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#shhhh he is the best boi

rynrites · 8 months

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screenshot i got from last night's stream, so enjoy angry Virgil staring into your soul

#legends of avantris #edge of midnight #the crooked moon #virgil (raum)#angry borb #shhhh he is the best boi #i hired him to stare at you #congrats LoA on 2 million on kickstarter!!!#so proud of the gang

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thefarminggoblin · 2 years

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No thoughts, just single dad Jushiro Ukitake

Father’s Day is coming up and this brain rot will not leave me alone. So I had to write it.

It was only meant to be a few headcanons but turned into a whole ass fic. Good grief. The only TW I have is that it’s longer than I anticipated. Dear lord.

It’s not beta read and I am tired so please be gentle.

Disclaimer: this gets a wee bit smutty in places (nothing overly graphic), so if you’re a minor, please DNI.

Otherwise, enjoy this ridiculous modern day au.

Word count: 4,300

—————

You’re running late to a formal meet and greet with other parents of the kindergarten group and feeling so embarrassed when all judgmental stares fall upon you as you enter just after the first speaker starts.

You freeze and scan the room for a seat. Until you spot a very handsome man - the only one in the room - who flashes you an understanding smile and motions for you to sit next to him. The vague amusement in his soft brown eyes makes you blush, but he’s giving off genuinely comforting vibes.

His long white hair is tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a deep red turtleneck with a navy jacket, and beige pants that are tactfully fitted but never the less showing off slightly muscled thighs. Brown Oxford shoes complete the look; he’s very clean cut but his friendly and open nature makes you think he’s a genuinely good man as far as first impressions go.

This man is devastatingly handsome. He even SMELLS good - like fresh linen with a hint of citrus.

After the meeting agenda is finished - start times, expectations for pick up and permission forms for various things are handed out. Afternoon tea is served to encourage parents to mingle and introduce themselves. The kindly man extends his hand to you:

“I’m Jushiro, pleased to meet you.” The deep timbre of his voice is warm and soothing and you feel some of your anxiety leave you.

You take his proffered hand - slender, soft and warm - and introduce yourself, doing your best to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest, “My son and I are pretty new to the area, so thank you for being the first person who hasn’t issued me a death glare.”

He chuckles, “Well, I know how hard it can be to, ah, befriend some of the parents at this school.”

He’s right; the school is one of the best in the area, and the tuition is high enough to provide insights into the type of clientele that enrol their children. A quick glance around the room gives a profile of the other mothers - dressed in designer outfits that would likely cost you your entire monthly budget. You regret looking around immediately - a few of them are side eyeing you, others looking you up and down, completely unashamed. None of the looks you are receiving are particularly friendly.

You fiddle with your hair, fuss over your outfit, brushing away non existent creases. A mistake. You shouldn’t have tried to enrol your son in this elite school. Neither of you fit in here. You’re not rich. You feel so small in comparison to the other well dressed, well made up women. This was all a mista-

Jushiro’s deep, gentle voice breaks your train of thought, “Don’t worry about them. They’re just trapped in their own echo chamber and don’t realise that there are other parents who don’t focus so hard on appearances and money. You care about your son’s education, that’s all that matters.”

You suspect that the glares from a few of the mothers have something to do with you chatting to Jushiro. You’re positive that this beautiful man has caught the eye of a few of the other mothers in the group, single or not.

He must notice your discomfort because he puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “For what it’s worth, I think you look absolutely lovely.” He smiles at you and you’re nearly blinded by how bright it is. That teasing gleam returns to his eyes, “Well, aside from the little bit of pastry you have on your cheek.”

You immediately bring a hand to your face and rub at your cheeks. Chuckling, he offers you a handkerchief (who carries those these days anyway?!) and you utter your gratitude as you wipe your face.

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“So, what’s your kid like? Are they excited?”

He nods, “Twins. Both boys, and quite energetic. I apologise in advance - they can be a bit of a handful at times! They’re good natured children but can be quite stubborn and cheeky.” He scratches the back of his neck as he grins awkwardly. “And they love to play pranks on their old man! Once I was running late, and didn’t notice that they’d scribbled on my face as I slept. Mortifying.”

You laugh, feeling more at ease by the second, “Don’t worry, my boy has done some tricky stuff too. He can give it as good as he gets!”

He chuckes, “I am sure they’ll get along well then!”

“Perhaps too well!”

He checks his watch and sighs, “Speaking of, I’m awfully sorry to cut the conversation short but I have to leave early. The babysitter’s patience has likely worn thin.”

You go to hand his handkerchief back, but he shakes his head.

“Hold onto it. You can give it back to me at the drop off. But just to be safe…”

He takes his phone out and opens it, then holds out his phone bashfully. Your name has already been entered. Your number. He’s asking for your number. The last time a man did that was-

He clears his throat and you see him start to withdraw his hand. Before he can, you take the phone and enter your details, offering him your own so that he can do the same.

“There. Now you know I won’t commit handkerchief theft!”

You both laugh heartily, ignoring the scornful looks from the other mothers gathered.

————————

Some days you miss him at the drop offs but see him every day without fail at pick up times.

You keep in touch with him regularly, texting each other often. Occasionally you meet up for coffee during your respective lunch breaks during work hours, or squeezing in some time in between work and pick up time.

You find his presence extremely comforting, and the conversations flow effortlessly between you both. You find yourself becoming very fond of this man, and would go so far as to think of him as one of the best friends you’ve ever had.

Over the course of a few weeks you find out more and more about this incredibly kind man: he’s an elementary school teacher, and is from the area. He’s 40, which surprises you - you’re 8 years his junior but aside from the slight creases in the corner of his eyes when he smiles and his salt white hair, you would have assumed he was around your age. He does kendo in his spare time and keeps carp. He’s terrible at gardening, but enjoys it.

When you mention you keep house plants he flashes you that almost bashfully boyish grin you’ve become so fond of, “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two!”

You also discover rather quickly that he is also a single parent, like you.

He reveals to you one day with downcast eyes and a quiet voice that his wife had passed away while delivering the twins. The loss devastated him but he absolutely adores his boys, doting on them any chance he gets. He admits some days are harder than others but that he wouldn’t trade his sons for anything.

It’s a very different circumstance to your own - your deadbeat ex had left you for another woman, while you were pregnant with your son. The look of quiet anger on Jushiro’s face as you told him over coffee one afternoon was shocking. It’s subtle to the point where a stranger would likely not see the difference, but you knew him well enough to notice the stern expression and fire in his eyes, the tightening of his lips.

“He’s out of the picture entirely. No child support or anything. Said he didn’t want a kid to tie him down. I could’ve pushed for it but honestly I’m just glad he’s gone.”

Jushiro’s hands are clenched around his mug of tea tightly, knuckles white, his brows furrowed in anger, “Selfish bastard. He didn’t deserve you.”

You feel yourself flush, “Thank you.”

He waves a hand, “Don’t thank me, it’s the truth. You’re kind, brilliant, and incredibly dedicated - both as a friend and a mother. And you’re absolutely beautiful. Any man should count his lucky stars to have you as a lover.”

Your face is on fire and your pulse quickens suddenly. No one has ever said anything so romantic to you before.

Oh.

Emboldened by his words, a small smile crosses your face, “I hope I do find such a man one day.”

His expression turns soft, the corners of his mouth turning upwards slightly, “I certainly hope you do. You deserve every happiness.”

Perhaps I already have…

————————

Your children end up having regular play dates together. They get along quite well; a little TOO well, if the reports from the teacher are to be believed. Last week one of the other children was pushing your son around, so the twins decided to put sand in their backpack. Another instance was that another child had deliberately smeared paint all over one of the twin’s artwork - your son had thrown an entire paint pallet at the kid in retaliation.

The trio were also known to sneak toys into nap time and stealthily play together, using rulers as bridges between their cots to push toy cars across when the teacher wasn’t looking.

Before you know it 2 months have passed and you’re both at the twin’s birthday party.

There you meet some of Jushiro’s friends: Shunsui and Nanao, who have children in elementary school. Kisuke and Yoruichi, who have children in junior high school. Byakuya and Hisana, who’s daughter is of similar age to your sons.

You all spend the afternoon drinking and eating as you supervise the children. Jushiro goes to gather the children for the treasure hunt. You assist him by handing out the little maps to the children while he explains the game.

You’re enraptured by how this kind man instructs the kids. He’s so gentle and patient with them it makes your heart ache. He blows the whistle for them to start and the children scatter excitedly.

He laughs heartily, then turns to you, beaming ear to ear. He clearly loves working with children, and watching as his face lights up with childlike glee and continues to supervise from afar.

It hits you - you’re falling for him. Hard and fast.

You go back inside to get some more drinks for the two of you from the fridge and run into the other adults who are preparing lunch.

“Well, Jushiro’s certainly looking happier than I’ve seen him in years.” Shunsui says after taking the last swig of his sake and refilling his cup, earning a stern look from his wife, who is artistically arranging various snacks on a platter.

“That’s your last one Shunsui. You agreed to take the kids while I go out for coffee with the ladies tomorrow, remember?”

“Yes dearest.” He gives her a look that’s all cheek, and she scoffs and rolls her eyes. You catch a tiny upwards turn of her lips.

“I agree with you, Shunsui. It is good to see Jushiro in such high spirits. He’s usually somewhat melancholic this time of year.” Byakuya says.

It’s only then that you realise; his wife’s passing would fall on the twin’s birthday. Your heart aches for him; it must be such a conflicting time for him.

Later that evening as you’re helping pack up in the kitchen, your hands submerged in the soapy water while he puts the kids to sleep. He looks a little wan as he walks into the kitchen.

“Are you alright?”

“You always see right through me, don’t you?” He sighs, “Honestly, I feel a little uneasy. This time of year is always difficult. My sons give me so much joy, and I’m glad that they were born, but-“ he sighs again, and this time it’s shakier, and he runs a hand down his face

He’s clearly upset. You dry your hands off and wrap him in a hug. He reciprocates, still trembling.

“I-I miss her.”

“I know.”

“It’s so difficult without her sometimes.”

“I know.”

He takes a few deep breaths and you hear a slight sniffle, “Sometimes I feel so guilty. As if I can’t give the boys what she could have.”

You pull away just a little and cradle his face in your hands, using your thumbs to brush away some of the tears that are flowing down his cheeks, “Jushiro, you’re an amazing dad and they love you so much. And you bring so much joy into their lives. They had so much fun today, remember?”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling a little shakily but he’s clearly calming down. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” He takes you hands in his own, “I apologise, you don’t need to see me like this. It’s unfair on you.”

“Oh, Jushiro. It’s okay. We’re friends, and I’m glad you’re able to talk to me about it. You’re only human.”

“Thank you.” He gives you a small smile that both breaks and mends your heart.

“Would you tell me about her? Do you have any photos?”

You spend the rest of the evening drinking tea while he shows you pictures of he and his wife, of the adventures they shared. There are more tears, but he laughs more than a few times, and your heart swells.

About an hour later you’re standing at the door, your son fast asleep in your arms.

“Thank you for listening to this old man’s rambling. It… meant a lot that I could share that part of my life with a dear friend.”

