did nothing but laugh as they looked at you and then exchanged looks. bill kisses your lips after taking the water bottle into his own hands.

“you’re godsend y/n.. we enjoyed every moment of it,”

as bill sits beside tom, tom brings a blanket to cover the three of you. you nuzzle your body into the two of them, all exhausted from your indecencies.

“soooo about liking me..”

“we love you, y/n,” tom blurts out.

“really??”

“like, really,” bill responds.

“well shit.”

“do you not like us back??” tom asks with concern in his voice, bill pouts, a tinge of guilt in their chests as they felt like they’ve forced you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with.

“no shit! you think i was just gonna let you guys finger fuck me till’ i almost pass out if i didn’t like you??”

“oh,” they both say at the same time.

“i love youuuuu,” you say,

“love you too princess,” bill smiles like an idiot.

tom can only smother you in kisses, too shy to speak.

“hey!” bill does the same.

it is now a competition.

a/n : and there you have it, my first kaulitz twins x reader fic ! also im so sorry i havent posted in like almost a week, on top of school i went clubbing for st pattys weekend and my drunk ass fell down a flight of stairs, i fucked up my knees and fingers . pray for a speedy recovery y’all 😭😭

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x y/n #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz smut #2000s #fyp #billskeis

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lightseoul · 11 months

Text

cw. gn!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up, slightly suggestive themes, some cursing

a/n. i'm currently watching criminal minds w my sister. it's addicting lmao

“Why do you even watch this shit?”

You don’t spare the blonde a glance, keeping your eyes trained on the TV screen in front of you.

“Hey.”

Something pokes at your side, which you can only assume to be his finger.

You frown. “Quit it, Kats. I’m trying to focus here.”

“Wha—”

Bakugou splutters unintelligibly in response, before heaving a heavy sigh from where he’s seated beside you.

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s sporting that infamous scowl.

“What’s the point of inviting me over if you’re just gonna watch a fucked up crime show?”

At that, you promptly hit pause on the remote and spin to face him.

“What’s with you and Criminal Minds?”

“‘Criminal Minds’?” he sneers, “Man, even the title is lame.”

You don’t even feign offense.

You know where he’s getting at.

Getting there is the fun part.

“Really, babe,” you make it a point to set aside the remote and fully turn your torso to look at him straight. His scowl eases a little.

“What’s with you and Criminal Minds?” you repeat.

“Nothin’,” he waves off vaguely, breaking eye contact. “Just sayin’ you could be doing other better things.”

“Like what?”

A short pause.

“I dunno,” he says, frowning, after a few seconds. “Just—not staring at a TV.”

You smile despite yourself. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

His eyebrow twitches at the sight of your shit-eating grin. “Hah?”

“You know,” you scooch closer to him and let your hand fall on his knee, gently rubbing it, “You can just ask.”

He eyes you for a moment as he stirs uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to catch much attention at the fact that he’s adjusting his shorts.

Your vision follows his hand, and you can’t help but chuckle at the gesture.

“Shut up.”

At that, you guffaw, “What? I didn’t say anything.”

He shoves you lightly, “You were laughing at me, dumbass.”

You gleam at him. “Because you got semi-hard just with a rub?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He shoves you again, slightly harder now. When you look back at him, a faint pinkish hue now decorates his cheeks.

“I’m just kidding!” you cry when you catch sight of his devious glare.

“You better shut your trap.”

“I will,” you reassure him as you face the screen again, much to his dismay. “Because I’m going to finish this episode.”

“Oh, fucking hell.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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uncouth-the-fifth · 10 months

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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

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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vrachis · 7 months

Text

ATTRACTION. (100 FOLLOWERS SPECIAL.)

