#they could go looking for snails together

[canisalbus]

idk why but with the hatchet ask i immediately thought of young machete visiting his family in the countryside and coming across his cousin that looks at him like this and machete doesn't know what to do with himself lol (excuse the quick and very rough sketch dsjfsjd)

i imagine hatchet is crossed with some livestock guardian breed, that's where he gets the darker brows from, but he has the same ears as machete

.

#I LOVE HIM #little Hatchet #and his potaters and rubber boots #the heart shaped patch ouuhuhh #and the sprout! the little potato sprout #sighthound + livestock guardian mix is such a cool idea though #he looks like he'd be a bit fluffier and more robust #probably with bigger paws #A+ eyebrows on this lad #they could go looking for snails together #Machete's parents and brothers are relatively dark and overall not that dissimilar to this design actually #gift art #tabelschnasse #Hatchet #got such a massive unexpected flashback to the time I was little and helping my grandparents harvest potatoes and carrots every autumn

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yup. Total dreamboat.

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d what?”

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

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

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

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

I’d have sex with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Sam melted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

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

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

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

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

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

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

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

His—lap.

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

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

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

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

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

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

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

That is not the case.

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

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

“Shut up, Sam.”

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

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

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

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

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

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

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

“Everything okay?” He worries.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...In our bed…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got super noisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

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

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

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

What in the ever-loving fuck.

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

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

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

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

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

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

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

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

“A-ah!”

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

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

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

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

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

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

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

If this is just how his fingers feel…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

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

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

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

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

So…

Close…

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

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

“Sa—Sam—”

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

“Sam…”

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

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

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

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

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

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

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

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take it out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—you go for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

_

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

READ PART TWO.

#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

[lightseoul]

you and me, both

synopsis. mina and kirishima invite you to a night out. ‘it won’t be like last time!’ they said. you begrudgingly go. (part 1)

cw. gn!reader, gradstudent!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~23 yrs old), mina ashido x kirishima eijirou, fluff

word count. 1.9k words

You check your watch for the umpteenth time, which now reads 6:29 PM. It hasn’t even been a minute since you last checked it, yet it feels like you’ve been waiting here for hours.

The ramen shop you’re waiting in front of and agreed to hang out at is slowly getting packed with people, tired businessmen and students alike eager to eat the day’s worries away and head home full and satisfied.

Rocking yourself on your feet, you chance another peek at your watch. You stare at it as the minute hand finally strikes the number 12. With a heavy sigh, you look up to find Bakugou walking towards you, hands in his pockets, just in time.

Of all things, the last thing you need him to be is punctual.

You stare at each other in awkward silence before warily exchanging hello’s.

Before Bakugou could even bring up the elephant in the room, you quickly explain, “I think everyone else is just running late.”

He nods silently, and in three strides, arrives at the spot to your left, all the while sparing a respectable distance between the two of you.

Clearing your throat, you look around at everything else but him. The ramen shop you chose as a group called Kikanbo is known for its signature ‘devil’ ramen—devil because of its (allegedly, hot and numbing) spiciness.

You were initially against it, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of Mina and Kirishima’s Pro Hero friends, but ultimately decided to go with the flow. The last thing you needed was for them to tease you about being self-conscious around Bakugou. Which you aren’t.

Suddenly, it dawns on you how suspiciously couple-looking you’re coming off right now. Giving Bakugou a quick once-over, he’s dressed in black joggers and a grey crewneck sweater, insulated by a thick, long coat. You internally sigh in relief at the sight of his baseball cap, which should shield his identity from prying eyes.

Though, you doubt his bulging muscles and piercing crimson eyes do much in terms of keeping a low profile.

While looking him up and down, he catches your eye. Embarrassed, you blurt out: “I’m gonna call Mina.”

Desperate to get away from his immediate radius, you don’t even wait for his acknowledgment before stepping away into a quiet corner. The phone rings three times before you’re greeted with a chirpy (too chirpy, if you were to be honest right now), sing-song voice.

“Hi, Y/N! What’s up?”

Twelve years of friendship and you still can’t believe this girl, “Mina? Where the fuck are you?! And everyone else?”

She has the nerve to guffaw, “Like I said, it won’t be like last time anymore! Tonight, it’s only gonna be you and—drum roll, please,” in the background, you hear someone—Kirishima, probably—imitating a drum, “Bakugou!”

Fuck. You can’t help but whimper, “You have to be kidding me.”

“Sorry, Y/N. We figured this is the only way we can get you guys to spend time together outside of just texting. By the way, you guys sure are going at a snail’s pace, huh?”

You can feel the blood rush to your face, “What? How’d you even—”

“Bye, bestie!” she cuts you off, “Have fun!”

“Be safe, bro!” Kirishima adds before she hangs up, leaving you slack-jawed and your heart going at 150 beats per minute.

When you turn back, you see Bakugou leaning with his back against the wall, a smirk decorating his features. What’s he all fucking smug about?

You reluctantly walk towards him, waving your phone for emphasis, “Did you know about this?”

“No,” the smirk has now been replaced with a subdued scowl, “but I put two and two together on the way here.”

And just like that, he drops the conversation. He simply makes his way to the entrance and you follow suit, forced to deal with all the implications by yourself.

Just like the dinner from two weeks ago, it turns out that hanging out with Bakugou isn’t so bad after all.

After ruefully accepting the fact that you both got absolutely betrayed and stood up by your best friends, you entered the ramen shop and got seated on the stools facing the chefs. You ended up going for the regular level spices, or futsu futsu, while Bakugou went all in and ordered the devil ramen or oni mashi.

He barked a laugh at how your eyes bugged out the moment you saw how red his broth is. Instead of challenging you to a spice-off, though, he simply offered you the first sip (which stunned you—you didn’t expect him to make such a courteous gesture). Grateful, you took his offer.

You shouldn’t have, though.

You ended up choking so hard, alarming everyone in the restaurant, and Bakugou had to keep in his snort (that was surely gonna be loud and attract even more attention) in favor of getting you some milk to wash it off.

Once you recovered, you went on to eat your dinner, talking about the kinds of things you’ve conversed about over daily texts. Real-life conversation with Bakugou, to your pleasant surprise, is easy and free-flowing.

Contrary to how he’s depicted in media and your first impression of him from that run-in in the middle of your commute home from university, Bakugou is thoughtful and considerate. Sometimes brash, yes, but never mean.

He also seems to be genuinely interested in what you have to say, mindful of shifting the conversation from revolving around his hero work to asking about how’s post-grad these days, or if there’s anything eventful that happened in Manual’s agency earlier, seeing as how’s today’s a Saturday, the day on which you work part-time as admin staff.

You couldn’t school the surprised expression on your face fast enough at his remembering, and a small, somewhat self-satisfied smile took over his lips at your reaction. You probably, maybe, could’ve died a happy person then and there, but you kept yourself in check.

Soon after the bowls were clean of delicious ramen and bills were paid, you then headed out and decided to walk in the cool night breeze, with Bakugou taking the lead.

Which is how you wound up here, in a somewhat populated park that you’ve never heard of, sitting on the bench overlooking the view and in comfortable silence.

“So,” you start, admiring the scenery (first; second, avoiding eye contact), “do you usually go here?”

He grunts in response, “Yeah. Though I usually stroll around alone, instead of…” he gestures awkwardly toward your direction.

You struggle to contain your chuckle. How can he be so domineering in the field yet so bunglesome when talking to you? It’s endearing, to say the least.

“But you have brought some over here, have you?” you look around again, inspecting the greenery, the stone infrastructure, the lights. “This place is so beautiful.”

“I have,” he starts, “I think I’ve jogged with Dunce-face and Bug Eyes here once.”

You snort at the nicknames he calls his friends, “Dunce-face? Are you referring to Kaminari when he—”

He smirks, “Yep.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud, and he joins in with a snicker.

“But wait,” you look at him, “I meant have you brought over a girl over here before?”

You mentally slap yourself for uttering the question before thinking it through, undertones and all. Bakugou’s eyes widen a bit, but his face remains controlled. If he’s masking his knee-jerk reaction, you’re thankful for it.

“I mean,” you peer amongst the people who are enjoying the night air with you, “Most of the people here are in pairs—couples, because of how romantic the place is at night, with all the light fixtures and all.” You shrug, “I’m sure any girl would appreciate being brought here.”

You sure as hell are hoping you’re coming off more as the ‘helpful-friend-giving-some-well-meaning-advice’ than the ‘jealous-bitch-who’s-crazy-over-past-girls’.