He looks a little sheepish before adding: “And I… I do hope to have the strength to move on one day.”

“Jushiro, you deserve every happiness.”

He huffs a laugh, “Reusing some of my own words of wisdom?”

“Hey, it’s true! You’re kind, smart and a total gentleman. Easy on the eyes, too.” You add with a wink.

He chuckles a little at that. He takes your free hand in his, giving it a light squeeze.

“Thank you again. Drive safely and text when you get home.”

Your heart flutters. He’s such a genuinely beautiful soul. “I will.”

After you tuck your son into bed you do just that:

I got home safe. He didn’t wake up! Lucky me 😊

Maybe we need to arrange play dates more often. My boys haven’t stirred at all!

Definitely! Only if you’re okay with putting up with us. It’s always great to see you. I really enjoy your company ❤️

You hover over the send button for a few seconds, debating whether to send it - are you being too bold? The three dots appear and reappear about 4 times.

Of course. Any chance to spend time with you is always welcomed ❤️

Your heart flips. He shoots through another message before you can respond.

Coffee tomorrow? Usual time?

Can’t wait! Goodnight, Jushiro xx

Sweet dreams xx

And they are.

————————

Something in your relationship changes after that night over the next few weeks. You notice his eyes lingering on you sometimes, sometimes questioning, other times a little soft, and when your fingers brush while he’s passing you handouts at parent meeting, you notice a light blush appear on his face.

The hugs you give each other when meeting up become a little more intimate, a little longer, with his hands rubbing up and down your back slowly and you burying your face in his shoulder. The butterflies in your stomach swell with each of these events, and you always feel your cheeks redden.

It all comes to a head one evening while you’re making cupcakes together for the kindergarten bake sale. It feels so domestic, working in tandem while the kids are sleeping in your son’s room. You decided baking while they were awake was a terrible idea; they’d likely complain about not being able to eat them all.

Each time he scoots past you in your tiny kitchen he puts his hand on the small of your back, making your heart race. At one point he takes both your hips in his large, gentle hands and gently moves you aside a fraction so that he can get into the drawer in front of you.

You can’t help but imagine how those hands would feel in the same position sans clothing, and you bite your lip as you repress a shudder, attempting to banish the sinful thoughts from your mind.

Your sides brush together as you reach over to grab the wooden spoon that sits in front of him, and a bag of flour goes EVERYWHERE as he opens the packet with a little more gusto than needed.

You’re both COVERED in the white powder, and laughing uncontrollably as you try to wipe it off your clothes, face and hair.

Jushiro goes to wipe some off your cheek with his fingers, but it only transfers more from his hands onto your face and you both burst into giggles again.

“Shhh, shhh we- hahahaha! - we’ll wake the kids!” You wheeze.

He’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes with a towel, still chuckling.

“Well. That’s was fun. I know I’m a rubbish baker but I didn’t realise how simply opening a bag of flour would go wrong so easily.”

You both get cleaned up and back to work and manage to make enough cupcakes for the event. While you wait for them to cool so you can frost them, you decide to sit down on the couch together and watch a random gaming show.

“Oh, you still have some flour on your face.” You brush the tips of your fingers over Jushiro’s cheek to remove the white powder and he shudders. You can’t help it as your hand falls from his cheek to his jaw, gently caressing his face with the back of your knuckles.

He immediately turns to look at you, his gaze so intense that you almost feel naked. He tentatively takes your hand and kisses your wrist ever so lightly, setting off a spark that travels through your whole body, making you shudder.

His eyes are half lidded and your faces are drawing closer, your heart pounding as you close your eyes in anticipation of what’s finally about to happen.

He kisses you. It’s soft, sweet and heartbreakingly tender, one hand is caressing your cheek and the other rests on your side, drawing you closer. He sighs as he breaks apart from you and searches your eyes, a crease forming between his brows and his mouth opening and closing multiple times as he struggles to find the right words to say

“It’s okay, Jushiro.”

His expression turns into a tortured look, “I-I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t have-“ he makes to move away but you put your hold his face in your hands

“Jushiro, it’s okay.”

His face is still concerned, “I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. It’s something I truly treasure and I don’t want to mess things up and-“

You press your lips to his to silence his protests. When you pull away you see that some of the tension has left his face.

“I feel the same, but I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings for you any longer, Jushiro…”

A sigh of relief and he raises your knuckles to his lips, “Well, if you’re willing to try, would you allow me to court you?”

You giggle. “Sometimes you say the cutest things.”

————————

Shunsui and Nanao end up babysitting your kids as you go out on your first date as a couple.

Shunsui winks slyly at you as you leave, “If you need to stay out all night, just swing us a message.”

Jushiro flushes, “Good grief, Shunsui, do you always have to be such a lewd bastard?” His tone is hot and flustered, and he’s only half serious.

“Hey now, not in front of the kids, Ju.”

“You’re impossible.”

Jushiro takes you to a restaurant on the river - nothing too over the top but the food is fantastic, the atmosphere a little sultry with the low lighting and soft jazz playing in the background.

You can’t remember the name of the movie - some sci-fi superhero movie with a talking raccoon? - or the plot. All you remember is the fire running through your veins as Jushiro takes your hand about 20 minutes in and intertwines your fingers, his thumb slowly caressing your skin. The sensation is almost too much to bear, your heart pounding the entire time.

The night concludes with a VERY heated make out session in the back of his car. His large, slender hands caress you under your clothing and your hands are in his hair and his tongue is in your mouth and the sounds he’s making are downright sinful. It all sets your skin on fire in the most delicious way. You’re undressed enough - his tie is gone, the buttons of his shirt completely undone and your dress is unzipped, pooled around your waist, your top bare except for your bra - to feel the skin of his lithe chest on yours. It excites you to know that despite his gentlemanly demeanour he is still very much a hot blooded man, and he wants you.

However, he is enough of a gentleman to stop before things get serious as you start to undo his belt, “We - ahh - w-we should stop.”

You stop kissing his neck and sit up, straddling his hips. He looks irresistibly mussed - panting, lipstick all over his face and neck, his face flushed, his hair completely loosened from its usual style, some strands plastered to parts of his face…

“Sorry, I thought you wan-“

He sits up immediately and kisses you, softer but with no less passion, his hand on the back of your head. He pulls back and rests his forehead on yours.

“I do. Trust me.” A small roll of his hips against you has you gasping; you can feel just how much he wants you, “I really, truly do. But not like this. Not where it’s cramped and we could be interrupted by a passerby.” He reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “More than anything, I want to do things right by you. You deserve far more than a quick tryst in the back of a car after the first date.”

You feel tears prick in your eyes. He’s so perfect. So, so perfect. You’re certain: you’re in love with him.

His smile turns into a smirk, “Besides, I’d hate for anyone other than me to see you naked.” He winks and you giggle.

He drives you back to the Kyoraku’s, his hand holding yours across the console. The hand back goes well - your son is fast asleep in your arms as you walk him back to your car and buckle him into his seat.

Shunsui gives Jushiro a sly look, “Looks like the date wasn’t as innocent as you intended, hmm Jushiro?”

You both stand their completely perplexed for a moment until the twins rush to their father, clinging on to each of his legs.

“Awwwwwww Daddy, you did finger painting without us?!” One of the twins pouts, pointing to Jushiro’s neck.

“No faaaaaaiiiirrrr!” The other cries.

Jushiro is a flustered mess as he frantically tries to wipe the missed lipstick mark from his neck with both of his hands as you laugh.

His hair is down at the next drop off you see him at. You tease him about it and he blushes furiously before leaning over and whispering “I’ll get you back for that on our next date, darling.”

————————

On the second date the children DO end up staying at the Kyoraku’s overnight. The two of you end up having a backyard picnic under the stars in his garden - which has improved with your advice.

You lay down next to each other and stargaze together, heads resting against each other and hands intertwined.

Jushiro breaks the comfortable silence between the two of you, “I truly hope you know how dear you are to me. That you’re always on my mind. That I…”

He sits upright and runs his hands through his loose hair. Concerned, you sit up as well, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Jushiro?”

He sighs and turns to you, his tender expression that never fails to make your heart flutter on his handsome face, “I hope you don’t think I’m moving too quickly, and if I make you uncomfortable please tell me, but…” He takes another deep sigh, closes his eyes and places his hand on the back of your neck to draw you closer so that he can rest his forehead on yours.

“I love you.” He whispers, and time stops.

“Oh, Jushiro. I love you, too.”

He smiles and kisses you. Softly at first, but he can’t restrain himself for much longer and soon enough you’re both a tangled mess of limbs.

You eventually calm yourselves down enough to make your way to his bedroom, where he takes his time undressing you, his eyes full of adoration and lust.

He makes love to you with a passion you’ve never experienced before, his fingers entwined with yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck and you’ll be damned if it’s not the most romantic thing that has ever happened to you.

————————

Single dad Jushiro Ukitake proposing marriage 3 months later.

Single dad Jushiro Ukitake officially adopting your son.

Single dad Jushiro Ukitake who is no longer a single dad and creates a big, happy family with you, with another 2 children.

Just… single dad Jushiro Ukitake 🥰

#this was a lot #it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything other than academic nonsense #anyway #you cannot deny that Ukitake would be THE best dad ever #Tbh not sure if he would be a elementary teacher or paediatrician in a modern day au #Also shhhh I’m ignoring that shun and nanao are apparently related because lbr that ish came straight out of nowhere in the manga #There is not a doubt in my mind that Kubo retconned it #Like I’m genuinely convinced #Too much romantic tension for it to be a familial kind of affection up until that arc #This is something to unpack at another time though #ANYWAY #husband Ukitake is next on the list to write #because hoo boy the headcanons I have for that man #Jade is in love with Ju-Kun #jushiro ukitake #ukitake #shunao #shunsui kyoraku #nanao ise #byakuya kuchiki #hisana kuchiki #byasana #ukitake x reader #jushiro x reader #bleach anime #that’s enough tagging I think

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toodrasticallydumb · 1 year

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Baby has consumed my brain.

Eat him up.

‘Cause if u don’t, I WILL

-c h o m p-

*ahem*

A nice little sketchbook spread of lil boi Waltolomew Strickler, for your pleasure :}

Fanfic art for this lovely fic (Take my hand, specifically chapter 12) by varve (idk their tumblr):

He is the baby :}

If it wasn’t obvious enough If you’re wondering, his floofy hair is my fav part of his design ‘cause of course it is.

(I’m not SUPER sure what the actual description provided by the fic is, but I just couldn’t resist the ‘hair-in-his-baby-face-that-gets-all-fluffy-when-he-gets-angry’-kinda style….call me weak, but I couldn’t resist.)

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s0dium · 12 days

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THAT'S A RED FLAG BABY

JJK MEN AND RED FLAGS

A/n: Yessirrrr MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Synopsis: Jujutsu men and their red flag in a relationship or generally and how it shows through when they fuck

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Yuuta Okkatsu, Sukuna Ryomen, Choso

Warnings: Emotional abuse, narcissism, controlling behavior, dub-con, semi-public sex, spitting, fingering, rough sex, male masturbation, degrading, praise, teasing

Gojo Satoru- Narcissist

Since he was a kid, Gojo has been praised and called many things

The honored one, the strongest, gifted and so on

But what people don't see is behind those beautiful sapphire eyes, is a goddamn narcissist through and through

He thinks, no he knows that he is the best, best at everything

This includes what goes on in bed.