—synopsis : the countless times you’ve seen her in many other ways, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from coming back to her over and over again.

characters : yae miko x gn reader.

warnings ; breeding, desk sex, almost getting caught, size kink.

a/n : (omfg. u guys prolly read that one post abt me posting this but yeah, i decided to post it for once! im posting this at night w bad service, SO LOLLLL! dunno if its short or what but hope u guys eat this shi up tho LMAO)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

she could have never looked more pretty. you mean, she was always pretty. beautiful, stunning, and anything else positive used to describe her. she is simply, ethereal.

it’s no wonder that every time you lay your eyes upon her, all the air in your lungs seem to lessen. just because of the sight of a woman as such.

yae miko is someone who is incomparable to others, a woman out of another’s league. everything about her would lure you in, and maybe that was simply her intention.

from her looks to her personality, who wouldn’t fall prey to such charms?

well…

-… you just so happened to have done so.

at that point, you never knew who to blame. why?

well, it was your fault for falling for her schemes, that you’ve simply let yourself fall into her hands. and whatever you do, no matter what, you just seemed to keep going back to her.

as vexatious as it seems, it’s all the worth as long as you get something in return.

and here you thought you would be the only one coming back for more, but miko needed as much as you did.

she ached, and craved, any time she wanted. so as long as she knows she has you, she could never be more satisfied.

—

elicited mewls comes from the woman below you, and sounds of wood creaking violently flows along with the symphony of wet skin colliding with one another. when miko croaks out a gasp, her head falls against the wooden desk, the sheer sweat on her head cascading down to soak the oak.

as you keep a firm grip against her waist, your hips hammer in and out of her at a breakneck pace, your skin slapping against the fat of her ass. you let out a groan as you empty inside her once more, your seed spurting angrily into deep into her womb. you lean down to press a sloppy kiss to her cheek and sigh.

you let yourself finish inside her, and settle with slow thrusts. and as you slightly pull out, the mixture of both your fluids flow from her cunt, the erotic sight of it alone seeming to spur you on. it’s a sight you alone get to see every time you get with her, and you surely couldn’t feel more prideful enough at the thought of it.

“mm, you certainly have no end to your stamina, do you?” miko huffs. and of course she means that sarcastically, this woman loves how rough you can be.

you smirk gleefully. “of course, especially since you’re the one i’m doing.”

your response makes her chuckle weakly. “of course it is, what did i expect. it is me, after all.”

you two exchange a good laugh, until your eyes suddenly flash towards the door, where you see a roaming silhouette of one of the shrine maidens. miko seems to notice it as well, and she shushes you.

“l-lady yae, are you alright in there? i heard loud banging noises coming from here—“ the maiden worries.

“don’t worry about it. i-i’m just angry.” she shakes. “now leave if you don’t want to see things get dirty.”

you could’ve swore you almost let out a laugh on the spot. such a silly excuse, you thought. although… was your fucking not too rough for the maidens to not possibly hear her cries from outside? that couldn’t be possible, you thought. you wanted, no, needed everyone to know what exactly was going on in her office.

so as soon as the shadow of the now terrified maiden was gone, you could only press your weight down on the kitsune, your frame towering over hers as you lean down to nibble on her sensitive ear.

you knew miko could sense something was up from that action you just did. so you feel her squirm under you, her body still slightly shaking but seeming to push you off.

“now what? still rowdy enough to go?” she tests.

you could only hum low in response while you kept orally assaulting her ears, the fluffy parts of her seeming to twitch beneath your lips.

“why aren’t you answering me?” she grumbles. you could tell she was impatient by the time you felt her grinding against your crotch once more, evidently urging you to continue your sessions.

although you want to give it to her, you thought, giving her a little taste of her own medicine wouldn’t hurt, right?

“make sure you better be louder this time. i want them to know what exactly happens in here.”

your response seems to have given her a new wave of excitement, given the fact you feel her grinding getting more sensual, as if it has a mind of it’s own and starts to demand.