He huffs, and you’re starting to think you’ve overstepped his boundaries when he cuts off your train of thought. Hell—railroads you and leaves your mind embarrassingly blank.

“Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever been on a date. At least,” he snorts, “the one-on-one kind.”

Suddenly, a million questions start racing through your mind.

He’s considering this a date? Did he consider the fiasco from last time a double date? This is his first? What?! How?! Why did he bring you here, anyway? Does he think of you in that way…? How can he be so bashful yet so straightforward at the same time? How the fuck is he so cute?

All these very important (some outright silly) questions, but the one you pipe up with is: “But back then—you agreed when I said you had a lot of experience—how?”

“I grunted, dumbass. There’s a difference. I wasn’t about to tell ya how inexperienced I was in this sort of thing when you were hyping me up like no other.”

“Huh.”

He side-eyes you, “From the looks of it, I’d say you’re the one who’s had far more experience.”

You’re too embarrassed to admit the truth, and too dizzy from the implications of his statements, but you figured you owed him at least your honesty. Looking down at your clasped hands, you mumble under your breath, “This is actually my first time, too.”

Silence falls upon the two of you, and unlike earlier, it’s filled with budding anticipation rather than comfort. You finally will yourself to look up, only to see him red. Red all over—neck, ears, and face.

Redder than when he slurped down that monstrous broth from earlier.

Then it hits you.

What Mina said was…real.

She sure as hell omits some truths, concerningly more often than not, but she never lies to you.

You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, and he turns away at the sound, perhaps in embarrassment.

You smile, “For the record, I’m glad you’re my first.”

At that, he abruptly stands up, and for a second you’re thinking you ruined the moment by saying that, but you don’t get to wish for the ground to swallow you up whole because Bakugou looks back at you with a fierce determination in his eyes that makes your mind go hazy.

“Come on,” he holds out his hand, “I wanna make sure this is the best fucking first date you’re ever gonna have.”

Bonus:

(as he’s walking you home from the park)

“Wait, so am I the first person you’ve been texting, too?”

“Yes. Now quit yapping about this ‘first’ shit or I’ll make you.”

You laugh good-naturedly, “But you’re so good at it! The pacing, the withholding of information to keep them wanting more—I was convinced you’ve done this with a million other people.”

He sighs in what you think is fake exasperation, as his cheeks are tinted with a faint red, “For the billionth time, you’re my first. And,” he looks away, “I had Shitty-hair help me out a bit.”

Normally, you’d extinguish any and all species of butterflies in your stomach brought to existence by a boy because you can’t afford to get distracted right now.

But, today isn’t normal.

You, instead, let the grin that’s been fighting to take over your face the entire evening finally win over. You can’t help it—hearing that from anyone—especially Bakugou, makes you happy.

You continue walking in comfortable silence until he’s the one to break it.

“So,” he starts and you don’t even have to look at him to know there’s a smirk adorning his goddamn handsome face, “all sorts of company, huh?”

“Shut up.”

tagging. @wolfunderthethree @bakugo-dee @poemzcheng @fallingmoon02 @eksd @niiine @gold24fish @animehoe666 @distinguishedlight

#bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #here you go!!! #i honestly thought i'd abandon you and me? really? forever but here we are #SHAJSHAJS #i got inspired writing this <3

[delulustateofmind]

Marriage-Life (One-shot)

A/n: Thank you all for all the love on the Between Worlds series! I promise an update next week. This is just something I thought about while on my walk with my dog :) SUPER FLUFFY!

**Also, it is unedited so fair warning, like a rough draft!**

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Collections of domestic life with Azriel, married/mated for fifty years. 

Warnings: Fluff & crack at times, drinking, some intimate moments. Pet names (Sweetness, My Love, Baby)

Azriel the spymaster was your mate, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Balancing life with a spymaster was no easy feat. Azriel’s frequent absence on risky missions tested the boundaries of your marriage at times. Yet, amidst the challenges, you found solace in the ways he made up for his prolonged departures.

Like sleepless nights in bed after a long mission…

As you settled in settled into bed, with Azriel lying on your chest, his breathing growing heavy as his eyes were closing. A question tugged at your lips. “Would you…’ you began, hesitating for a moment. ‘Yes, I would love you if you were a worm,’ Azriel hummed, his warm breath grazing your skin.

“Love me if I was a snail” You finished, feeling Azriel’s smirk form against your chest. He gave a soft nip on your breast. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he opened his eyes to look up at you. The hazel eyes looked up at you with amusement you could see his smirk turn smug. 

“Oh sweetness, that changes things” he drawled as he sat up a little, pushing himself up to see your face. You bit your lip trying not to giggle as he continued. 

“I mean, are you a normal snail? Like could I tell you apart from all of the other little snails?” Azriel began, his deep voice filled with a teasing tone. His hand roaming your bonds, fingers caressing your curves. 

You stifle a laugh as his fingers find ticklish spots, “I would be a cute snail, one that you could distinguish from the others”

“A very cute snail…but the fact remains. You would still be a snail” Azriel hummed as he ran his fingers across your curves again. His gaze goes down to your body and back to your lips and then your eyes with a playful grin. A grin that only you ever saw. “I would feel so guilty if I stepped on you by mistake. Can’t have that, can we?” 

Giving him a playful pout, you look at him innocently. “Are you saying…that you wouldn’t love me if I was a snail?” you whisper to him in a soft gaze, as you notice his movements. Azriel grinned again, pushing himself onto his elbows against you as he moved closer to you. His wings continued to drape across the both of you. 

“What I’m saying is I would always have to worry about stepping on you if you were a snail. Which would make being married to you quite the headache.” His hand once rested on the curve of your waist, moved its way to your collarbone then your jawline, and finally to your chin. Tilting your head as he brings himself closer to whisper on your lips. “How about you stay fae my love, maybe in another universe we could be snails together. But this one, I would love to be fae with you.” A gentle kiss was planted on your lips, which led to you both having a very sleepless night. 

****

Azriel never really had much of a sweet tooth, in fact, he typically stayed away from sweets until he met you. When you both got married, you would try out a new cafe once a month, sometimes going to the same one if their seasonal menu changed. 

“Let’s get ice cream today, it’s starting to get so warm out.” You whined as you slipped on a sundress. Azriel in the middle of brushing his teeth as he shrugged and gave the confirming nod. 

One of the best things about Azriel was that he always tried to match your outfits. If you wore a blue ribbon in your hair, he would wear a blue button-up shirt. If you wore a floral sundress, he would find a shirt that matched one of the colors. Today wearing a blue floral sundress, he opted for a light blue button-down and khaki slacks. One of which, he never owned any colorful clothing or anything other than his leathers and a few formal outfits until you two met.

Once you were both ready, Azriel took you on a flight down to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf. A district is known for its food. Once landed, you both walked hand in hand. Shadows trailing the both of you as you walked. Azriel’s huge hand compared to yours as he guided you to a cafe. 

“Feyre mentioned this place the other day” he began as he guided you through the busy streets. His wings were tightly tucked in. “I guess they make the ice cream look cute, like little bears and pigs” he gave you a warm smile as you trailed next to him, giving him a confirming squeeze with your hand. 

The streets were packed today, the market was selling spices, the smell of delicious food filled the air, and merchants trying to gather attention as people walked past. It wasn't until after a few blocks away, that you noticed a cute pastel pink building that had “Ice Cream” written in a beautiful cursive font on the window. You moved your hand from his, moving it towards his bicep as you both walked to the front doors. When you grasped his muscle, he flexed. The pastel-pink building exuded a quaint charm, its exterior adorned with delicate floral motifs that seemed to dance in the sunlight. Inside, the decor was equally inviting, with plush cushions and paintings on flowers on the walls. Along with cute stuffed animals on shelves around the parlor. A beautiful fae girl led you both to a table and placed a menu in front of you both. Azreil looked at you. “Order anything you want. I will just share with you”

The menu was filled with a tempting array of ice cream parfaits, each more enticing than the last. Ranging from little animal-themed ones to flower ones  You ended up ordering the panda, and right when you ordered you noticed there was a drink menu that showed an adorable foam cat latte. You order it as well obviously. Azriel smirks as he looks at you with a smile. People in the ice cream parlor glanced over. A smile from the threatening looks of the spymaster was quite rare. 