And its not only that, the white-haired fox only cares about himself too in the sheets, abusing his unnatural stamina and using you like a cock sleeve for his own taste

At least he can be nice about it sometimes

Gojo is relentless. Its almost like your his personal cock sleeve, his dick shaping your insides and abusing your cervix despite your choked sobs and whines for him to stop, to simply slow down. He holds the back of your head with his hand, allowing you to look down at the way you two are connected; how he retracts his hips until his tip barely pokes out, admiring the slick coating his shaft before slamming back into you again.

"Ahhh~ P-please Satoru please...."

Gojo rolls his eyes and scoffs. Why were the people that surrounded him always so weak? Even you. It's a good thing you feel like heaven he could almost forgive you.

Tears stream down your face. Every time the tip of his dick rams against your cervix a powerful feeling mixed with pain and pleasure that surges through your body making you tremble and shake. You're losing your mind. Everything is so good, and, God, you can't ignore how handsome Gojo looks right now. His white hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the muscles of his toned abdomen are flexing and unflexing. He is gorgeous, and, boy, he knows it. Even the way your pussy squeezes and spasms around his dick sends more bolts of electric pleasure to dance through your skim.

"Shhhh, just take it 'kay? You're doing so good for me baby." Gojo coos.

Geto Suguru -Controlling

It starts off small, a comment here and there on your choice of friends, a small criticism on where you were going to spend the evening because wouldn't you have much more fun spending it with him?

Then he's starting to pick out outfits for you. Modest but pretty ones for outside but short skimpy clothes for when you're only with him. It even gets to the point where he is controlling your finances, making you only use his credit card, and its not about the money, you can use as much as you want for all he cares. It's about the control, you being helplessly reliant on him.

And Geto has such an easy time getting away with his controlling tendencies, showering you in praises and sweet nothings about how he just wants to protect you. And the way his violet eyes gleam at you, you almost always believe him.

Don't for a second think that he's insecure because it's far from it. The raven-haired man just wants to have you all to himself, he just wants to protect you from the cruel cruel world out there.

"Didn't I tell you to ask me first if you are going to wear an outfit like that?" Geto whispers in your ear but you can barely focus on his words. The curl of his fingers inside you is just too numbing; the way it hits, prods, and massages a spot deep inside your walls that you can only dream about reaching on your own. Geto's fingers are so thick too, almost filling you up as deliciously as his dick does. Almost. "Mmm- I- I, I didn't-" You gasp for air and try to bury your face into your hands. He currently has you against a wall of some bathroom stall but that fact seemed all but lost to you right now. The pleasure was building in your core and fast. Your legs were starting to shake and a numbing electric feeling had taken course throughout your body. You didn't have to open your eyes to know that Geto was smirking.

Suddenly, Goto curls his fingers in a way that deeply presses your g-spot and the dam of pleasure that had built inside you breaks. Your jaw goes slack and your whole body trembles with electricity.

"Didn't expect for you to crack so easily" he chuckles against your ear, and you collapse into his chest. Yuta Okkatsu- Too obsessed

You would think this is a good thing right? You could never love someone too much, but it was different with Yuuta

Sure you had a crush on him, sure you touched yourself to him plenty of times (which Yuuta knew of very well) so the feelings weren't all that unreciprocated

But theres a line, there's a line that Yuta always seems to cross

From taking pictures of you to texting you constantly, christ you even found your panties in his drawer, yuta love was overwhelming.

Yuuta knows that he should wake you up, but he cant bring himself too right now. You just look so beautiful, so perfect under the soft glow of the night sky. Also, he just feels so good right now, Yuuta can barely think so much as speak. "Mmmm-mmm" he whimpers against the pillow, slowly grinding his clothed erection against your bare leg. How would you react if you knew your boyfriend was humping you while you sleep? Would you push him away? No no you're too kind for that, you would probably help him, probably pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings until he finished. Yes, if he knew for a fact that you'd help him when you wake up, what's stopping you from helping you now? Careful not to wake you up, he picks up your hand. It's so small compared to his but wraps so well around his throbbing member. He glides your thumb across his red tip to collect the precum before slowly sliding your hand up and down. The pleasure is immediate. It makes him bury his face into your neck to to press sloppy, wet, hot, and bitten kisses along your skin.

Sukuna Ryomen- Sadist

Where to start with Sukuna. Sukuna is the red flag.

Actually, even that is a complete understatement. Sukuna is straight-up cruel, rather he is a sadist through and through.

Manipulation, degrading, humiliation....although he wouldn't physically abuse you, with emotional abuse he won't hesitate.

You expect compassion, sympathy, and kindness from him? Fat chance. It is hard to see Sukuna being in any relationship at all.

Sukuna certainly doesn't love you, but he sure does love the sex though

Like any good sadist, his sexual pleasure derives from your physical or emotional suffering.

"Aw look at you, fucked you dumb did I?" Sukuna chuckles. A tattooed hand snakes between to your cunt, lightly rubbing your clit before delivering a sharp slap to the nerve.

Your eyes widen and your hips instantly buck up, unintentionally sending his dick deeper into you. The position he has you in is brutal. Both of your legs are thrown over Sukuna's shoulders and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. "Open ya mouth" He orders, but you are too lost in the pleasure that is blooming in your stomach, the pleasure that is making your cunt flutter and squeeze desperately around his fat cock. "I said open." Sukuna delivers a particularly harsh thrust before stilling inside you; keeping the tip of his dick smushed against your cervix. The sudden movement snaps you out of your haze and you obediently widen your mouth letting your tongue hang out. Sukuna lets a glob of spit fall from his lips onto your awaiting tongue. You don't need to be told to swallow, you do so on habit, giving him a soft smile as you do so.

"Fuck, ya so perfect, such a good girl."

Choso- Jealous

Choso is the type of man who keeps to himself. The type of man to blend in a group or fade into the background.

But that doesn't mean he notices things. In fact, he notices things a bit too well.

Was that your coworker who touched your shoulder? You say that he is just a friend but who should a friend be able to touch you so easily?

He won't hesitate to bring up what he notices either, he says he's not accusing you of anything, that he trusts you, but he totally is.

He hates it when people get to close to his brothers so it posits that he loathes it when it comes to his lover.

How did you get here? How did an argument turn into this?

You want to scream, you want to thrash and tell Choso that he's got it all wrong, that you didn't mean to see your guy friend when you went out to have lunch. It was just a harmless bump-in that turned into a long conversation. Thats it. But the feeling of Choso's dick filling you up, his harsh thrusts and the fucking delicious friction of the drag, Jesus, it's just- it's just so good your mind that your mind is a white sheet.

You are on all fours but you don't know how much longer you can keep the position up. Not with the way he's ramming your pussy from behind.

“You are mine," he grunts out, pumping into you, the length and level of his arousal is brutal. "Mine," he swears, and he pulls you up so your back is pressed against him and you are upright. Choso doesn’t slow his movement though, giving you full, hard thrusts, your breasts bouncing up and down from the harshness of it all.

“You wanna cum? Good, cum."

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mysicklove · 7 months

Text

summary: Sukuna might not be the best older brother, but at least Yuuji doesnt seem to mind.

wc: 1.6k

a/n: wrote this instead of kinktober. oopsies. i was feeling soft, ok? leave me alone.

big brother au masterlist

Two little fists bang at the door and you find yourself awoken from your sleep. In your half-sleep state, you manage to hear the desperate rattling of a door, and you furrow your eyebrows. Then, a sniffle, and a broken sob. “Brotherrrrr!”

“No Yuuji!” Sukunas voice echoes in your shared room, and at this, you seem to jump awake. Sukuna, turns his stare from the door back to you, and his lips curl upward. “You awake? C’mon lets go for round two. Been waiting hours.”

You pull yourself up, ignoring the suggestive kisses that your lover places down your neck. Another cry is let out from behind the door, and more pounding. “I-I'll be a good boy! Please, please, please Kuna!”

Sukuna growls into your neck, pulling away and yelling back a, “Yuuji, I told you it's adult time. Go watch your cartoons before you piss me off!”

A whined, “Noooooooo!” Is let out, and Yuuji by now must be sobbing, clawing at the door like some sort of puppy.

You turn to Sukuna, and his cocky smile returns, leaning forward to press more kisses along your cheek. You pull away, a scowl on your face, and he groans knowing what's to come. “Aw cmon, don't be mad. You promised me we would go again. ‘ts not my fault the brat is a clinger, Uraume is supposed to be watching him.”

You pull the sheets away from your body and Sukuna makes a noise of complaint. “Hand me your shirt,” You demand, pulling on your underwear as quickly as possible. He rolls his eyes at your tone, but pulls the cloth over his head and throws it to you. You are quick to put it on, satisfied when it comes just above your knees.

Then you pad over to the door, while Sukuna sighs, and pinches his brows. He isn't getting lucky for nights to come, you've already decided.

When you open it, you find Sukunas four year old brother standing with his bunny stuffed animal, and tears streaming down his face. When he finally processes that its you, he immediately drops the bunny, and stumbles over to you as quickly as he can, the cries coming louder. His arms shoot up and he is warbling a, “Up! Up!”

You are quick to abide by his request, picking him up and pressing the boys body to yours, and shushing him when he sobs into your neck. Your hands run through the near identical pink hair, and you mumble out a, “I know, I know. Sukuna is so mean. Its okay. Shhhh, don't cry.”

The boy fails to listen, and you don't blame him. He must have been really hurt by his brother blatantly ignoring him. You glare at your lover as you make your way back toward the bed. He holds his hands up sheepishly, and you roll your eyes. You crawl back into bed, resting your back on the headboard, while the four year old straddles your lap, crying into Sukunas shirt.

“You coddle him too much,” The pink haired man complains, glancing at his brother who was staining his shirt.

You scoff at him, continuing to run your fingers through the boys hair as he finally begins to calm down from his wish being granted. “So you were going to let him just cry out there?”

“It's what our parents did to me, and I turned out just fine.” You bite back a frown, but place a comforting hand on his own. His eyes flicker to you, and he nods, not saying anything. You are glad their parents are gone, and he is too. Although being left to raise his brother was more tedious than he thought, to Sukuna at least.

The last of Yuuji's tears fall, and you wipe them away with a small smile. The boy leans into your hand, loving every second of physical touch. He always seemed to want to be touching one of the two of you, whether it by means of having you carry him, or him very tentatively asking his brother to hold his hand. In those moments, Yuujis smile seems to be the brightest.

The puffy eyed kid turns to Sukuna, while continously holding onto your arm so that you don't stop your petting. “Brother is so mean!” Yuuji complains in a high voice, but he doesnt sound upset, only mimicking what you told him earlier. In fact, a smile was already beginning to creep on the boys face, already forgetting about the situation.

A playful finger jabs into the boys chest, and the boy squeals with delight. “Wouldn't be mean if you weren't such a brat.”

Yuuji shakes his head, a massive grin plastered to his face. “Nuh-uh! You are brat!”