“and how exactly do you plan on doing that, mm?” she taunts. you place a finger under your chin, pretend posing as if you were to ponder. what a foolish question to ask, you thought. you thought she would’ve known by now, but it seems she just wants to hear it actually come from you.

but no, you’ve had enough expressing yourself. you’ve said enough words and done enough actions, what more so than to have her voice her needs out instead?

so you smirk, looking down mischievously at the kitsune.

“why don’t we settle for what you want? after all, you’re the one who seems to be aching for something.”

she scoffs at you unbelievably. “do you seriously want me to tell you what exactly i need? look here. you know just what i want, so give it to me. don’t make me say it.”

you sigh exasperatedly. “where’s the fun it that? after all, weren’t you the one aching for me to fuck you earlier? just beg this once, and all of this will continue.”

you hear her grit her teeth from below you, then an annoyed exhale. “fine. but you better stick to your words and listen carefully because i’m never letting you hear this again for the rest of how long you’ll live.”

you chuckle triumphantly. “hah. bring it on.”

#vrachis #kein’s fics.#dom! reader #sub genshin #sub yae miko #yae miko x reader #yae miko smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin yae miko #100 followers special fic.#it was postponed so much omfg sorry yall

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neopuppy · 7 months

Note

Jaemin would love a good gloryhole, he gives me crazy psychotic vibes

warning. ntm yet.. a smidge of fondling

“You’re going to work? This late?” Jaemin mumbles, pinching between his eyebrows where he’s sat with his face buried in a pile of books. “Who clocks in at midnight?”

“It’s an overnight job..” you shrug, tightening your coat. “That job fair I went to last week.. it was the only position that wouldn’t interfere with my class schedule.”

Jaemin sighs, leaning back against his computer chair until it creaks beneath his weight. “How are you going to keep up with your assignments?”

“That’s the thing,” clearing your throat nervously, you reply quickly, eager to end this conversation as you appear distracted patting your pockets for the house keys. “Factory prefers college students, don’t want to provide benefits or full-time positions, so the shifts are short, no more than 4 or 6 hours.”

“Oh..” Jaemin stands, stretching out his arms above his head as he approaches you. “I could drive you.”

“No!” You say abruptly, breaking into a smile at the sight of his face falling. “You already do enough for me, and I know you’re cramming for that big test.”

Jaemin waves it off, leaning near the door frame. “It’s not a big deal, I know the couch isn’t comfortable.”

On command at the mere mention of your makeshift bed your back aches, stretching to the side to relieve the pain and releasing a loud crack as you sport half a smile. “It’s not exactly a cloud but..”

“Better than the backseat of your best friend's car.” Jaemin adds, scratching his nape. “I hope at least..”

“Definitely,” you chime, setting your hand on the door handle. “Besides, this is only temporary.”

That’s what you have to remind yourself of daily, that this is just for now. A transition time you’ll forget about as soon as you’ve collected a month's pay. A draining and exhausting effort on your part, but the money..

“Seriously though, if you’re too tired for the walk back, I’ll leave my ringer on.” Jaemin’s hand lays over yours, gently squeezing. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Of course, thanks Jaem.”

“Let’s not sit where she sleeps.”

“I mean..” Jeno scoffs, folding his knees to sit on the floor with his back against the couch. “It is a place to sit, you know.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not.” Unlocking his phone, Jeno settles comfortably, head resting against the couch cushion you rest your head on every night. “You say that like I don’t offer her my bed all the time.”

“Which I’m sure she’d take you up on if you know—“ plopping down by his friend's side shoulder to shoulder, he raises an eyebrow. “You were not also in said bed naked from the waist down.”

Jeno shrugs, passing his phone to Jaemin. “Still beats a couch.”

“What’s this?”

“Something new and exciting that we should try.” Jeno explains, leaning in to scroll down the message board. “Know anything about gloryholes?”

Jaemin nearly chokes on his spit, eyes widening as he reads through the various comments describing the experience. “The fuck are you talking about..”

“You know what I’m talking about.” Jeno grins, reaching to jingle the keys in his pocket. “You down or what?”