You both talked about what other errands you both needed to run, a market trip was due. Luckily Azriel won’t have a mission for a while but will be training with the Valkyrie and having to go to Hewn City soon. As you both talked, you very impatiently waited for the dessert, Azriel held your hand across the table. He was rubbing his finger across the top of your hand. 

“I appreciate you” He whispered so softly that you almost didn’t catch it. You give him a warm smile “I appreciate you too and everything you do.”

After what seemed like forever! 

The ice cream and latte finally arrived, you looked at the ice cream with a pout and looked at him. 

“I don’t think I can eat it, it’s too cute” you pout as you look down at the panda ice cream staring up at you. Azriel had already taken the latte and was about to sip it. As he raised a brow.

“Shall I eat it for you” he teased, flashing a playful grin as he took a sip of the cute cat latte. Something about this intimidating creature sipping a cute cat latte caused your heart to flutter. A blush made its way across your face, even after fifty years of marriage, he still makes you have butterflies in your tummy. You reluctantly used your tiny spoon that was given to you, to poke the face of the little panda ice cream ball on top. Tasting the ice cream, it was a cookies and cream flavor. So cute and so delicious. Azriel teased you by claiming you’re murdering him. You would flash him a playful glare which would cause him to laugh. It was moments like these, that you enjoyed being married to him. 

*** 

Drunken nights, meant drunken mates. 

Azriel arrived at Rita’s to find his mate giggling drunk next to Feyre who was being led away by Rhysand. Azriel’s mate however was still sipping on her drink as he walked over. 

“Sorry, I have a mate,” you slurred, raising a hand to Azriel’s face as he approached.

“Oh, do you? Is he handsome?” He teased in a low voice, taking a seat next to you. His wing brushing against your shoulder. 

“The most handsome man in the whole world, let me tell you if he caught you right now, you would be catching his hands” You drawled with a drunken grin as you sipped the rest of your cocktail. 

Azriel covered his mouth covering a laugh, “Is that so? So he’s like super powerful.” He teased, his tone holding amusement. One of his shadows trailing around your arm. 

You notice it and giggle, “Yeah, my mate has these little shadow things too” You point at the shadow and show it to him. He laughs a bit harder and leans closer to you. You almost immediately recognize him. 

“Hello! My mate!” You giggle as you lean your head on his shoulder. His arm slipped around your waist. “When did you get here, there was such a strange man here” you giggle as he holds you close, placing his chin on top of your head. 

“Just now, how about we head home? Hm?” He hums as he plays with a strand of your hair, leaning back a little to slide a hand under your chin to tilt your face to his to see your drunken smile with a red flush on your cheeks. 

“Can we walk a little?” You smile up at him as you slur a little.

“Can you even walk?” He teases in a low tone, “If you can then sure” 

He pays the tab and walks with you out. A hand firmly on your waist to stop you from stumbling when you both walk the streets of Velaris. If anyone even looks at you stumble they’re met with the glare of the spymaster. You notice a pigeon leaving his arms and make your toward it. 

Tears stream down your face. 

Oh fuc- Azriel almost thought you were about to throw up but here you are giving the pigeons coins while crying. 

“Baby please, he’s homeless” You give Azriel a longing look as big alligator tears stream down your face. 

“The pigeon?” Azreil covers his mouth from laughing, there’s no way his mate is crying about a bird on the street. This is one of her more normal moments. 

“Yes, and he’s so poor. I mean he had no pockets!” you slurred as your voice cracked feeling so bad for the poor pigeon.

“I’m sure he’s fine love, please leave the pigeon alone,” he says quietly as he pulls you up. Perhaps, winnowing home would be for the best. 

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #acotar azriel #shadowsinger #pls I need this man

[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking All Elden Ring Bosses by Fuckability

It was only a matter of time until I made a post like this.

In this hypothetical all of the bosses can be reasonably communicated with and are not actively trying to kill you.

Repeat bosses not included, duo bosses counted seperate.

It should also be assumed that all of these bosses have access to their magic/items/resources to benefit them in bed.

Explanation of Grading system:

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

These characters are not sentient enough to communicate consent, or are physically incapable of sex.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Character sucks so badly that they do not deserve to experience pleasure in any shape or form.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

These character are fully capable of sex but would never participate in sex due to lack of interest or overabundance of moral convictions.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

I mean, you COULD have sex with these characters but why would you?

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

These characters are average in bed, nothing crazy or noticeable. Some might end up in this category because they ARE good at sex, but the entire process would be inconvenient or uncomfortable to initiate.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

These characters are good at sex, give or take a few points depending on their mood or situation.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

These characters excel in giving pleasure and would be well worth the time and effort involved.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

These characters would be so good at sex that all other factors are irrelevant. They are serving and we are here for it.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

These are characters that should fall lower in the rankings, but their sexual prowess supersedes their inherent awfulness to a noteworthy degree.

Full list below the read more. Obviously it's not going to be sfw.

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

Dragonkin Soldier:

Mindless beast

Astel, Naturalborn of the Void

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Fia's Champions:

Ghosts, simps.

Regal Ancestor Spirit

Animal

Erdtree Avatar

A plant

Great Wyrm Theodorix

Mindless beast.

Ulcerated Tree Spirit

A plant, no junk

Tibia Mariner:

Skeleton

Red Wolf of the Champion:

Animal.

Full-Grown Fallingstar Beast

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Abductor Virgin

First off, just some snakes in a robot. Second, virgin.

Erdtree Burial Watchdog

Stone gargoyle

Crystalians

Non-organic

Mad Pumpkin Heads

Unable to consent due to madness.

Cemetery Shade

Unable to consent due to mind controlling parasite.

Spirit-Caller Snail

Animal

Runebear

Animal

Miranda the Blighted Bloom

A plant

Guardian Golem

Stone gargoyle

Starscourge Radahn:

Unable to consent due to madness

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Elden Beast:

Too catholic.

Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing:

Dick game weak - unironically posts joker memes.

Omenkiller:

Basically a cop.

Necromancer Garris:

Killed his family, not a good husband.

Royal Revenant:

Won't stop screaming (in an unsexy way)

Godrick the Grafted:

Incel - Also all that murder and torture business but mostly the Incel stuff.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

Valiant Gargoyle:

Could probably have sex if it wanted to, but is kinda going through a lot right now. Ya know, that whole "Is made of several corpses mashed together" thing.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella:

Look, I ALSO wanted her to higher up on this list, but let's be honest here. Her body is rotting and falling apart, she just isn't up for sex in her current form. In her prime? She'd be top of the list. She's the daughter of Marika and Radagon, she'd be playing fuck/marry/kill with every warrior who crossed her path. (in that order)

Death Rite Bird:

I think it might be physically capable of sex, but is too busy burning corpses to bother with stuff like that.

Black Blade Kindred:

Same reason as the Valiant Gargoyle but you might have like 2% more of a chance because they are goth.

Maliketh, the Black Blade:

Would normally be a sex god, but is too religious. Probably took a vow about this sort of thing.

Morgott, the Omen King:

You kidding me? This guy has the same energy as a repressed youth pastor. He's gonna be a virgin till the day he dies. The dude sided with the same religious order that locked him a sewer and tried to kill him. He's not out there getting phone numbers he's too busy praying and judging others for their 'impure thoughts'.

Draconic Tree Sentinel:

Married to his job, also physically chained to his horse. He ain't taking off that armor anytime soon.

Wormface:

Too sad, leave him alone his face is full of worms.

Tree Sentinel:

Same as the Draconic Tree Sentinel but he's a tiny bit more naive so you might have a better chance.

Elder Dragon Greyoll:

Too sleepy, but still kinda a milf.

Grafted Scion:

There might be some genitals in there somewhere but I don't think they know how or even want to use them.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

Esgar, Priest of Blood:

No sense of hygiene, is always covered in blood (in an unsexy way)

Mohg, Lord of Blood:

This loser is dripping with all the least sexy bodily fluids and he has sharp horns sticking out of him. Even if you got him in bed you'd only enjoy like 5% of it. Plus you just know he'd be all needy afterwards and try to get you to join his MLM.

Borealis the Freezing Fog:

Too cold, not a snuggler.

Elemer of the Briar:

The armor stays ON during sex.

Kindred of Rot:

It's like all the worst possible aspects of alien biology, it won't be nearly as fun as you hoped.

Sanguine Noble:

Same as all the other Mohg followers, too sticky and too smelly.

Decaying Ekzykes:

He's sick right now, leave him alone.