Sukuna raises his eyebrows and you chuckle, nodding at the boy with approval. “Tell me about it,” You encourage, and the boy in turn giggles, liking that you took to his side.

The older of the two holds a predatory smile, and you raise your eyebrows. “You wanna say that again, kid?”

Yuuji doesnt understand threats, nor does he know that brat is considered an insult. “Brother Kuna is brat! Like me!”

Sukuna’s hands dart out to your lap, and make their way to Yuujis sides, quickly running his fingers over the skin. The boy squeals again, and then begins to frantically giggle at the ticklish feeling. Your lover's hands are tortuous on the boy, and in turn Yuuji's laugh begins to echo in the room, as he tries to squirm away. “No! Kuna! No!” He squeals, tiny fingers clawing into you as he tries to seek help from you.

His brother holds a small smile too, obviously trying to hold the cold front, but can't when hearing the infectious laugh. Eventually, when Yuuji seems to be loosing airflow from all his laughing, you defend the boy, batting away your lovers hands from his small body. Yuuji comes collapsing into your abdomen, trying to catch his breath, but smiling non the less. You stare fondly at him.

Sukuna, on the other hand, manages to find a paper folded in Yuujis pocket. He glances at the kid, who is already watching him with pure adoration. The kid had a huge problem of idolizing his older brother, even after being tortured by tickling and left outside the room.

Yuuji points to the paper. “Gift!”

“Did you draw us something?” You question, tapping on Yuujis nose. He smiles and nods, squirming in excitement for you guys to see.

Your lover unfolds the paper, glancing at you with a bored expression. You read right through him though. He is curious to see what his brother made, you just know it. Yuuji's hands grips onto your shirt.

Inside is three stick figures, obviously drawn by a young child. Some of the heads are too big, and they are drawn with purple crayon, sloppy, but made with love. There is a little figure in the middle, coated with pink hair, and holding onto two taller peoples hands. On his left side is a carbon copy of the little one, also with pink hair, but frowning. On his right, was the color of your hair made sloppily with marker, and a smile big enough to match Yuujis. Cute.

“That ones me!” Yuuji exclaims, pointing to the little figure in the middle.

“I couldn't tell,” Sukuna says very much sarcastically. Yuuji doesnt understand it, so he beams with pride, excited at the idea of possibly being compared to his brother that he idolizes so.

The boy giggles, and turns to you for confirmation. “Do me and brother look alike?”

You hum in thought, dramatically tapping your chin. “Definitely. But, one of you guys happens to be way cuter than the other though.” Before Yuuji can ask who, you lean forward and blow raspberries on his stomach, chuckling when more squeals and giggles come tumbling out. Sukuna hides a smile.

A second later Yuuji comes flying out of your lap and into Sukunas. The older grabs him forcefully by the hood of his jacket, like a mother cat does to its kittens. You roll your eyes at the treatment, knowing well that Sukuna by now knows how to hold a child. But the boy doesn't mind, now sitting contently in Sukunas lap and staring up at him. “You wanna look like me?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” Sukuna licks his hand, and you furrow your eyebrows. Then he very much too forcibly runs his fingers through Yuuji's hair. You jump watching the boy nearly collapse backward at the motion of his hands, but braces himself. Sukuna has a really bad problem of treating his brother with a little to much force than what a child should be used to. But Yuuji was a strong kid, so he never barked a lick of complaint – it was only you that were biting your fingers with nerves.

Sukuna brushes the pink hair backward, similar to his hair cut. Then he uses more saliva to spike it up. Once finished he nods at the kid, content with the hair that looks identical to his.

“Alright. Good. Now go grab a sharpie, we gotta give you some tattoes.”

Yuuji borderline has a tantrum when you tell him why you can't do that, while Sukuna laughs the entire time. But, the two of you compromise, and now there is a picture hung in Sukunas room where Yuuji is coated with black marker tattoos, identical to his brother.

#mello.writes #big brother au #sukuna x reader #kid yuuji #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #yuuji fluff #yuuji tadori fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #reader insert #x reader #gn reader #gn! reader

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pseudowho · 1 month

Text

Behind the Wall

Who was this stressed, suited man...and how could you love him so easily?

A Higuruma Hiromi glory-hole story.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, feral smut and falling in love with a stranger.

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You knew him only as the man in the black and white suit. You had only seen the briefest glimpse of his clothes through your glory hole, after all.

"I don't normally-- I've never done this before...not that kind of guy--" he apologised, on the other side of the wall. His voice was smooth, deep and kind. You felt a little bubble of affection in your belly already.

"...well...I'm not that kind of girl," you teased, peeking a single come hither beckoning finger out of the glory hole, inviting him to your mouth, "...but something's got to pay the bills."

You heard the man's breath hitch, a shudder. You heard him unzip himself, and you settled on your knees, wiggling in anticipation. Waiting for a job to come up in a legal office was long...and while this wasn't the best use of your Law degree, you couldn't help but feel the thrill of doing something so sordid.

A cock, only half-hard and uncertain, but still so long, thick and pink-tipped beneath his silky foreskin, was eased gently through the hole. His voice sounded worried for you on the other side, and you pressed your fingers over your mouth, suppressing a smile.

"I'm...I'm not sure-- are you...are you sure?" The man in the suit stuttered. You leaned forwards, ghosting your lips over his cockhead, and the man gasped and moaned, a little trickle of salty pre-cum wetting your lips;

"Shhhh...you sound stressed," you cooed, "and I enjoy this, too. So let's have some fun." You held his length in your hand, and were satisfied to hear him whine and tremble, the dull knock of his hands and a knee pressing against the other wall. His cock swelled in your hand, twitching, and you rolled your thumb over his wet cockhead beneath the stretching hood of his foreskin.

"--so-- so stressed," he whined, pleading and begging you, "...you don't even... don't even know how bad...how bad my week has been..." His moans fractured as you began to pump his cock with your hand, from ball to tip, and he rutted forwards into your fist, "...haven't cum...can't remember the last time...so long...haaaah fuck, perfect, pleasepleaseplease, feels so good..."

"Yeah?" You whispered, bottom lip between your teeth, eyes closed as you drank down his little moans and gasps, purring at him, "Does that feel good? You sound desperate, baby. I bet you work so hard."

He whimpered into the affection; "--g-god yeah...feels amazing...your hand, fuck-- work so hard, s--so so hard...not got...don't have...have anyone, shit-- ohhhh-hhhhh--hh not gonna...not gonna last..."

You felt his cum-tight balls as you reached through, pulling them gently through the hole to massage them at the base of his cock. Your man cried out, all strained whimpers and cursing, and you heard his fingernails scrape against the other side of the wall; "Tell me what you want, beautiful stressed boy...how can I help you?"

"--spit--spit on my cock pleasepleaseplease in your mouth, pl--" He broke off into delirious shudders to feel your hot little mouth slick tightly around his cockhead, squeezing your lips into a tight ring, and using them to push his foreskin down as you sucked him into your mouth. With your tongue cupping his length while you sucked, bobbing your mouth around him, smooth and tasting his little spurts of pre-cum, his moans shot straight through you.

You hadn't felt as aroused as this, pleasuring a client before, but something about his frantic, begging desperation set your clit throbbing. Your hand drifted lazily between your legs, slipping between your glossy wet folds, rolling your clit under two fingers. You moaned around his length, and he cried out, cock throbbing, close to the edge.

Pulling your mouth back, and jacking off his red, aching cock with your spit and fist, you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear; "You sound so pretty, you've even got me touching myself--"

That was the last straw; your man in the rumpled suit came with a bark, sandy curses and whimpers. You took him back into your mouth, feeling heavy pulses of seed spilling out onto your tongue, flooding your mouth-- it obviously had been a long time for him.

"--arrrrghh god yes, shit, thank you-- so perfect, fuck, thank you-- oh ffff--ffuuuck in your mouth too...you're too good-- don't deserve-- dont deserve you--...haaaah...ahhhhh..."

You heard the wall tremble as your man came down from his high. His ears ringing, he vaguely heard your swallow. A weak whimper left him, and you giggled as another spurt of cum dampened your lips. You licked him clean, leaving him shivering with overstimulation, before placing a sweet little kiss to his cockhead.

"...come see me again?"

"F-fuck yes, absolutely-- absolutely."

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You had barely worked that week, lost in job-hunting, coming up empty-handed at every turn. It was five days before you made it back to the glory hole, happily receiving a generous payment, and wondering vaguely about your stressed, lonely man in the rumpled suit. You settled in your booth; it took him just a few minutes to find you.

"...is it...is it you?" He asked tentatively. You grinned, nudging yourself forwards on your knees, just out of eyesight behind the gloryhole. You blushed, shaking yourself off as being ridiculous.

"...do you mean me?" You offered. You heard his sigh of delight. He laughed, a deep, rich sound.

"I worried I'd scared you away," he teased. You heard him start to unzip himself, before hesitating, "Uhm...can we...?"

"Quick," you whispered conspiratorially, "put something in my mouth before I start talking at you." He laughed again, a sound that sent flutters of butterflies through your tummy. His cock, already rock-hard and glistening at the tip, was pressed through the hole. You reached through to cup his balls, softly bringing them through. He shuddered; he had clearly been hoping you'd cup his sensitive balls for him again.

"You like it when I do this...?" You teased, rolling his heavy balls in one palm. Hearing him groan, and sigh with relief into your touch, you leaned your cheek against the wall, admiring the weight of him in your hand as you massaged him.

"...I...never knew I did, but...you're so good at it...shit, feel like I could cum-- cum just from that--"

"Hush," you mocked him, just to hear his shaking laugh again, "you deserve so much more than that." Taking his cock into your mouth, determined to take him into your throat this time, you revelled in the dulcet tones of him falling apart inside your hot little mouth again. You swirled your tongue around his cockhead, swiping into his leaking slit, suckling, examining, measuring him with your throat.

Your stressed man bucked involuntarily to feel his blunt cockhead stroke the back of your throat, and you gagged, swallowing around him. He wasn't able to last long, feeling the sides of your throat stretch around his leaking cock.

"--haaa--aaahhhhh fuck'msosorry...feel s'good...like this...haaahh fuckkkk....do you...do you like to read?"

Your throat convulsed around his length, sputtering as you burst into laughter. Your rumpled man convulsed too, swearing and stuttering as his orgasm hit him like a bus. You tried to catch his cum in your hand and mouth, but knelt, still laughing, his seed dripping down your cheeks as he groaned, bucking forwards, cock bounding thick spatters of seed onto you.

"...do I like to read?" You laughed, masturbating him to bring him down from his high. He whimpered into your wall again, a sound which was gradually conditioning you, into pussy-aching wetness.

"...I'm sorry, I...I just...fucking ignore me, I'm an idiot, I just..."

You laughed again, the twinkling sound shooting through him like daggers.

"...just...wanted to get to know you," he mumbled, and you could hear the mortified little pout through the wall.

You couldn't wait to see your rumpled man again. You didn't know how you resisted looking through the hole at him as he walked away. You called after him, and heard his footsteps hesitate for a moment, before he snorted with mirth.

"I love to read!"

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"I want...to try something different this time. Please."