“I dunno man..”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Sharing a curious look, Jeno raises his eyebrows up and down, pushing up from the floor to stand and extend his hand. “Just between us.”

“I don’t understand the point in paying for a quick fuck..” Jaemin says, disgruntled by the lists of prices before him. The trek to find this place was bad enough to begin with, and on tip of that $500 to get his dick wet? By a stranger no less?

“Two for one deal though.” Jeno notes, tapping the larger font with the price of $800 blown out beneath. “Hear me out, send me $250 and I’ll cover the rest.”

“W-what?” Jaemin stutters, surprised at how nonchalant his friend is about this whole situation. “Are you seriously down this bad?”

Jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like that.” Counting out a wad of bills, he slides them beneath the black tinted window, specifying the two for one deal for them. “Don’t knock it until you try it alright?”

Bending lower near the opening he slid the money through, Jeno whispers. “Number 7 available?”

“You’ve..” Jaemin follows after him, pieces falling together as his friends leads the way through a long hall without question. “You do this a lot or something?”

“Define a lot.” He says, peering over his shoulder with a sleek smirk. “A couple of times.. nothing crazy yet. At least you have me here to make sure your first time is memorable.”

Jeno comes to a stop, dangling a key that’d been tucked between his palm. “Lucky number 7.” He nods to the rooms door, an ominous carved out text painted black glares back at him.

The door lock clicks, pushed open slowly as his friend steps aside for him to head in first. It’s empty for the most part. A few items stacked along a shelf, condoms, lube, sex toys. “Behind that.”

Jeno locks the door shut behind them, motioning toward a hung up drape obscuring the rest of the room. “Would you prefer to go alone? I’ll even let you have dibs since it’s your first visit.”

Jaemin dry swallows, swiping his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. “And do what?”

Jeno’s lips draw back in a cocky smile, shushing his friend as he nudges him forward. “One way to find out.”

Jaemin’s chest thumps, gulping down the invisible weight pressed against the back of his tongue. Slowly he steps forward, barely grazing the drape with his fingertips, the sight of his trembling hand solidifies the nerves shooting throughout his chest, nudged forward softly again as he steps a foot inside past the drape.

“Shit..” he mutters, biting down on his lip to hold back a groan. Three different holes line up the walls leaving his mind to race with nothing but depraved thoughts.

“Pick one.” You say quietly, barely echoed from behind the wall that hides you.

Jaemin’s neck stiffens, toeing his way closer past the smallest of the holes that meets him at hip level. The arrows above directing him where to insert himself.

“Seven.” Jeno speaks up from the drapes opening, closing it shut to lean against the wall. “This is my best friend, he’s a first timer.”

Jaemin’s eyes enlarge, tracing around the top of the largest entrance that can only be for one thing..

“Let him get a taste of what we paid for.”

Jeno moves to stand behind him, chest pressed to his friend's back. “Jesus man, don’t be nervous.” He grins, cupping under Jaemin’s elbow to direct his hand inside past the opening.

“Nothing to be scared of, especially not you.” He whispers, chin hooked on the largers shoulder, breathily laughing when his friend lets out a shocked gasp.

“Fuck.” Jaemin sucks in a breath, digits sliding between a soft warmth. The heat building in his chest erupts upon contact, lodging himself forward with his chest pressed to the wall as his fingers spread and he glides deeper between the familiar wrap of velvety inner thighs around his wrist. “Holy shit.”

“You wanna fuck that slut, right?” Jeno eggs on, patting his hip. “Get her nice and wet for us.”

#asks #nct hard hours #nct smut #nct dream hard hours #jaemin hard hours

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stevenssticks · 8 months

Text

based on a combo of these asks from earlier in my inbox<3 thinkin of this james!

he would be pining after you for years!! and no matter how many other girls he’s fucked it’s never good enough bc it’s not you. he’s head over heels for you and also so sexually frustrated every time he sees you walking around in a pair of leather pants or a cute little skirt he has to run to the bathroom to get himself (and his dick) to calm down.

one day, after a show, he’s really wound up. he’s all frustrated and angry and he doesn’t really know why, he just knows that all he can really hear is his blood pumping in his ears and his fingers are twitching, curling into fists and then splaying back out again. sweet, adorable you, notice him sitting on his amp, and of course you come over to ask him what’s wrong.