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree:

I'm sure she'd be a decent lover. Maybe a little overzealous but she'd has good intentions.

Grave Warden Duelist:

I mean these guys are hot and probably fuck like a truck but they are not the most caring lovers, also they are covered in live snakes so there is that.

Night's Cavalry:

If you like goth knights I'm sure they'd be fine.

Onyx Lord:

Their skin probably feels like stone, but I bet they can pull off all sorts of freaky zero-g sex stuff if you ask them.

Alabaster Lord:

Same as the Onyx Lord but slightly more goth.

Fell Twins:

Once you get past the horns and stuff I bet the Omens are actually pretty good in bed, just watch out.

Demi-Human Queens:

I feel like all Demi-humans are pretty good lovers but their biology probably has some unexpected drawbacks.

Stonedigger Troll:

If you can get past the texture and the size I bet they could be decent in bed.

Flying Dragon Greyll:

A surprisingly unsexy dragon, but a dragon is a dragon and still worth at least a one night stand.

Glintstone Dragon Adula:

A dragon willing to kill racist magic users, earns them a few extra points.

Beastman of Farum Azula:

On one hand the Beastmen probably have crazy mating skills, but they are also zombies, which detracts some points for all the decay.

Battlemage Hugues:

Contrary to popular belief, Wizards are not very good at sex. They spend all their time studying instead of partying, at least Hugues is willing to get his hands dirty.

Commander O'Neil:

Seems like a decent guy, but probably won't shut up about his time in the military. Also he is infected with scarlet rot so that might be a mood killer.

Bloodhound Knight Darriwil:

The bloodhound knights are probably pretty wild in bed if you can earn their loyalty, but good luck with that.

Adan, Thief of Fire:

The dude committed heresy, that has to earn him some sexy points.

Soldier of Godrick:

He's a good boy, he's doing his job so throw him a bone.

Flying Dragon Agheel:

One of the first dragons you encounter, so he earns some points for style.

Demi-Human Chief:

Same as the queens, but probably a bit rougher in bed.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

Lichdragon Fortissax:

A much sexier dragon, you know they were hooking up with Godwin. Only loses some points for all the death rot.

Crucible Knight Siluria:

A bit gloomy, but I bet the crucible knights can do all sorts of freaky stuff with their animal body parts.

Mimic Tear:

A slippery liquid shapeshifter, need I say more?

Commander Niall:

A way better guy than O'Niel, plus he just a bit more daddy energy.

Fire Giant:

Once you get past his size, his sadness and the giant fell god of destruction in his chest, I bet he's got something going on.

Ancient Hero of Zamor:

Gives me Hercules/Amazonian vibes, I could be into it.

Cleanrot Knight:

Lesbian activities detected.

Crucible Knight:

These guys have tails, horns, wings and big old throat sacks. Imagine the possibilities.

Glintstone Dragon Smarag:

Has a sword. If you hear "Dragon holding a sword" and your pants aren't already off, we can't be friends.

Bols, Carian Knight:

He seems like a good boy.

Scaly Misbegotten:

I feel like the Misbegotten have some really interesting possibilities with their animal biology. I bet they have bonobo type societies and that could be fun.

Leonine Misbegotten:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Misbegotten Warrior:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

Crucible Knight Ordovis:

Has all the desirable traits of a Crucible Knight but I also imagine they are super into threesomes.

Perfumer Tricia:

She seems really nice, and would be a super attentive lover. Plus she probably has access to crazy drugs and could hook you up.

Nox Swordstress & Nox Priest:

You just know that the Nox were getting up to crazy hot and crazy unethical experiments in their underground cities. These two probably get up to some wild shit and they are inviting you to join them.

Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon:

As she is now, I bet she'd be too sad to really be in a relationship again. But she kept up with Radagon and you just know she has some tricks up her sleeves that could make you abandon the golden order.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

Dragonlord Placidusax:

Has two male heads and three female heads, imagine...

Ancient Dragon Lansseax:

Formed a whole freaky dragon/human cult and you just know they got into some eyes-wide-shut orgies behind those doors.

Godfrey, First Elden Lord (Hoarah Loux):

We all knew he'd be this high on the list. He was just a normal dude but he managed to keep pace with Queen Marika (Who is basically a goddess of fertility) for a good long while. He will fold you in half (on the battlefield and in the bedroom.)

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

Radagon of the Golden Order:

He sucks in all the worst ways, but I mean... You can't NOT. Both Radagon and Marika are the embodiment of evil but they managed to suck and fuck their way across an entire continent for generations. You HAVE to give a try at least once.

Godskin Duo:

Oh my god will it be awful with all those flayed human skins, but you know you are still gonna have to. They can stretch and do all sorts of freaky stuff with their bodies, plus they kill gods and nothing is sexier than heresy.

Vyke, Knight of the Roundtable:

The dude is a mad killer but... he can still probably get it, might as well give it a try.

God-Devouring Serpent / Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy:

Personally I wouldn't, he's a loser and will probably kill you. But he is also a giant snake made up of squirming hands doing all sorts of sexual experiments, I can't blame you if you want to give it a taste.

Black Knife Assassin:

They committed a whole lot of treason but the power of armored lesbians is too hard to resist.

Patches:

If you are already having sex with from software characters, you gotta give Patches at least one attempt. When you wake up he'll have robbed you, but you knew what you were getting into.

#meme #shitpost #do not take seriously #Elden Ring #Elden Ring memes #Elden Ring Fuckability #Elden Ring Ranking #Elden Ring Shitpost #Ranking #monster fucker #from software #tw: sex mention #Dark Souls #Radagon of the Golden Order #Godskin Duo #Vyke #Knight of the Roundtable #God-Devouring Serpent #Rykard #Lord of Blasphemy #Black Knife Assassin #Patches #Dragonkin Soldier #Astel Naturalborn of the Void #Fia's Champions #Regal Ancestor Spirit #Erdtree Avatar #Great Wyrm Theodorix #Ulcerated Tree Spirit #Tibia Mariner

[skygoldart]

Cod Grian Cosplay Build!

The fish man himself, season 10 Grian!

Reference Sketch

Some notes:

I always end up changing somethings from the reference when making the actual outfit, although I stayed pretty close it it this time.

I initially drew him with a handlebar mustache and goatee to mimic the whiskers of a fish, however I switched to a fluffier mustache beard to match the guy from Frozen.

I also opted for my turtleneck shirt over the red sweater+collar to go for more of a fisherman vibe

Since Grian is usually drawn with parrot wings, I wanted to call back to that with red yellow and blue feathers on the bobbers.

The tail and fins

I wanted to lean into the “fish”er man design and gave him fish fins and a tail.

It’s design is based on a cod fish with striped fins based on the feathers of an osprey

To make it, I drew the tail pattern on a large piece of paper, cut it out, cut each section out of the respective fabric times two, sewed the two sides together, and lastly filled it with a ton stuffing.

The tail is heavy, but it’s fun to wack people with it.

The fins for the arms and beanie are made in a similar way, each hand sewn onto the beanie/bracers once stuffed.

The Overalls

I had originally planned for him to be wearing waders, but wanted to make the outfit more wearable for everyday wear without overheating. So I opted for some brown corduroy overalls instead.

To add a “wet” look to each pant leg, I briefly dipped each one into some black fabric dye before rinsing and drying.

The green pixels on his skin look like they could be kelp or patches so I decided to go with the latter and dug through my scrap fabric to find these green pieces.

I embroidered the edge of each piece with a unique stitch and placed them randomly on each leg.

The snails!

Of course we can’t forget about the snails

There are three snails for this project with two more eventually on the way (a plush pink snail, and a plush brown snail).

I made the clay blue snail first with polymer and attached tie tacks to the underside so I can use it like a pin and stick it anywhere on my clothes.

Same goes for the pink worm snail which is also made of clay.

The blue plush snail is based on a pattern from Etsy by willowynn with some slight modifications, mainly to the eyes/feelers, and doubling the size.

Facial hair

This was one of the parts I was the most excited about for this cosplay and the only part I didn’t do myself. I commissioned @basic-amoeba to make a custom ventilated beard, styled and everything. This part turned out so good!

Some final notes for this project

This cosplay took from Feb 20 to March 15th to complete since I was so determined to finish it before Grian changed his skin. Haha look at me now. He still hasn’t changed it.