Your rumpled man sounded hoarse. His voice was tight, clipped. You could feel the stress pounding off him in waves, through your little window to him.

"...what would you like?" You answered, as if to a lover, not a client.

"Can you...can you come to the other window, instead?"

Ah...the gloryhole for fucking. A little flat bench where your ass, pussy and legs could lay, your body separated by a wall and curtain. Your eyelids fluttered to imagine the cock you knew well by now, stretching your pussy open, your mystery man clutching your thighs as he fucked into you. You imagined those desperate whimpers and moans for your cunt, instead of your mouth, and it made you throb.

"I mean...I don't normally..." you hesitated, feeling a twang of regret to disappoint him.

"No," he urged, sounding so fractious and desperate, "not that. I promise, not that. You...another time. Another way. I want...want to eat you out. Please."

You faltered again, arguing with him; "This is meant to be about you, not me, I'll take care of you--"

"Trust me," he begged, his palms flat on the wall now, "...this...this is what I need. I mean it. Please. Please."

God knew you couldn't resist his begging. You felt a trickle of arousal seep out of you, dampening your panties. The thought of that groaning mouth around your clit set you on fire.

"Well...alright then. If you insist." You moved round to the next window, and heard him follow, pacing and predatory. You shimmied out of your panties, swallowing thickly before you crept your ass and legs out of the window, down the table. When you settled, legs open, feeling so exposed, his palms held your thighs. You heard him curse under his breath.

"Fuck...you're beautiful." Your man said it so sincerely, in that lusty-low voice, that you blushed, your hands over your face as you lay on your back. You felt your thighs confidently lifted, draped over strong, broad shoulders. His voice was deep, hungry.

"...hope you've got something to hold onto, back there, my love."

Fuck, how you saw stars. You cried out in genuine bliss as he sunk his face between your folds. You tried climbing up desperately on your elbows to see him, but were woefully obscured by a black curtain. You could feel a powerful, prominent nose bridge nuzzling across your clit, that clever tongue plunging into your hole.

Those familiar groans, husky whispers and moans, were now muffled by your pussy. Your rumpled man was drinking the life out of you, making you twist and writhe, sucking your clit into his mouth with such force that you instinctively shied away up the couch. He gripped your thighs, yanking them back over his shoulders as you squeaked. He growled, sinking his prominent front teeth into the soft inner squish of your thighs.

"No. Get back here so I can fuck you with my mouth." You sobbed against the pleasure, your toes curling against the backs of his shoulders. Crying out as he shook his head from side-to-side with a rusty growl, you twitched and jerked, having never felt yourself dragged to orgasm so forcefully.

"Oh my fuc--fucking god, you're so good at that-- oh fuck don't stop-- don't stop don'tstopdon'tstoppleasepleaseplease--"

You didn't need to beg to make him continue. Already feeling on the edge of a savage high, you felt three long fingers, bunched together and lubricated with his own spit, plunge into your hole. A high, keening cry left you, and he found your soft spot immediately, fucking his fingertips against your belly.

"--thassit--fucking amazing...beautiful girl, c'mon...deserve the best, shit--"

One final suck of your clit into his mouth had you rolling over the edge. Silence rang from the other active booths around you, the clients and girls listening in awe as you moaned and whimpered your way through the most spectacular orgasm you'd ever felt. Your hands plunged past the curtain into his hair, tugging on it, thick and silky between your fingers.

Your rumpled man was groaning, whimpering, those familiar sounds you knew he only made when he came. Ths silence rang loudly through the booths, as you both came down from your highs.

One little voice from somewhere across the room; "...fucking hell." A few smattered laughs, and the slow sounds of others continuing their work of mouths and hands. You were dazed, lost on cloud nine, panting. Your hands came back to you, some inky black strands caught between your fingers. That familiar voice between your legs, so much less tense now.

"...so, uh...reckon I could get a job here? Do I pass the interview?"

You couldn't help how you laughed.

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"...have you...do you see anyone else...apart from me?"

Why did you feel so guilty?

"I...I do, yeah. No regulars though. And nobody I actually enjoy, like...like you." It was true. Your goofy, stressed, rumpled man had ruined you for anyone else. You felt a jealous prickle from him on the other side of the wall.

"...I....do you have to keep doing this?" He pleaded with you.

"...well...can't find any legal secretary jobs, so--"

"Excuse me?"

You faltered. Had you said something wrong? You began to repeat yourself, but he interrupted you.

"All this time...I'm a-- I'm a lawyer," he choked out, and you ran cold, stunned. You laughed nervously.

"...so that's why you're so stressed." He laughed with you, swearing quietly to himself.

"I'm sure..." he offered, sly and sincere, "...I'm sure we could do with another legal secretary."

You knelt, stunned, your mouth dry and heart pounding in anticipation. You heard him speak again.

"Listen... how about you come out here, and say hello properly...and I take you out for dinner? No strings, no expectations, just...dinner."

You were silent. He begged.

"Please...I've got to see you. Please."

Trembling, pulling your clothes on, you acquiesced. Before stepping out from behind the back curtain, your shaking voice joked; "Well, you asked for it...drumroll please."

You laughed to hear him patter two hands rapidly on the wall. You stepped out.

Tall. Black-haired. Hooked-nosed. Hangdog-eyed. And, staring into you, as if you were a goddess made flesh. You had never felt so beautiful. He turned, and blushed, his hands cupping his mouth and nose as he looked towards the ceiling. He groaned, mortified at his past behaviour.

"...you never told me you were so lovely."

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jojissalsa · 6 months

Text

dunno who agrees, but leon would love cuddle fucking. (mdni, please)

was thinking abt this all night cause i always have a hard time sleeping without thinking of him. totally normal btw.

re2!leon would be so tired after every shift, being a rookie is tough work. even if it's just stupid ass reports he has to file or sitting in a police car for hours just watching people, he's just glad he can come back home to you. you're usually asleep by the time he gets back home from work, and it's like you knew what he would wanna do after he gets ready for bed. your arm stretched out, a nice, big space in front of you to slip into. and he does, and he just melts when you bring him closer, your hand rubbing lovingly at his waist. you whisper sweet nothings about how hard he works, how he should be easier on himself. it's all true, you just can't help but remind him that he deserves some time to himself as well. something to clear his mind and ease his stress before he goes insane from mundane paperwork. so he doesn't mind when your hand starts to wander slightly down, nails grazing under his sweats as his breathing starts to pick up. he buries his nose in the crook of your neck as he whines when your hand slips down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out and positioning him inside your soaked panties. he loves doing this, loves feeling how wet you are as he holds you oh so tight, the sound of skin slapping ever so softly as he fucks your thighs. your hands tangle themselves in his hair, moaning and murmuring about how good he is, how sweet of a boy he is, and you can feel him getting close. his cock kicks and presses perfectly against your clit, and it doesn't take long for him to cum inside your panties. "thank you baby, fuck, so good to me. you know how much i love you, right? love you more than anything.." he gets so sentimental, so frazzled after his high because he just needs you to know. that he loves you so, so much.

he would get a lot more confident the older he gets, i mean we all know how much of a cocky bastard he is. it's in his nature to be a smug piece of shit, not that you mind obviously. you're obsessed with him regardless. so when he finds you sleeping on the couch after waiting all night for him, he can't help but tease you about it when he carries you to the bedroom. you tug at his shirt when he sets you down, and he reassures you that he just needs to get ready for bed. the relief you feel when he finally slips into bed is unmatched, his hand finding it's usual place under your shirt and on your tit, making you whine softly. you grind your ass against his lap to try and hint at him that you want more, but he stops you. "sorry baby, not tonight. i'll make it up to you in the morning, doll." it satisfies you for now, cause you know he always keeps his word. so when you wake up the next morning with his thumb and index finger tugging at your nipple, hard cock pressing against your ass, you just smile and let him do all the work. "good morning sunshine, told you i'd make it up to you." you clench around nothing as he groans in your ear, his heavy breathes making it hard to think. you feel him pull your panties down, lifting your leg up slightly to slide his dick against your slit, slick coating his length almost instantly. his tip nudges against your clit, you gasp when he pushes inside you, stretching you out in the best way possible, tip kissing your cervix. he coos at you, every deep, long stroke coaxing out moans that get louder and louder. "i know, so fucking deep, huh? shhhh, just take it, honey." so you do, letting every bit of him completely take over your mind, your eyes rolling into the back of your head every time he bottoms out inside you. "there you go, atta girl." you always squeal and moan when he says that, and it only makes him more smug. "aww, does my princess like when i talk to her like that? so dirty, love it when you're like this. my sweet girl, loves every little thing i say or do." he takes your jaw in his free hand, making you look him in the eye, or try to as he starts to speed up. "isn't that right, baby? that pretty little head just thinks of me and me only?" yep, still just as smug. you have to nod and say yes just to get him to finally speed up, pounding into you with an unrelenting force. "gonna empty my balls in your pretty fuckin' pussy. c'mon baby, milk my cock, cum for me." the knot in your stomach snaps the second he commands you, body quivering with a force as your orgasm washes over you. his cock kicks inside you as he bottoms out as deep as he possibly can, his cum painting your walls white before slowly pulling out. he peppers kisses along your neck, letting you relax and fall limp in his arms as he comforts you, the both of you basking in the love you share. how sweet.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy #leon resident evil #resident evil smut #smut #re2 leon kennedy #vendetta leon

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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

Text

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup. Total dreamboat.

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d what?”

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

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

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

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

I’d have sex with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Sam melted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

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

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

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

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

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

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

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

His—lap.

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

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

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

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

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

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

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

That is not the case.

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

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

“Shut up, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

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

“Everything okay?” He worries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...In our bed…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got super noisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

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

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

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

What in the ever-loving fuck.

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

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

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

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

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

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

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

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

“A-ah!”

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

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

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

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

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

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

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

If this is just how his fingers feel…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

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

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

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

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

So…

Close…

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

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

“Sa—Sam—”

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

“Sam…”

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

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

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

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

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

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

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

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—you go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

READ PART TWO.

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

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meo-on-prairie · 9 months

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Deserve Better

Prompt: After a shitty breakup, involving a douchebag of an ex, who makes you realize he never loved you to begin with. You went to your best friends for comfort, but instead of telling you “you deserve better”, they show you the best you deserve.

Word count: 1786

Tags: FLUFF, a tablespoon of Angst, hurt and comfort, Gojo and Getou being sweetest boys, satosugu established, satorugu x reader not yet, mention of: manipulation and love bombing.

Rambling: This is an extremely self-indulgence fic, heavily inspired by my shitty ex lmao. I just wanna be sandwich between Gojo and Getou to comfort my angry heart :((. This is a mini series, I wanna able to make this series to be compose of a bunch of stand-alone fics that merge together. This is my first time writing after a long while so…

//////

“He was a pathetic liar!” you shout as soon as Suguru opens the door. Tears are streaming down your faces and you can’t seem to make them stop. The sight of your face full of anger and sorrow quite nearly broke Suguru’s heart. Oh, how he wished he could erase your pain. Not make your pain go away, no, he wanted to erase it from your life completely.

Satoru walks toward the door after hearing the loud commotion, “what did he do this time?” he said knowing exactly who was responsible for your tears. With all honesty, Satoru is only asking for your sake, if he could have it his way, violence is always the answer.