“i dunno, sweetheart, i’m just in a mood today, i guess.” he hangs his head.

“there anything i can do to help you?” james immediately softens, eyes glancing up into yours. even all worked up and sweaty he looks so good, so beautiful.

“i uh… not really.” yes. there is something you can do to help him. let him fuck your brains out. but you’re his best friend. and he can’t ruin that with you as much as he yearns to do so, as hard as it’s getting to resist.

“how bout you come back to where i’m staying after you get all sorted? go shower, come over. i’ll have drinks?” james smiles at you, standing up and nodding. stretching. looks like a plan is a plan.

***

james gets one knock at the door before youre swinging it open, embarrassingly excited about seeing james again. your crush on him will doom you for eternity with how much you love him.

“i’ve got beer! your favorite too.”

james smiles at you, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek in which you wrap your arms around him, hugging him close. james lets out a little grunt that immediately leaves his face on fire as he feels you press against his crotch. he hopes you didn’t hear that.

you drag him over to the couch of your hotel room, it being a nice spacious little place. you crack open a beer and hand it to him, then opening and taking a swig of yours. james surveys you. glancing up and down at you from your tiny, tiny top that shows off your tits so nicely. to the little shorts you’re wearing that barely conceal anything. ones you wouldn’t dare wear out of the house but are rather comfortable to lounge in.

and that’s when james realizes he doesn’t know if he’s gonna be able to control himself tonight. you looking like this, all relaxed from the alcohol. he’s embarrassingly hard in his pants, and he crosses his legs as to not draw attention to himself. you’re leaning on him, talking away about miscellaneous things, james nodding along but not really listening. instead thinking of what it would feel like to fuck your tits, play with you til you’re crying. make you pay for all the years he’s spent wasted on other girls when he could been with you.

he gets snapped out of his thoughts when you literally do snap in his face.“james! hellooo? woah, you really are out of it today.”

he can’t take it anymore, he abruptly gets up, blabbering out how he’s gotta get out of here, how he doesn’t wanna do anything he regrets, and then you’re grabbing him by the waist and turning him around before he can reach the doorknob.

“what is it that’s bothering you this much?” you look him up and down, and then you spot the hardon in his jeans. and yeah, now you know what’s been bothering him so much. james groans when he realizes you realized, and covers his face with his hands.

“can i please just lea-“

“you want me to help you with that?” okay. woah. james is paralyzed, mouth moving but no sounds coming out, until you make a move for him, taking your hand and pushing on his hard on, rubbing in slow circles and james’ brain immediately blanks. and then he’s leaning down and kissing you. it’s sloppy, wet, and with too much teeth and tongue but james couldn’t give a fuck. he’s got you. he grabs onto your waist, hoisting you up and dragging you over to the bed, sheets still unmade from when you left in the early morning. james keeps kissing you, fucking your mouth with his tongue and groaning into you.

he only lets up when you push him away for air. whimpering out a little “please, james…” and then he’s kissing and sucking on your neck, tearing your clothes off and not even bothering to unbutton his shirt, just ripping it and hearing buttons go flying.

“you know how fucking crazy you make me” you whine as james cups a hand over your pussy, covered only by thin lacy underwear now. “gonna make you pay for all those nights i haven’t been able to touch you. lay back.” you do exactly as you ask, and james acts on those sinister thoughts from earlier, removing his underwear and straddling your stomach, feeling up your bare breasts. he opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue and letting spit dribble down to the valley between your tits, getting you all wet for him there. he grabs your breasts in his big hands, pushing them together and then he slides his cock in between the little space left, groaning as he starts to fuck your tits.