Not pictured (cause why can I only add 10 photos 😭) is the mending book with a fish hook I made using scrap faux leather, cardboard, and some cut printer paper. I painted in galactic the word mending and sprayed the whole thing in my “enchanting” spray paint (a blue to purple iridescent glitter spray paint)

A small fun backstory to the fishing rod:

My grandpa is an experienced fisherman and has dozens of fishing poles. When I talked about this project with him, he brought me out to his workshop and pulled down the dustiest fishing rod there. He told me he had fished this fishing rod from a lake one day with the line and bait still attached. Can’t get anymore accurate to Minecraft fishing than that lol.

Obligatory cosplay photo:

#grian #hermitcraft #grian cosplay #hermitcraft season 10 #cod grian #fisherman grian #hermitcraft cosplay #cosplay build #cosplay #skygoldcosplaybuild #skygoldcosplaywip

[llamagoddessofficial]

this is probably already been asked before, but how would the boys be in a long distance relationship?

I don't think I've ever actually done this one before!

Sans: He'd be really good at an LDR. This is the meme king himself, after all. The fact that he can just teleport to come see you aside, he doesn't desperately need physical affection like the others. He's definitely cuddly with those he loves, and he would miss you a lot, but he's also alright with having his own space. You guys can just be bored together on calls. He's absolutely hilarious over text, the kind of guy you would start messaging only to look up at the clock and realise you've been talking to him for four hours straight.

He likes texting, and he's always laughing at your messages, but video calling is his favourite. He wants to see your face, even if you're both doing absolutely nothing.

Red: An LDR would be really good for him.

Red has a habit of using physical intimacy like a shield. He avoids addressing his real feelings, he covers up uncomfortable moments with touching or flirting. In an LDR, he has to acknowledge his feelings... both to you, and himself, or things just won't work. Texting gives him time to relax and gather his thoughts, plan his responses, navigate complicated feelings before speaking. Talking over the phone means he can hide his face and get little more confident at being affectionate in a romantic way. He gets better at putting things into words, and by the time the two of you do see each other in person, he's already overcome a lot of the emotional hurdles he otherwise would've stumbled at.

At the start of the LDR he'll prefer texting, since chatting to you can make his voice crack. But as time goes on he defaults to calling.

Skull: Surprisingly, he could manage! It varies wildly, though, depending on whether or not he's met you in person before.

If he's met you in person before the relationship becomes long distance, his biggest struggle is missing you being around. He isn't great at teleporting and it frustrates him that he can't go see you. He texts you almost constantly throughout the day, about random stupid stuff. Sometimes single word messages; 'snail?' with an attached picture of a snail he found in his garden.

If he hasn't met you in person, he has a lot of self esteem issues and self doubt. He feels like he's fooled you into being in a relationship with a thing like him. What if one day you meet in person? He's so much more intimidating in person. Will you really want to stay with him once you see how off-putting his mannerisms can be? Once you understand how broken and clingy he is? (Please let him know ASAP that big scary guys are your type)

He prefers to text. Calling is hard, hearing your voice makes him feel so much better, but he struggles so much with speech and he doesn't want you to feel pressured to do all the talking. Video calling makes him far too emotional, it's just not the same.

#llamagines #an ldr forces red to sort his shit out #skull has emotional breakdowns then texts you pictures of cakes he made #meanwhile sans bullies you in fortnite and gives you stupid nicknames on discord

[klausinamarink]

He Want Kiss

rating: G | cw: none | wc: 630 | tags: post s4, getting together, first kiss, Steve is down bad | prompt: Love is when you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him

written for @steddielovemonth

Steve is obsessed with Eddie’s lips. 

Like completely to the point that he might actually start going to therapy. 

But Steve is just a simple man. He sees a pair of well-rounded lips that can make a perfect smile with dimples and he’s a goner. For example, look at Eddie. They’re so plump looking that Steve cannot believe it’s legal. And the way they move whenever Eddie speaks-

“-ink I should go for this one?”

Steve snaps his gaze up, barely surviving from the combination of head whiplash and the pointed attack of Eddie’s eyes, Jesus Christ, look at them Bambi eyes.

“Oh yeah, man.” How Steve manages not to stutter is both a mystery and a blessing. 

“Yeah?” Eddie looks at him, his expression mixed with expectation and nervousness.

“Yeah.” Steve repeats confidently. He’s already forgetting what exactly they were talking about but he knows it has to do with Eddie trying to get a job, hence why he called Steve over to help him out with the few applications that believe in Eddie’s innocence. “Like, yeah, go for that.” 

Christ, he might as well bash his head again. Steve really doesn’t want to come off as a douche again, but it’s not his fault that Eddie’s lips are just right there. They’re just begging to be kissed.

Thankfully, Eddie seems pleased by his answer. He smiles, dimples and all - oh lord please have mercy on Steve’s soul because he cannot handle the adorableness any longer - as he says, “Well, if Steve Harrington says so, then I will do it.” Then Eddie starts biting his lip, glancing down at the resume they’ve polished together. 

Steve digs his fingernails through the jeans over his thighs, but it’s not enough to bat away the growing temptation to reach forward and brush his fingers over Eddie so the other man wouldn’t abuse his lips anymore. The skin had already been cracked and bleeding in the past few months and it’s always so devastating to see Eddie hurt a part of himself like this.

Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, Steve should kiss him. 

Eddie is right there. While there will be lots of opportunities to have him at Steve’s side, there’ll never be another perfect chance like this. 

Steve leans forward a bit but stops himself. Has Eddie ever been kissed before? If he did, does he like the faint touch of lips brushing together? Like smashed together? Full-on make-out sessions that lead to something more passionate? 

Okay, Steve could work on the slow route. He’s done it before with his previous girlfriends. He could lean in at a snail’s pace so Eddie has enough time to register what’s happening and-

“Steve?”

Suddenly, Eddie’s face is much closer than Steve remembers. He feels a heat of breath against his lips. Then the rush of realization comes over Steve because he was about to kiss Eddie.

Yet despite this, Steve barely feels a sense of embarrassment. He stays in place, staring into Eddie’s wide eyes as they flicker over his face, lingering on Steve’s lips every few seconds. 

Finally, Eddie huffs out a nervous little laugh, “You, uh, listened to what I just said?”

“Hm-mm.” Steve shakes his head. He feels like he’s on cloud nine and whatever Eddie does next, he’s going to scream at the heavens anyway. 

Eddie’s lips form the briefest of smirks, but it’s gone in a blink. They part open slightly. 

Steve can’t hold it anymore. He closes the space between them and meets Eddie’s lips at last. It’s more rough and desperate than he plans it to be and tries to dial it back. But when Eddie kisses him with a similar force, Steve goes screw it and kisses back like it’s their last chance.

#klaus writes #steddie #steddielovemonth

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Noah were the same. The way you missed Bradley together gave you comfort but also made everything harder. In your desire to move in with them, you started to organize the attic with your things. But who would have known you could be so hurt by the ghost of something that was left behind?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Once Noah was in bed for the night, you started counting down the time until you would both be awake the next morning. It was like that every evening. And you usually ended up sitting alone on the couch with some Skittles, stressing about starting your new job and missing Bradley so much you occasionally thought you might cry. 

Before he left, he told you he wasn't sure if or when he'd be able to communicate with you from the aircraft carrier. He told you he knew you were smart and strong and could handle everything without him. He promised he would be back home before you knew it. You laughed softly as you sprawled out on the couch and chewed on a purple Skittle. He didn't know what he was talking about. 

Tears stung at your eyes again. He had only been gone about a week, and when Noah was asleep or at daycare, you started to dread the feeling of loneliness that you knew would come. Starting your job would help, hopefully. You should really take the time to get the rest of your stuff from your rental, not that there was much left. Just some textbooks, clothing, and kitchen gadgets. But you already decided that when Bradley got home, you would have all of your stuff here with you. You'd tell him you were completely moved in when you picked him up. 

"Princess?" Noah called from the hallway, and you jumped up from the couch so quickly, Skittles went flying. 

"What's wrong?" you asked, rushing to him. You scooped him up into your arms and examined his face, but he looked fine.

"When's Daddy coming home?" He buried his face against your neck and whined softly. "I miss him."

"Soon," you lied, carrying him out to the couch, accidentally smashing some Skittles into the area rug on the way. "He won't be gone very long. But we've been having a lot of fun together, right?"

You sat with him on your lap, and he nodded as you wiped a tear away. Now you couldn't tell if you missed Bradley more or if Noah did. "Yeah," he agreed, hugging you around your neck. 