Satoru and Suguru are used to this, it’s been 2 years of this clockwork. Ever Since you start dating your pathetic boyfriend, Anthon, it been a cycle of you venting to them about your relationship problem, them telling you to break up with the fucker, and you “work it out” with the douchebag, who can only tell lies and empty promises, the next day and all is good for about 1 month. It’s the same cycle of them clearly seeing that you are being manipulated, yet unable to do anything. But then again, what can they do? They’re only your friends, nothing more even if they want to be more, and as friends, the only thing they can do is be there for you.

Anthon was your first love, your glasses were not tinted, it was dyed rose-pink. You loved him with everything you got, always there to support him mentally, emotionally, and even sometimes financially. In return, he would love-bomb you with constant, nonstop, overly cheesy affectionate words. He also made a lot of promises to you: of marriage, of spoiling you, of being a better man for you, of being faithful to you; all of which are empty and meaningless in hindsight. They’re so meaningless in fact that it led you to break-up with him 2 weeks ago.

You were tired of his empty words, so you laid down your boundary, you told him you would never want to marry someone who refuses to find a job to support themselves. His answer? “Why can’t you be nicer about these things? Your words cut deep”. Anthon was a man of nothing, he had nothing but his words, and even then he couldn't even keep them. But you loved him, so you put it all aside, all his actions, all his shortcomings, his unwillingness to change for himself; you put it all aside and waited with baited breath, surely, surely…. Surely he’ll do as he said. He never did.

“Come in first, the night is cold, I don’t want you to get sick” Suguru ushers you through the door and into their apartment. As Suguru guided you toward their living room, Satoru went into the kitchen to grab some tissues, water, and something for you to eat your feelings away.

As soon as your body touched the soft velvet material of their couch, you crumbled into Suguru’s arms. He pulls you in closer to his body as yours shakes and heaves, you two sit like that for what feels like an eternity as you let the tears that carry your pain and sorrows fall from your eyes. Your hands balls up Suguru’s shirt as you cry in his embrace, you try to control your sob but it only makes your body shakes harder, almost hyperventilating.

“Shhhh, take your time, let it out. I’m here… we’re here… we’re not goin’ anywhere”

“He said he loves me! He said he wanted to marry me! And not even 2 weeks after our breakup, he’s getting his dick wet and telling another girl he loves her!” you choked out in anguish, still in denial that any of this is real.

“How did you find out about that?” Satoru asked, carrying a tray full of food; after hearing your sobs, he decided that a few snacks wasn’t going to cut it.

“Because the fucker doesn’t even have the decency to keep it private, he been posting her all over his social media!” you swipe out your phone in frustration, pulling up Anthon’s account to show your two best friends the picture of your ex and the girl sitting on his lap, kissing.

They both make a face when you show them the picture, “gross” they said in unison as Satoru places the tray on the table and sits down on your other side.

“I’m just so angry, I can’t believe I wasted 2 years loving someone who never was truthful to me! How can I be so stupid?” your tears are boiling hot, they feel like acid on your skin.

“Hey, hey, look at me, you’re not stupid for simply loving someone.” Satoru cups your face with his hands, nudging you to face him, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. You close your eyes and feel the warmth of his hands. It’s comforting to be held so gently.

“That’s right, don’t shame yourself for being strong enough to love someone with all you got. That’s a strength, not a weakness.” Suguru agrees, pulling a couple of tissues from the box and handing it to you.

You take the tissues from him to wipe away the tears and blow your nose, it was getting a little hard to breathe from crying, “Thank you… It just hurt realizing that even though I loved him, he never loved me; at least, I don’t think someone who loves me would go out of their way to hurt me like this. Him posting her and rubbing it in my face not even 2 weeks later makes me feel like… I just wasn't worth loving…”

“You’re right, someone that loves you wouldn’t hurt you like he did. But that doesn’t mean you’re unlovable. To us, you’re worth all the love this world has to offer…” Suguru whispers, placing his hand on your shoulder, and he means it. God, does he mean it. Satoru can see it in his partner’s eyes, the same feelings he has.

Satoru and Suguru have loved each other deeply since they were kids, but they always feel something is missing in their relationship. When you walt into their life when they were 15 through the door call “physic group project”, they thought something was wrong with them. They still very clearly love each other, their love is still burning, but their hearts forget how to beat when you smile at them.

How can they not fall for you? You’re kind, so kind you would push aside your shyness and discomfort to help those that need it. You’re intelligent, you quite literally carried them through that physics group project. And dear god, the way you just fit perfectly into their dynamic makes them realize very quickly that they desperately want you to be a part of their life. So desperately, they couldn’t bring themselves to tell you about their feelings in fear of scaring you away from them forever.

“Tell you what? Let’s watch some true crime documentary that you like so much since you’re secretly a sociopath, maybe they’ll give you the inspiration of what to do for revenge?” Satoru said with a smirk.

“If inspiration striked you, we’ll be your executioners.” Suguru added, smiling in relief seeing that you're feeling better after letting it all out. You let out a small giggle and nod.

Satoru turns on the TV and searches for “Unsolved” while Suguru goes to grab the three of you a blanket. When Suguru comes back with the blanket, you get comfortable cuddling between the two of them on the couch. Between Satoru’s jokes about how if he was the detective case wouldn’t have gone cold, and Suguru’s soft chuckles of ‘sure babe’ at his boyfriend’s comment,you start to feel a lot better.

You have always felt the most at home with them. It felt natural to be with them, Satoru’s humor brings laughter into your day, Suguru’s gentleness makes you feel safe. They ground you. You’re starting to wonder why you were even with the dirtbag when you have best friends who show you how you should be treated. But before you can think more on that, drowsiness takes over you.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep. With how hard you were crying and the emotional turmoil you experienced, it would be more surprising if you stayed awake. Satoru looks over to the sight of your sleeping face. He squeezed Suguru’s hand he been holding behind you on the headrest of the couch.

Suguru looks over at Satoru and notices where his gaze was directed at. “I don’t want to see her like that again. She deserves all the sunshines life has got to offer, not heartbreak” Satoru whispered softly.

“Do… you think⸻” Suguru started

“Yeah.”

It’s a silent agreement between them. They’re done with watching you on the sideline. They’re done with seeing you in pain. They don’t want to be afraid of losing you anymore if it means they have to leave your happiness in the hands of some other dudes that’s not them. In the hands of someone that doesn’t know how to cherish it like they do.

Suguru gives Satoru’s hand 3 long squeezes, I love you. A soft and silent affection flows between them. You always joke that they’re each other's twin flames due to how they seem to be sharing the same soul; their ideology, way of thinking, even how they feel. They’re so similar despite different personalities it’s uncanny. But they think that if they’re each other’s twin flame, then you would be their soulmate.

They let go of each other's hands so Satoru can carry you into their guest’s room. Well, they call it that but the color and decorations they have in it are all catered to your liking, plus no one beside you ever stays the night anyway.

Suguru opens the door to the room for Satoru. They laid you down and tucked you in.

Suguru went into the bathroom to get a damp face towel. He softly wipes away your streaks of tears so you can sleep comfortably without feeling the stickiness from your tears.

They closed the door as quietly as possible so they don’t wake you, not before glancing at you one last time.

Looking at each other, eyes full of love and determination, they silently vow to each other. They’re going to make you fall, sweep you right off your feet. They’ll treat you like you’re their most prized treasure. You’ll fall for them so hard, you’ll forget you’ve ever loved anyone but them.

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hihimissamericanbi · 4 months

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FAVE HP SMUT CREATORS

Ever since I got that lovely anon asking for the best smut I've ever read, it got me thinking about some of my favorite smut creators in general.

So here is a very non-exhaustive list of fan-fucking-tastic smut writers and artists I've come across in the HP fandom that weren't mentioned (shamefully) in my last batch. Feel free to add to the list! We must keep the people fed.

xoxo go take a sip of cold water girl

WRITERS

@spookymoonie

Lord Espooky came into this fandom guns a-blazing with their kink headcanon a day for Wolfstar and it has spiraled from there. They GET IT. He has a super well-organized masterlist pinned to his tumblr ft tons of different kinks, fic lengths, scenes, etc. Go. Now.

@fiveht

The definition of IYKYK. Daddy kink isn't super my thing, but Five makes me enjoy it. If you vibe with age gap daddy Remus and pretty boy Sirius, their Adore series is a must-read. They also have a stellar A/B/O Wolfstar fic plus podfic and write some Marvel too!

@greenvlvetcouch

An absolute legend in this fandom. Wolfstar, Jeggy, Rosekiller. Gritty, chewy, embodied sex.

@emeryhall

Emery writes sex the way some people breathe. Like it's just part of the narrative. It's SO punchy. And also she is the queen of Crack Smut.

@kaaaaaaarf

Patron saint of Wolfstar hatefucks. mic drop.

@cancerravenclaw

We snagged MK over to Wolfstar from the clutches of Dramione. Her series "mk's kink exposé" could also be called "celine's kink exposé." I'll just leave that there.

@wolfpants

Everything they create is magic, but they are especially known for rare pairs and Dronarry.

WRITERS AND ARTISTS

@aspiring-artist-em

The queen of Lesbian Wolfstar. Both art and fic. Also queen of humiliation and pain kink and Walburga psychological trauma. ye be warned.

@upthehillnsfw / @upthehillart

I am afraid no one is ready for this art. Truly. Tons of different ships, positions, acts. I gasp every time. And their Pansmione fic is epic (which I have talked about before).

ARTISTS

@industrations

I highly recommend getting on Indi's Patreon so you can enjoy their NSFW drawings, mostly Wolfstar and Jegulus, occasional Rosekiller. Too many iconic moments to count.

@waxingrunes

The officially-sponsored artist of Five's Adore series. Look, their work is nothing short of indulgent. Shhhh don't worry about the physics just let it happen. And by It I mean Remus' big dick hands.

@basiatlu

By beloved. The one. The only. Bosh's drawings are so ALIVE. They leap off the screen. Her Drarry is nothing less than iconic. She also dabbles in other characters/ships like Wolfstar and Blackcest. Siriusly, you can't go wrong.

DRARRY SMUT

OKAY, Drarry people. There are so so many excellent Drarry smut writers it is impossible to name them all. Here are but a tiny handful I have pulled from my bookmarks. I'm happy to rec specific fics if asked :)

@cavendishbutterfly, @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark, @shiftylinguini, @kbrick, @fluxweeed, @academicdisasterfic

I'm tagging those other creators from older asks because I can't put this list out there without them on it <3

@crushofdoves @we-are-swearwolves @tenthousandyearsx @theresthesnitch @lqtraintracks Quietlemonhush @cuddlebugsirius

#celine spills #celine's library #smut recs #hp smut #wolfstar smut #drarry smut #jegulus smut #HI FRIENDS i love you all #celine's flirting again #fic recs #hp fic recs #fan art #hp fanart #wolfstar art #drarry art #jegulus art

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billskeis · 2 months

Text

i quickly thought of this after watching a porno and needed to get it out.