“holy fuck, you’re such a dream.. look at you. have barely touched you and you’re already gone. stick your tongue out.” you do as you’re told of course. and james slides his cock all the way up until the tip pushes on your tongue on the upstroke. you swirling around the pink tip every time you get a chance. james keeps moaning, saying the filthiest fucking things to you. his thrusts get sloppy.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep your mouth open. gonna empty myself in between those pretty lips of yours.” james lets go of your tits to shuffle further up your body, jerking himself off quick and tight, before coming with a groan into your waiting mouth. you stay still, letting him do what he wants with you, pushing the droplets of cum that missed back into your mouth.

you’re mewling for stimulation. and james of course will give you anything that you ask. he shuffles down your body, face right in front of your pussy and blowing air on it. making you kick your legs out and squirm. he grabs your thighs to make you stay still, and then licks a stripe up your cunt. your squeal, closing your legs around his head now that he’s let go of him, which he lets you do enthusiastically. you grab at his hair and hump his face, whining and moaning and then screaming when james pushes two fingers into you at the same time he sucks your clit into his mouth.

you’re gonna cum so quick. james can feel it. he won’t let it happen. your moans get more high pitched, and when you start to pulse around him he pulls his fingers out quick. making your legs kick out again and slam down on the bed. crying at being denied. “james..! please!”

“not yet. told you i was gonna make you pay.” james is already hard again. he pushes his fingers back into you and immediately goes back to fucking you relentlessly with them. repeating the cycle of pulling away over and over again.

“tell me you’re sorry for making me wait.”

“fuck james.. ‘m sorry. didn’t know you liked me like that. wanted this f-for so long.. so sorry. wanted you so bad, i’m sssorry!”

“i’m not convinced.” james taunts. pulling out again. tears fall from your eyes. hands gripping the sheets of the bed hard, and you vaguely remember you’re in a hotel room and you’ve got neighbors, but the thought leaves your mind as quick as it came.

“please jamie… wanted it for so long i’m so sorry. i’m sorry. please… fuck me. want your cock so bad. wanna cum. i need you. i’m so ffucking s-sorry!” you’re full on sobbing, mascara running, hand thrown over your eyes as james’ fingers slow again inside you.

you get ready to be denied again, but instead immediately after you feel james’ fingers leave you, you feel something bigger in its place pushing at your entrance. james comes up to lean over you, resting on his forearms above you. pushing in without a word of warning and you wail again.

“ffuck… this pussy is so fucking tight.. oh god. gonna make me cum so quick. you want that? want me to fill you up?” you nod frantically when you realize he’s finally gonna let you get yours after being denied time and time again. bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist as he starts to nudge impossibly deep into you.

“shit.. yeah you do. first i want you to cream all over my cock. think you can do that for me? can feel you squeezing me. so close, aren’t you?”

you are. you really are. james leans down and gives you marks all up your neck, licking and sucking. grinding hard into you, hips pressed against each other. you bring a hand down to rub your clit, and it only takes a few tight circles before you’re gone. your other hand wraps up around his neck, pulling him down so he’s pressing you into the mattress.

“fuck.. there it is baby. that’s it.. f-feels so good. oh..” james keeps thrusting into you, faster, harder, fucking you through your orgasm so he can get his. he pushes your head to the side so he can kiss you, moaning into your mouth as you feel him spill into you with a groan before pulling away from your lips. “auh.. fuck! oh shit…” james leans back on his knees, hips still making tiny jolts in you. he pulls out almost all the way, leaving just the tip in and reaching down to jerk his cock, pushing out the last of his orgasm.

when he pulls out he groans at the sight of you leaking with his cum, reaching down to push it back into you. you whine, grabbing a pillow and holding it to your face. you’re exhausted, thoroughly worn out, but he doesn’t wanna let this be done yet. he’s already twitching again. you’re gonna be in for a rough night.