"Just look at us," you whispered with a soft laugh. "We're the same." You held him close as he snuggled against you. "I have an idea for tomorrow. We can go for a hike around the block and then go grocery shopping. And I have a fun treat I can make for you."

"Ants on logs?" he asked with a yawn. 

"Even more exciting. I'll make you some peanut butter snails."

Noah nodded without any further questions, and soon he was sound asleep with his chubby cheek pressed to your shoulder. His soft, even breathing and the little puffs of his breath against your skin made you feel a lot better, and you held him on the couch for a long time.

The next morning, it felt like you had barely slept when your alarm went off to wake you up so you could take Noah to daycare. Mornings were a lot easier when Bradley was home and you didn't have to worry about doing everything by yourself. 

"Let's get you dressed," you muttered, yanking Noah's shirt on and pulling it into place. "And brush your teeth," you added, hauling him into the bathroom. You managed to brush your teeth as well, and while he ate some fruit and cereal, you got dressed in Bradley's gray sweatpants and an old shirt of his. 

You looked like a mess, but you also knew that you'd be late for dropoff if you took too much longer. Since you'd been driving the Bronco around all week, you took Noah by the hand and led him outside and into the backseat. You liked driving it, and it smelled like Bradley. His favorite radio station came on when you turned the key in the ignition, and you hummed along to oldies as you drove down your street. Your street. 

Oh. Well that was a thought. You really hadn't considered the street with your little rental as your home in a while. You'd hardly been there at all for the past few months. And now the urge to sell your few pieces of furniture and call your landlord about your lease was making you excited. 

"What are peanut butter snails?" Noah asked from the back as you pulled into the daycare parking lot. 

"Hey, I thought you fell asleep last night when I mentioned those!" you said, tickling him as you scooped him out of his carseat. "They are made out of apples, and you're going to absolutely love them."

When you carried him inside, there was a girl your age who you'd never seen before working at the checkin area. "Hey, Noah," she said sweetly as she appraised you. "Where's your daddy? I was hoping to see him."

You smirked at her, fighting the urge to laugh. You wondered if this girl tried to flirt with Bradley when he walked Noah in. Maybe she thought his charming old man tendency of writing checks to the daycare was cute. You wondered how long she'd had an obvious crush on him, because she looked pretty damn annoyed to see you here today.

Oh, the things that came to your mind about your boyfriend as you stood there were absolutely indecent. If he knew this girl had a crush on him, he'd probably try to laugh it off before fucking you into the mattress after Noah went to sleep for the night.

You were weighing your words carefully, trying to decide how to respond when Noah said, "This is my babysitter. She sleeps in my Daddy's bed. And she calls him Daddy, too!" His smile was bright as he slung his arms around your neck and hugged you. 

A startled laugh escaped your lips, and the girl in front of you abruptly stopped grinning. "Oh. Well, that's nice," she mumbled. 

"It is," you agreed. "It's very nice. Have a great day, Noah." You kissed him goodbye and let him walk into the playroom. 

When the other girl picked up a clipboard and handed it to you to sign, she said, "I'm just used to Lieutenant Bradshaw in the morning."

"Mmm," you hummed as you signed your name next on the line that said Noah Bradshaw. "And I'm used to him all day long."

This time she scowled. "Don't forget, you'll need to be on the list and have your photo ID to sign him out later."

You bestowed your kindest smile on her. "Perfect. See you this afternoon."

And then you swung by your rental on your way back home.

--------------------------

Every day was the same on the aircraft carrier, and there were no days off. Lectures and flight training were pretty much it. Bradley had no idea how things were going at home, and he hadn't had the opportunity to talk to you at all. A few short emails had been exchanged, in which he'd been able to make sure you and Noah were okay, but that was the extent of things. 

He didn't have any friends on this deployment, and he didn't really feel like making any either. The other aviators were all from Lemoore and seemed chummy with each other. His bunkmate, Carl, was usually out of the room, too. It didn't matter though, he just spent his free time working out and looking at the collection of polaroids you packed in his bag along with a note. 

Daddy,

I love this old camera I found in your attic. I'd love it even more if you were the one taking the photos instead of me. When you get home, maybe I can model for you? Let you take some new photos before you fuck me? 

I love you,

Princess

Bradley groaned every time he took the note out and read it. Things were so bad at times, he started to get hard just looking at your handwriting. And then he'd think about you, posing for him in some of your cute underwear or nothing at all. And then he'd spread the photos out on his bunk, unzip his uniform pants and take matters into his own hands. 

One night after dinner, he intended to go to the gym, but he ended up here again, next to his bunk with his pants unzipped. "Fuck," he grunted, holding the photo of you that he favored the most. You were laying in his four poster bed, and he could see your purple crown hanging from one of the corners. Your pretty tits were on display, and your hand was tastefully covering your pussy. But he already knew how every inch of you looked and tasted and smelled, and he loved using his imagination. 

He jerked off thinking about how he was going to make you squirt on his face as soon as he got back home. He thought about the way you gripped him so tight when he was fucking you from behind. And he looked at that photo and the sweet, faux innocence on your face. "Come on, baby," he groaned, stroking himself faster now. 

Then he heard a key in the door, and he shouted, "Shit! Wait a minute!"

He came in his own hand and on the undershirt that was on his bed. It felt so fucking good to get off, but now he was scrambling to clean everything up. Fucking Carl, that fucking asshole. Bradley hastily put his photos away and dumped the undershirt in with the rest of his dirty clothes. He would have to work on his laundry tomorrow anyway. 

His cheeks felt flushed and he was uncomfortable as he zipped up his pants, but he forced himself to open the door and face Carl. "Hey," Bradley grunted, letting the other man inside. "I'm heading out."

"Cool," Carl returned with a smirk. Bradley slipped past him and went to walk a lap around the ship, hoping the mixed feeling of embarrassment and arousal would dissipate soon. 

Just a few more weeks of this. Hopefully.

---------------------------

Tomorrow was your first day of work, and you were so ready to go. But you decided to use this last day to really get organized. Noah was at daycare, and you had a plethora of fruit and vegetables lined up on the counter along with raisins and some peanut butter. You and he were going to spend the whole evening making different animals out of the food. You even bought some celery, although you had your doubts that Noah would eat it.

But for now, you were shuttling your textbooks all neatly organized in crates up to the attic. After a few trips, you were sweating a lot. You left your water downstairs, so you just decided to chill for a minute next to one of the boxes of Noah's baby items. You'd spend so much time cleaning and organizing the mess up here, you'd probably be able to locate things faster than Bradley could. 

"Adorable," you whispered as you opened the box and pulled out some baby clothes. There was a onesie with an airplane print, and pajamas that said I Love Daddy. Actually, most of the tiny clothing had an aviation theme or gave a shout out to dad. Bradley must have purged everything else, and that thought made you smile. There were some photo albums that you flipped through that made you squeal with delight. 

Baby Noah was even chubbier and cuter than you could have imagined. Now you were curious if there were any baby photos of Bradley around. If you and he had a child together, would they be as sweet and cute as Noah? Your mind was swirling with the possibilities as you dug deeper. There was another small photo album, Noah's first birthday shirt, and a soft blanket. All that was left in the bottom of the box was a rattle that was shaped like a puppy and two USB flash drives.

You shook the rattle a few times before tossing it back inside the box, and when you stood to go back downstairs and get your water, you took the USB drives with you. Now that all of your textbooks and other random things were tucked away in the front corner of the attic, you took a minute to make a sandwich.

Convinced the blue and yellow flash drives had more cute Noah photos on them, you turned on Bradley's laptop while you ate lunch at the kitchen table. Once it booted up, you selected the yellow one and inserted it. And you were right. There were hundreds of photos here, all organized into folders. You knew Bradley must have taken the time to do this, although there were a handful of pictures that had Meredith in them. 

You cringed when you looked at her. She didn't even look as excited for tiny, sweet Noah as Bradley did. Because in every single image you scrolled through, Bradley's face was lit up by a huge smile. He was impossibly handsome, and he clearly loved being a dad. 

You knew he wanted another baby while Noah was still young. He wasn't shy about telling you that. You wanted it, too. It was hard not to think about raising Noah together along with another little one. Bradley wanted to spoil you and Noah both, and he did so at every opportunity you gave him. A credit card, access to his whole house, free reign to do whatever you wanted. He even offered to help you pay back your student loans. But you were just starting out in your career now, and maybe it wasn't the right time. 