ᡣ𐭩 loser virgin bill and his experienced gf

“a-and you’re sure you’re okay with this..?” he stutters as you’re already opening your mouth, drooling at the pretty cock in front of your face, mushroom tip leaking with pre. you stop and just look at bill, whose thighs tremble in nervousness but anticipation as you talked about giving bill a blowjob.

“of course i am! wouldn’t have gone this far if i wasn’t, hm?” you lean your head to rest on one of bill’s thighs looking up at him as he sits upright on the edge of his bed, propped on his elbows as you sit on your knees placed right between his legs. “o-okay..” smiling brightly at the boy in front of you.

sticking out your tongue, wet with drool from how you’re salivating. you’ve been waiting for this moment forever, the right time to finally pounce. from simply hanging out and watching movies in his bedroom, you pulled up with the ‘can i suck you off?’ question, leaving bill in complete and utter shock. and to your surprise, he said yes.

bill has no experience. whatsoever. its so cute. he gets all shy and flustered whenever you make an advance on him. holding his hips, kissing his neck, whispering dirty things into his ears. he’s never known what it’s like to cum. never masturbated in his life. never seen porn before. he’s never fucking seen a tit or pussy, period.

this excites you to the max. you can’t help but physically get wet at the thought of taking your boyfriend’s virginity and corrupting him. and here you are, about to make it happen. you lick up the length of bill’s cock, he whimpers, it’s high pitch and nasally. fucking delicious, you thought.

“ahhnn, y-y/n..” “shhhh baby just let me do all’tha work mmkay?” he nods feverishly, gripping the sheets as you work your tongue along the shaft of his penis. feeling it throb against the flat of your tongue, you moan, propping both your hands on each of his thighs as you hold them wider and begin to bring your whole mouth to the tip of his cock.

engulfing it, you swirl your tongue around the head, ensuring that you lick up alllll the precum that gloops out. “oohh.. f-fuck..” you kitten lick at his cock and look at him, smirking as his dick stays in your mouth, “feelsh’good?” as you talk with his dick in your mouth, bill can’t help but shudder at the erotic scene in front of him. is this what porn is like?

“ja.. my tummy feels nice..” bless his heart. “does it now?” and before he could speak, you go down, bobbing your head up and down his thick length as you motion your tongue to continuously run against the flesh of his cock, feeling every vein that decors his member, cupping his balls in your hands as you fondle them.

“eek! schatzi! no! please!” bill’s legs attempt to clamp close as he tries to bring your head up from his cock, overstimulated from the sudden pleasure of a blowjob. he’s sooo sensitive.. but it’s his fault! how can someone so cute never have gotten a blowjob?? you feel honoured to be his first, and you wanna make sure it’s the best and last he’s ever had.

you swat away at his feeble attempts to escape from you. sucking even harder, you’re hollowing out your cheeks and stick your tongue out deeper to make sure you don’t gag, deep-throating him. his tip hits the back of your throat leading you to moan at the sensation. bill can only moan, mouth formed into an O shape as the rest of his body falls against the bed, there’s no winning with you and he’s given up on trying to stop you.

the sounds are nasty, lewd, wet, and squelchy as you blow off your boyfriend, occasionally stopping to pay extra attention to the head of bill’s cock, his favourite spot. you can tell it’s his favourite because he get’s especially whiny when you do.

“y/n..! y/n baby please stop ‘m gonna pee.. please!!” but you don’t. you don’t understand the concept of stopping because you’ve already gone this far. but bill doesn’t understand that he’s not actually gonna ‘pee.’ how silly of him x3! such a naive boy..

as much as he wants you to stop. he feels shooo good. he’s just too shy to actually admit it, feeling like a complete loser for moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat cause it’s his first blowjob. he hates how much more experienced you are than him. he wants to make you feel good too! but that’s a discussion for a later time.

as you suckle on the tip, bill finally sees white. breathing extremely heavy, his moans are caught in his throat and they come out as cries. his thighs shake and tremble as he paints your throat walls a creamy white. you milk him, ensuring to suck out every drop of cum from him. it’s delicious, you love the taste. it’s even tastier coming from bill, an addicting ambrosia that you can’t wait to get more of.

latching off bill’s cock with a ‘pop!’ you lick at the cum that formed on the flesh of your lips, relishing in the taste. smirking at your boyfriend, you giggle at how he can’t look at you, eyes darting to everywhere in the room but you. that is, until you cup his face to look at you and place a kiss to his lips.

you dart your tongue to enter his mouth, assaulting his own. tasting himself, he cringes at the taste of his own cum. you like this? he moans into the kiss, not knowing where to place them, holding himself up on the bed instead as you now sit in his lap. as you part lips with him, bill snuggles his head into your chest, now hugging you. “you okay? how was it?” “felt s’good.. i want more..”

petting his hair, you can’t help but laugh at how cute he is. you get up from his lap to grab the tv remote from the floor, movie finished from your previous session. reaching for it from over the bed, bill gasps as he stares at you in front of him, ass up with your skirt all ridden up to reveal the wet patch on your panties. you’re soaked from just sucking him off. “y-y/n.. you’re.. um, i-i—”

“hmm? oh! ‘s all your fault billy.. now come fix it..”

#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 #2000s #fyp #billskeis

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diorsluv · 1 month

Text

casual , part 6

“ someone you couldn’t lose ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by rutgermcgroarty, mackie.samo, and 75,188 others

yourusername guess what hoe (affectionate) ruined my day this time 🥰

tagged: rutgermcgroarty

view all comments

rutgermcgroarty i’m your only hoe right 🥺🥺

→ yourusername aw you’re funny sweetie you’re like my fifth hoe

→ rutgermcgroarty but you told me i was the only one for you 😔😔😔😔😔

→ yourusername i lied bbg i got other bitches 🙏

→ vivianliu IT’S ME I’M OTHER BITCHES!!!!

lhughes_06 you weren’t hanging out with him this much when i was still there 🤨🤨

→ yourusername you unnecessarily took up 50% of the time i could have been spending with my lovely best friend

→ lhughes_06 im ur brother.

→ yourusername hes my best friend.

→ rutgermcgroarty YOU ADMITTED IT IM THE LOVELIEST BEST FRIEND yourusername

→ yourusername lovely and loveliest are two very different things rut

username28 ethan’s definitely malding i can hear it already

edwards.73 i asked if you wanted to come over but you didn’t respond

→ yourusername you texted me at midnight

→ edwards.73 yeah

→ mackie.samo eddy you absolute dumbass

→ edwards.73 WHAT DID I DO??

→ rutgermcgroarty do you ever text her before 11 pm 😭😭

→ edwards.73 not really why?

→ markestapa you just answered your own question buddy

_quinnhughes tell me if your little boyfriend isn’t treating you right

→ yourusername not my bf!!!!! remember he doesn’t want labels quinny

→ _quinnhughes that in itself is already bad enough

→ lhughes_06 the only reason i haven’t flown back to beat him up yet is because of the little respect i still have for you yourusername

→ yourusername well aren’t you just an angel 😐

username17 whats stopping rosie x rut from happening???

→ username11 everything

→ username2 everything = ethan

vivianliu i hate how you guys are so sibling coded

→ yourusername awww are you jealous 🥺🥺🥺

→ rutgermcgroarty stop it vivi you’re breaking my heart

→vivianliu hahaha very funny we all know your little crush on her never went away 😐😐

→ rutgermcgroarty DONT EXPOSE ME TO THE PUBLIC LIKE THAT

→ yourusername RUT WE TALKED ABOUT THIS

markestapa i have an inkling you’re doing this on purpose 🤨

→ yourusername you’re tinkling????

→ mackie.samo the hell is an inkling 💀

→ dylanduke25 mark we need to address the tinkle problem

→ markestapa THATS NOT THE POINT OF THIS COMMENT

→ edwards.73 fr that’s what i’m saying

→ _alexturcotte maybe she is doing it on purpose

trevorzegras are you breaking my boy’s heart??

→ yourusername quite the opposite

→ trevorzegras uh huh

→ jackhughes IS THAT A COD REFERENCE yourusername

→ yourusername no jack i’m not quoting ghost 😒

username93 best friend supremacy

username1 this is your and rut’s world, we’re just living in it 🙏

dylanduke25 rosie did you know that jealousy is a real thing

→ yourusername did jealousy accidentally break the shower head again

→ dylanduke25 yes. and jealousy almost burned the building down

→ luca.fantilli jealousy also punched a hole through the front door

→ markestapa and somehow knocked out the entire heating system in the dorms??

→ yourusername oh god

username75 what happened to ethan 😰

colecaufield BREAK IT OFF

→ yourusername my friendship with rut???

→ colecaufield you know what i’m talking about 🙄

→ yourusername idk do i?? 🤔🤔

adamfantilli you stole my boyfriend.

→ yourusername oh did i? oops! 🤭

→ adamfantilli i will drive back there just to fight you

→ yourusername jokes on you cuz rut n i are already heading to springfield for a mini road trip

→ rutgermcgroarty shhhh you weren’t supposed to tell anyone 🙁

username60 oh look it’s my sanity slowly leaving me

username49 am i the only one still supporting rosie x ethan 😟😟

username18 PLEASE i’ve been begging for more content for forever i’m so happy

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, luca.fantilli, and 83,826 others

yourusername what are we?

view all comments

vivianliu damn babe when’d you get all philosphical and shit with your little quotes??

→ yourusername when i cried over him for 3 hours straight ‼️

→ rutgermcgroarty i’m sorry you WHAT

→ jackhughes this is unacceptable

_quinnhughes you’re really testing my nerves rosie

→ yourusername how so 🤨

→ _quinnhughes you gotta stop letting him treat you like that kid

→ yourusername i’ll be fine quinn don’t worry about me

username13 SO PRETTYYY

username52 the quotes hit different though

adamfantilli this is literally a direct call out????

→ yourusername it is?? i never woulda guessed 😱

→ adamfantilli yknow maybe you should just end it here

→ yourusername it’s okay i know how to fix things i’m like bob the builder

username67 i’m sensing a cry for help

→ yourusername 🙏

username3 that third quote really hit a lil too close to home

username11 oh babe…

markestapa r u ok

→ yourusername don’t sound like you’re being held at gunpoint 😭

→ markestapa Are you okay?

→ yourusername yes crayola marker i’m just dandy

→ markestapa i’m sorry

→ yourusername for what??

→ markestapa him

mackie.samo he’s just being a pussy rosie don’t worry about it

→ yourusername i’m a chronic worrier 😰😰

→ mackie.samo he’s trying, he promises

→ yourusername wish he could tell me that himself

jackhughes it physically pains me to see you like this

→ yourusername i’m ok!

→ jackhughes you never say “ok” 😭

username25 man this even hurts me

username49 this is why i hate men

→ vivianliu REAL SHIT

rutgermcgroarty this is really affecting you isn’t it..

→ yourusername take a wild gander

→ rutgermcgroarty i’ll take you to the lakes after morning practice tomorrow

→ yourusername you don’t have to

→ rutgermcgroarty best friend duties call 🫡

username74 shitttt this the story of my life

edwards.73 fr

next chapter notes ) so unfortunately i’ve decided that imma make the chapters shorter so it’s easier for me to post and i won’t get burnt out as quickly.. please forgive me!!