——

can y’all tell i’m ovulating.

#asks and replies #p’s thots(^ ^*)#metallica #james hetfield #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #kirk hammett #cliff burton #lars ulrich #jason newsted

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sister-lucifer · 23 days

Text

Eager Hands On Soft Flesh: A Preview

ticci toby x chubby!transmasc!reader

a fic for @pompeiisystem

content/warnings: insecure chubby reader, reassurance from toby, no real nsfw yet just a loving slightly horny toby who wants you to feel as handsome as he knows you are

“Toby, be honest, do you think this outfit would look better if I…you know, lost some weight?”

The sudden lurch of his body followed by sputtering and coughing as he chokes on his drink makes you jump. Your eyes widen a bit as you watch him struggle to regain his composure, wiping his mouth and trying not to spit.

“Wh— W-What the hell are you t-talkin’ about?” He stammers, speaking through the discomfort of off brand soda in his windpipe.

“I just mean…you know,” You reply, suddenly feeling sheepish as you look down at the crimson sweater keeping snug against your top half, “I was just thinking…maybe I should, I dunno—“

“Did I s-say something?” Toby says quickly. He rises from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, wiping his chin with his sleeve one last time. “Did I m-make you—shhhrk!—make you— m-make you think that you h-had to?”

“Oh no, of course not!” You’re fast to reply, gently putting your hands on his arms and giving a small squeeze. “No, no, it’s not you at all, I promise. I was only thinking—“

“W-Well you shouldn’t d-do that anymore.”

You sigh softly, moving your hands down go grasp his. You run your thumbs over his knuckles, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Toby, come on, I didn’t mean anything bad about you. I’m just saying…I want you to be honest with me, that’s all.”

You look down at yourself, at the knit sweater and jeans you’ve put on. They’re comfortable, yes, but there’s something about the way you look in them that just doesn’t add up. You shouldn’t have expected to look exactly like the model on the website, really. You didn’t think you did.

You’re starting to feel foolish for spending your money on this. It was silly, really, to be so excited about something as simple as a cute sweater, but at the time you thought you couldn’t live without it. You have plenty of other perfectly good outfits in your closet. Really, what reason did you have to think—

You gasp softly when Toby suddenly pulls you in, ripping you from your thoughts with hands on your waist, gently grabbing at your love handles and pushing you back against the counter. His lips find your neck in a split second.

You moan softly, the sensation surprising but not unpleasant. You grasp at the back of his sweatshirt with one hand and run your fingers through his hair with the other. He groans under his breath when you tug just a bit.

“Please, baby,” He whispers against your skin, “P-Please, let me love on y-you just a-a bit…”

“Toby, what are you—“

“Nothing, baby, I-I’m not doing a-anything…Just l-let me…”

Your cheeks are getting hot fast. You make no effort to push him away, but you can’t help getting flustered.

“Toby, c’mon, you don’t have to do all this…”

“I-I want to, though,” He says quickly, starting to nip and suck at your neck between kisses, “I’m not v-vvv-very good with words, I-I…I just—j-just wanna show you—shhh!—s-show you what you f-feel like…to m-me…”

He pauses with a sigh, pulling back slowly. He looks up at you almost hesitantly, an expression you rarely see on his face. He’s always the first to act on an impulse, rarely ever thinking twice about anything; what’s slowing him down now?

“…i-if you’ll let me, I-I mean.”

The words come out far too gentle for Toby, and it makes you melt against him a bit. He’s always so eager to get his hands on your body, but something in him is sensing something unsure in you. You look back into the mossy color of his hazel eyes with contemplation.

You can’t stop the gentle smile that spreads over your face.

You pull him down to give him a slow kiss, and he happily returns the gesture. When you pull back again, there’s no hiding the anticipation on his face as he awaits your answer.

“…Of course, Toby.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #trans masc reader #male reader #chubby reader #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #fic preview #wip #fic wip #ticci toby creepypasta

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