But you could still picture a baby here with the three of you so easily, and you loved thinking about it. The idea lingered as you removed the yellow USB drive and replaced it with the blue one. This time you found a video and a collection of photos. The first image made your stomach turn. It was a selfie of Meredith with Bradley's arm around her that must have been at least five years old. Bradley looked younger, the touch of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth was missing. But he looked happy. And you couldn't help yourself. You opened another photo thumbnail. 

You gasped. Bradley must have taken this one. Meredith sprawled out in the bed you now slept in. She was naked and touching herself, looking right at the camera. Looking right at you. Her fingers were on her breast and closely trimmed pubic hair. She was stunning. Older. She looked more comfortable in her skin than you thought you ever could. She looked confident, and you felt jealous and sick and upset. 

But you clicked on the icon for the video anyway. 

Of course the volume on the laptop was turned way up since you'd never bothered to lower it after listening to music yesterday. So you got to hear loud and clear all those noises you were so used to from Bradley. But it was Meredith making him feel good. Not you.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned in the video, adjusting the camera to show Meredith in bed with her lips wrapped around his cock. You could see the pleasure on his face before the camera turned back to her, and she looked all too happy to be sucking him off. 

She giggled, and it sounded revolting. Your stomach churned as she whispered, "Do you like it? Does it feel so good?"

You covered your mouth with both hands as you made a pathetic noise. Because Bradley in the video was all perfect, flexing muscles and beautiful scars as he propped the phone up and pushed Meredith onto her back. You wanted to close the computer or break it in half, but you couldn't remove your fingers from your mouth. You watched Bradley fuck Meredith, her back arched as he wrapped his hands around her waist. You watched his body that you knew so well bring her pleasure. 

He leaned down to kiss her, and she gripped his biceps until it looked like she was going to break his skin with her nails. "Bradley," she whined, and you thought you were going to be sick right here.

Then Bradley fucked her harder and grunted, "Oh, Babe. I love you."

Bile was rising up to your throat as you finally yanked the USB drive from the computer and let it clatter to the floor. And you barely made it to the toilet before you threw up your sandwich.

You were shaking as you curled up on the cold tile floor. It felt good against the burn of your skin and your hot embarrassment. That wasn't meant for you, and you knew it. You had every opportunity to turn it off, but you didn't. Meredith was sexy and sophisticated looking, and even though you knew that happened years ago, you had nothing to compare it to. You felt like a little kid right now, with only your previous relationship with Greyson to show for yourself. 

And all you could see in your mind was Bradley fucking Meredith and telling her he loved her. She left him and Noah in the dust, and then she tried to take Noah away from him. But he had actually at one time loved her.

An hour later, you took your photo ID in with you to pick Noah up, but the girl from earlier wasn't there. An older woman matched up the name on your driver's license with her list, and then she brought Noah out to you. The sick feeling from earlier persisted, and you were hoping that as soon as you saw Noah, it would start to get better. But it got worse, and tears stung your eyes. 

"Hey, sweet Noah," you whispered as he made a beeline for your open arms, and you held him because you knew that's what he expected. He only knew love from you, and you never wanted that to change. You never wanted to be like Meredith. 

But intrusive thoughts took over your mind as you drove him home to all of the produce on the kitchen counter. You turned the apples into snails and the bananas into boats, and Noah even tried some celery as he laughed. You tried to put on a playlist to keep your mind at ease, but you couldn't help it. You could still picture the video. And you should have known Bradley and Meredith used to be in love, but the idea never really stuck in your mind until you heard him say it. 

You were standing there feeling like a knockoff version of what Bradley really wanted when Noah turned and looked up at you from the stool he was standing on. "Want one?" he asked, handing you an apple wedge covered in peanut butter and some coconut flakes. 

"Thanks," you whispered, kissing the top of his head as you took the apple and nibbled on it. 

But he was still looking up at you with his big, curious brown eyes. "Are you my mommy now?"

You fumbled the apple slice and it landed on the counter. Your lips parted wordlessly, but he was waiting for an answer. This child literally had no mother at all. Not anymore. But you wanted more than anything to become his mom. You already loved him, and taking care of him was one of the highlights of your day. 

"Hopefully someday," you whispered, "because I love you, Noah."

He picked up the apple and handed it to you once more. "I know. And I want you to be my mommy."

You couldn't get another word out as you chewed up the apple and tried not to cry, so you just hugged him tight. 

-------------------------------

Bradley hated being away from home now that you were there. If this is how deployments were going to be if you and he married or had another kid, he didn't know how he was going to manage it. He felt a little on edge. If he were home, he'd put Noah in bed and share a bottle of wine and some Skittles with you on the couch. 

You always tried to tell him which flavor of the candy went with which type of wine. As he walked back to his bunk from the gym, he could practically hear you telling him that red Skittles went with merlot. He couldn't remember if you said yellow went with chardonnay or pinot grigio, but he was certain that purple went with pinot noir. He fucking missed you so much. Just you and Noah, on his mind, all the time. 

He would go back to his bunk, get his polaroids out and jerk it before he took a shower and went to bed, dreaming of your voice. After he made sure the door was locked, he spread the photos out on his bunk and untied his gym shorts. It didn't take long before he started to get hard, but then he realized his favorite photo was missing. That one of you in bed. 

"The fuck?" he asked out loud, turning to look at Carl's empty bunk. There was no way. He secured his gym shorts again before rooting around in his own belongings for a few minutes. He checked under the beds and inside all of his drawers. But he came up short. He didn't really want to have to threaten Carl, but he knew he was going to have to. Because that would be beyond fucked up.

--------------------------

Ouch. And what the fuck did Carl do? Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 31

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #the younger kind

[writingoddess1125]

Bless you for your perfect Mihawk writing, I am dying <3 if you're still taking requests, may I please request some angst with lots of fluff? Mihawk gets word that his wife was badly injured on a mission, she almost dies, but she's strong so she survives with a deep battle wound? Soft Mihawk gives me life ;-;

I gotcha My Dear!

⚠️ Warning: ⚠️ Mention of Death, Disfigurement

Angst and some fluff

My Heart Lies with You

Ah the Dracule Couple- The best power couple of the ages by most people's standards. Mihawk who was the best swordsmen and you his wife the best stealth killers there was, a couple to be taken incredibly seriously. While you were no Warlord you were the wife of one so got the same privileges as your Husband. Paired with your skill it was a bonus for the world goverment to have you on their side.

It had been a normal mission like all the rest, you two rarely got mission together after getting caught being a little too friendly with each other on a assassination mission. So you went off 4 days ago to do a intel and assassination while Mihawk was sent to cause havoc and destroy a pirate base.

Mihawk was currently mid battle, ripping apart the base with his sword and fighting the worthless goons with ease. He heard the transponder snail go off in his ear and he sighed as he answered.

"I'm a little busy here Garp-" He says in a nonchalant way, cutting down several more people as the base behind him exploded.

"Hawkeye, you need to get here as quickly as possible-" Garp said I'm a rather sharp tone that wasn't fitting of the Vice- Admiral.

Mihawk felt a peg of annoyance go through his body at hearing such a tone from the man- Something was wrong very wrong..

"Fine.. I'll be there with the tide" Mihawk said disconnecting the call, sighing as he decided to stop having fun and get this over with so he could meet with the Garp.

The following morning Garp sat at his desk, nervously tapping his finger on the desk knowing this was not going to be pleasant. He heard the heavy footsteps of the Warlords and pulled out the whiskey, knowing it would be needed. Mihawk walked in, Stepping forward with a deep frown as he watched Garp pour the whiskey.

"You called me here Garp?" Mihawk asked with his normal stoic tone, The Vice-Admiral nodded and held out the whiskey to Mihawk who took it and took a hefty sip.

"Hawkeye- (Y/N) is MIA, there was a surprisingly large battle during her stealth mission and after she informed us she was injured transmission cut and we lost her" Garp said evenly, his eyes trained on Mihawk whose whole body seemed to lock up. The Warlord setting down the glass of whiskey quickly as his mind focused on one thing- his wife.

"Where was her mission?" He demanded, His breathing seeming shallow and unsheathed rage behind his eyes as Garp drank his glass of whiskey.

"Just off Summer Island, a boat has already been prepared to take you within the next hour" Garp said calmly, however Mihawk was already out the door at hearing this. His heart beating in his ears as he heard of this- His wife MIA after being injured.. scared him? He wasn't used to feeling scared like this- You were so skilled and careful, a perfect stealth killer as well as a Pirate he saw equal to himself.