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust @alwaysclassyeagle @love4ldr @inhoodmood @bunting58 @crazycat-ladys-blog @smoooore @bunbunbl0gs @lilasianmeat

#ethan edwards #ethan edwards x y/n #ethan edwards fic #ethan edwards fanfic #ethan edwards x reader #quinn hughes #jack hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield #alex turcotte #luca fantilli #rutger mcgroarty #adam fantilli #mark estapa #mackie samoskevich #dylan duke #luke hughes

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scaredofbrits · 2 months

Text

having the afton men as your bosses

william afton & micheal afton hcs

nsfw headcannons will be colored red.

william afton ✦

• he was a very serious man, to say the least. he didnt want any of his workers to see him act like a goof.

• "none of you will be prepared for the real world if you cannot behave correctly at your job."

• but then you came along. and every bit of respect he had for his reputation was shattered. not with other people, of course, but with you.

• instead of seeing william as your tough boss, you saw him as your literal reason to wake up everyday.

• and to him, you were his pretty little assistant. his good girl, even.

• sometimes, he'd give you extra work just to see you everyday.

• and other times, that work would lead to staying at the job extra late.

• once you would finish all that hard extra work, he'd reward you in various ways.

• "you did such a good job for me." he'd grin as he fingered you with all his power and speed.

• "my slutty little assistant fucking herself on my fingers.."

• his praise and degrading could drive anyone crazy for more.

• when you two would have sex during work hours, he'd tease you about noise the whole time.

• "shhhh, you don't want all your friends to know how cock thirsty you are.." and he'd cover your mouth.

• he made more than sure to fuck you so rough that your moans were extremely loud, and youd leave his office embarrassed.

• but what you didnt know was that the walls were soundproof. he just liked fucking around with you.

• nothing surprised him more than seeing your whore side for the first time. and oh did he love seeing it.

micheal afton ✦

• he was super sweet to all of his workers. bringing gifts, joking around, and being kind overall was his specialty.

• "how did you all sleep today?" he'd say over the intercom with genuine curiosity.

• once you had become his assistant, he could not resist you. a different side of him came along. a more needy one.

• he was always buying you gorgeous flowers every single day. and even though you were his assistant, he demanded nothing from you.

• and since he was an amazing conversation starter, you'd usually be found sitting on top of his desk talking to him.

• when your shift was over, he'd always say "time goes by so fast, doesnt it?" and that was his trick to make you stay.

• "a few more minutes, please? i'll do anything, gorgeous, please." was his other go to.

• he loved seeing you on top of his desk like you owned it. and he also loved seeing you mess around with his name plate on the desk. just fidgeting with it.

• and he wished youd fidget with him. just use him and treat him like your little fuck toy.

• one time, you wore a skirt to work. and of course that pervert kept sneaking glances at your revealed thighs and panties. those sights made his cock throb.

• and when he got horny? oh you were in for it. so much begging. "touch me please please please. look at how hard i am baby, please."

• "its okay if you dont wanna touch me, i'll touch myself and you can watch. tell me thats okay mommy. please."

• it was definitely hard to say no, especially with those puppy eyes he'd give. he acted like you getting rid of his boner was the best thing to ever happen to him.

• and when youd suck him off occasionally, he would absolutely lose it. he loved your mouth so much and he felt the need to repay you the same way.

• if you pleased him a certain way, he'd try his hardest to make it up to you the same way. suck him off? he'll eat you out. hand job? you get fingered.

• at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was be a good boy for his gorgeous girl. sometimes flowers didnt feel like enough to please you, so he had to try other ways.

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lizthewriter · 10 months

Text

general mattheo riddle headcanons ☆ミ ☆彡

• to everyone else, mattheo is an uncaring bad boy - that is his reputation, that will always be his reputation

• but deep down, he's really a sweetheart

• he loves muggle music, more than he's willing to admit; the smith's, of course, and basically anything 60s and 70s; i'd say he also really loves punk rock, like the ramones

• out of all the slytherin boys, he's closest with blaise

• he and draco are actually not as close as you'd think them to be

• if anything, i feel like mattheo knows draco, pansy, crabbe, and goyle but he's not very close with them - he is, however, close with blaise and theodore nott

• he doesn't smoke - sorry for those of you who stan bad boy!mattheo but he just doesn't

• he likes to create art - he's never shown anyone, not even blaise

• he particularly likes to go out late at night to various parts of the grounds and draw what he sees - the black lake, near hagrid's hut, the astronomy tower, the clock tower, etc.

• he is not a morning person AT ALL, this man is a night owl

• he's actually a very nice person - very funny and sarcastic

• he doesn't have any interest in romance (that is until he meets you ofc)

• he's very smart but has no interest in academics

• he thinks he'd like to run a small shop somewhere

• he loves the quiet, but won't spend time in the library so people don't think he's some kind of nerd

• he likes scented candles and keeps some in his dorm - hides them from the others

• once, they found a candle in the room when mattheo forgot to put it away but it was on blaise's desk - blaise dealt with the teasing from the others for mattheo

• professor mcgonagall has a soft spot for him

• he thinks quidditch is stupid

• not really a sweet tooth or a big foodie

• doesn't really like parties either - like i said, he likes the quiet and only goes for blaise's sake

• the only class he actually loves is history of magic - he finds it kind of fascinating - shhhh don't tell anyone

• likes to go out on walks - at night though, that's the best time

• reads poetry, don't tell anyone I said that either

• he basically loves literature, poetry, music, solace, and the stars

• pretends he doesn't care about his friends that much but if you actually look close, he really loves them and does a lot of things for them

• he's not that talkative, so he usually listens and is very observant

• his favorite season is winter and he stays for the winter holidays each year

• he loves to explore the castle, especially during this time

• when he does fall in love with someone, he makes it plainly obvious to them and only them

• he'll flirt with you, no shame

• the most romantic shit and you don't even know him very well

• but once your his, then EVERYONE will know

• if someone else tries to touch you, he will go balls on that person

• he'll annihilate them

• yeah, he's a bit possessive

• no one can understand why you like him cause he seems like such an arse, but he's actually a sweetheart

• his love languages are physical touch and gift-giving

• expect small little gifts EVERYWHERE - he will hide this shit in your robes, your textbooks and parchment scrolls, in your pillowcase and on your desk

• he also ALWAYS has to be touching you somehow - hand on your waist, holding your pinky, brushing against his shoulder, arm swung around your shoulder, etc.

• not very into kissing in public - no, that's personal and just for you and him

• hopeless romantic, i don't make the rules babes 🤷‍♀️

• he loves teasing you and getting you all flustered

• will take you on dates to hogsmeade

• will never step foot inside madame puddifoot's

• and also late night dates - sneaking into different places like the library, the astronomy tower, and various places that have a good view of the grounds

• he doesn't like letting you do anything - by this i mean, he opens doors for you, if you drop something, he'll pick it up he'll carry your books and school bag, etc.

• expect to become best friends with blaise

• there's no way around it - mattheo and blaise are a package, you get one, you get the other

• abandonment issues, daddy issues, mommy issues-

• he overthinks a bit, so sometimes he needs reassurance that you're not going to leave him

• while he's constantly showering you with affection and praises, he needs his fair share too

• don't neglect your boy mattheo

• no one puts baby in a corner

Thank you all for reading! Be sure to like, reblog, and comment! I really appreciate it ^^. If you have any requests, by inbox is open but make sure to check the list of characters I write for here. If you want to be tagged in any upcoming fics/headcanons of mine, let me know. If you want to see more from me, go ahead and check out my masterlist here!

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #blaise zabini #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle headcanons #mattheo riddle headcanon #harry potter #romance #Hp #my fic #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #— [ glizzy posts ☆ ]

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coryothesub · 3 months

Text

To Ride a Cowboy

nsfw / mdni / sub!coryo / dom!reader

“You can leave that cowboy hat on,” you instructed Coryo as he was rushing to get rid of his clothes thinking he was about to have the best time. But you had already decided it would be slow and torturous.

He had acquired that goddamn cowboy hat at the local thrift shop and now he kept parading around your apartment all day wearing nothing but his blue jeans. And that hat. The boy clearly wasn't learning from his mistakes and this called for some discipline.

Coryo was sitting on your bed, still wearing the hat, watching you undress slowly, making a little show for him. He was stroking his hardening cock and you let him have it for the time being.

Then you took off his hat and put it on your own head, instructing him to lay down. You gave him a flirtatious smile and straddled his hips before slowly sinking yourself down onto his rock hard member. You were already so wet from all the teasing therefore it was easy to take in all of his length without a single gasp.

Then you stood still, adjusting the hat.

“Please move, I need you to…” Coryo already sounded like a whiny little slut. Always so ready for you.

“Shhhh,” you pressed your pointer finger to your lips. “I'm not so sure you’ve been a good boy today. I would say you were a little tease. And naughty boys like you don't get to make requests.”

“I'm sorry I just…”

“Hush, baby…” you licked your fingertips and gently brushed them against your nipples, making them hard at the cooling sensation. Coryo tried to sit up and grab you, but you pushed him back on the sheets.

“No hands, darling!” you hummed.

“Are you gonna be good?”

Coryo nodded quickly.

You let almost all of his length slide out of your pussy and then slowly sank back down, clenching your walls around him, before stopping again. Coryo let out a helpless moan. He wanted you to move so badly.

“Look at you, holding on so well for me,” you praised him knowing he was not holding well at all. You could see the desperate need in his eyes and that felt hella arousing.

You put your two fingers between your lips and coated them with saliva before pressing them against your clit and starting rubbing yourself lazily.

It felt so good combined with Coryo's massive cock filling you up so nicely. You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure, using your free hand to hold the cowboy hat in place.

You started rocking your hips back and forth at a painfully slow pace, causing Coryo to try and thrust his hips up in an aching need to increase the friction.

“Whoa, be still, cowboy, or you gonna throw me out of the saddle.”

Coryo obliged. He definitely didn't want you out of the saddle.

“Good boy,” you praised and kept rubbing yourself, now moving up and down his shaft slowly. Still way too slow for his taste.

“Please, mommy! Can you move faster?” Coryo urged you, his eyes getting teary from your relentless edging. He knew he couldn't last much longer.

“Like this?” you started riding him, rocking yourself up and down as if you were indeed trying to tame a wild horse.

Coryo moaned and panted as you kept riding his dick, the sound of you thrusting against his hips filling the room.

“Feels so fucking good, mommy,” he groaned, clutching at the sheets since he had nothing else to hold on to.

“I'm making you feel good huh?” you cooed, then grabbed Coryo's hands and pulled him close. The boy immediately wrapped his lips around your nipple, panting heavily as he was getting close to the climax.

His lips felt so good on your sensitive skin. You felt your pussy clenching around him a few more times before getting your sweet release as you came all over his cock.

Your tightness brought Coryo over the edge and came inside your warm wetness shooting his load deep into your fucked out cunt moaning against the hollow of your neck.

“Fuck, that was perfect,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

You took off the cowboy hat and put it back on his messy curls.

“Well you know what they say. Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

#coriolanus snow #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #thg #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg tbosas #tbosas #blurb #cts post

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