As promised, within the hour Mihawk was sailing to Summer Island. The Marines with him scared as he looked like a pacing tiger, Walking up and down the main docks as his eyes locked onto the direction of his destination. By nightfall they had arrived, seeing a search party was already there. Never having been so greatful that Garp had let their mission be semi close to each other (usually a 2 day boat ride to one another max).

Mihawk looked around at the clear battle that had taken place on the island, anger bubbling in his chest as his mind racing with all the possibilities. He saw the search party still moving through the clearing. They wouldn't find her unless she wanted to be found- she was too good.

Stepping forward he cupped his hand over his lips and gave out two loud whistles sounding like a birds call, he held up a hand to the research party to stop which they did. The forest falling silent for a few moments, Mihawk closing his eyes to focus... after a moment or two a weakened call returned. Mihawk feet moving faster then his brain as he followed the bird call.

The search party backed away as Mihawk trudged forward repeating the bird call again following its echoed call.

Finally he made it to a large pile of fallen trees still scorched from what seemed to he a fire. Without care he began to throw off the glowing logs like they weighed nothing, finally seeing your arm wriggling under a large log he tossed it with all of his strength and fell to his knees quickly.

"I got you My Heart.. I got you" He said softly, his arm sliding under you and he felt the dampness from blood as he slowly lifted you into his arms. You managed to open an eye to see your husband, the taste of ash and dirt on your lips as you tried to give him a soft smile.

"D-Dont look so sa.." You croaked out, but the pain keep you from finishing your words. Mihawk pulling you closer to him and holding your face in his hand, his thumb pushing the dried blood and dirt from your face. Panic filling his features and- he froze. Fear filling his whole body that practically immobilized him-

"Medics Now!" Mihawk ordered loudly, a rush of Marine medics rushing forward to exact you and take you to the boat for attention. The Warlord finally seeing the large open wound on your chest which made his stomach churn- it went from your naval up to the left of your body shredding your skin across your left breast and past your shoulder. If it hadn't been for the grace of whatever Gods were out there or the dirt packed into the wound you would have died for sure.

Mihawk felt his body go cold- watching as the Marines take his wife. At first frozen in his spot before he quickly followed behind quickly, he was silent as they loaded you onto the boat. The medics quick to take you to the infirmary of the ship to provide emergency treatment- Mihawk standing in your room as he watched with unwaving eyes as they gave you oxygen and more to keep you breathing.

As fast as the boat could move it landed on a near by Marine Base to get you into its established hospital. The nurses and medical staff taking you as top priority as they got you into a proper room, Garp meeting Mihawk there as he saw them loading you into a room.

Once several machines were placed on you the loud sirens of the heart monitor sounded which shattered Mihawk- Hearing your heart jump in shock of whatever they were doing before it suddently stopped and flattened. He shoved past the doctors at this and grabbed your hand feeling it turn cold before a doctor could yank him off.

"Code Blue Code Blue we have lost the heart beat" a nurse announced, Another young nurse pushing Mihawk out of the room fully as they began emergency treatment for you. Mihawk had tried to resist at first ready to mow down the nurses but Garp pulled him back into the hallway before he could.

"They have to keep you out to give her the best treatment Hawkeye-" He tried to reason with the Warlord who looked ready to rip Garp apart, but he nodded silently as the older man lead him to a bench to sit down. Hours passed and Mihawk heard nothing... his nerves shot as he sat there trying to mentally figure out what to do- You could take die.. he would be lost if you did.. he mentally couldn't not comprehend the idea.. His face found his hands as he sat there letting his own imagination get the absolute worse of him.

"Mr. Dracule sir?.." The old doctor said softly, pulling the man from his hands as he looked up at the man. His eyes red from either stress or crying- no one was going to ask which, Mihawk stood up fully staring at the doctor.

"So we have your wife stable and alive, she will be making a recovery. While we are unsure of the damage done from the blood loss I can say she is very fortunate" Mihawk gave a sigh in relief, like he could finally take a breath for the first time.

"However there was some... damage due to the injuries" The doctor spoke gently, Mihawks relief was short lived as the doctor went into detail over your injuries. It seemed whatever had caused your injury had shredded the left side of your chest- due to the extent of the injuries they had to give a mastectomy to your left breast as well as remove lots of skin from around the whole wound that could have caused infections heaving what was going to be one hell of a scar.

His heart sank to his stomach at hearing this, but nodded in understanding. Greatful you were just alive. The doctor lead him inside still trying to brace him to see you.

When he saw you- he crumbled.. his heart shattered into tiny peices as he saw you. You were swollen and pale, the machine beeping loudly and monitoring every rise and fall of your chest which was shallow. He shuffled over to the little plastic seat next to your bed and sat there, he looked lost. Like the idea of you like this had never crossed his mind and he couldn't handle it now- he stared at the doctor, pity in the older man's eyes as he saw the devastated Warlord.

"How long will she be like this?.." Mihawk finally said. The doctor swallowing thickly and shook his head.

"Now that is something I can't tell you..." He said, before leaving the room to let Mihawk be with you. The Warlord reaching forward and touching your face softly, his hands shaking as he stared at the cuts and bruises on your face. Pulling away finally as he sat by your side, caressing your free hand carefully.

Hours turned to days.. days turned to weeks and after a month Mihawk had still not left your side, others even trying to convince the man to at least get fresh air but he refused. Unmoving and too stubborn to leave you alone as you recovered in your coma. Till one day-

You opened your eyes, you felt truly awful- your eyes burning at the harsh light. You blinked several times as your eyes adjusted and saw you were in a hospital, the beeping of machines around you finally took notice of them- flowers. So many flowers of every color and stage of wilting were scattered in the room like someone had set them in whatever space was available. A heavy feeling on your chest and hand caught your attention. Lifting your head slightly you could feel heavy gauze around your chest that made it hard to breath- however you assumed the pain medicine thay was for sure in your IV was keeping you from feeling whatever was happening there. However your gaze went to your side to the pressure on your hand, your gaze softening at the sight.

There was you husband, he looked as bad as you felt. His hair was a mess on his head and clearly hadnt been washed in some time, a deep stubble was blending in with his natural facial hair making him look like he was growing a full rugged beard instead of his usual clean look and even though he was passed out with his face pressed into your hand like a puppy waiting for its owner the insane bags under his closed eyes clued you in that he had been exhausted in waiting for you.

Carefully you reach around with your free hand and touch his hair, despite it being a greasy mess you stroke his hair softly. After a few moments of messing with his hair Mihawk head shoots up, his bright yellow eyes as wide as saucers as he stared at you.

"(Y/N).." He breathed out and his cupped your cheek quickly, you can see his eyes watering at seeing you awake. He stood up to place a kiss on your forehead, feeling a tear fall onto your cheek realizing it was from your husband. He pressed the call nurse button quickly.

"They need to check you first okay?..." Mihawk said, almost like he was convincing himself just as much as you. Soon a flood of nurses came in, giving every checkup and look around possible. If you weren't sure before that your situation had been bad then you knew by the end.

It had been a few days since you woke up from the hospital. To say it had been a roller coaster was a understatement, your husband had taken control of your care and recovery almost possessivly. Then his colleges and friends of the past visited the both of you- Even catching who had been assisting in bringing in flowers for you.

From Vice Admiral Garp who brought in a large strawberry cake and some adorable white flowers, Zoro with lovely blue hydrangeas, Perona bring in every type of rose imaginable, Shanks with whatever he could find and even Buggy who would shyly bring sunflowers and leave before getting the ire of Mihawk if the clown tried any stupid jokes.

It took Shanks and Zoro to convince Mihawk to finally go shower and change clothes agreeing to watch over you while he did so. You never did tell him he smelt like ripe ass sitting next to you.

Upon returning in fresh clothes that Perona had brought back you smiled.

"There is my handsome husband" You said with a grin, he smirked at this and took his seat next to you. Shanks and Zoro also glad to see at least most of Mihawk back to his former self- you reaches forward and touched the full beard that graced his features and giggled.

"I never knew you could grow a beard like this" You chimed, he rolled his eyes at your words and gently took your hand from his beard and held it instead.

"Don't get uses to it- once back home I'm shaving" You see Shanks and Zoro smirk at this, Clearly finding it amusing.

You look at the two of them and smile.

"Guys, could you get us something to eat?.. and some tea?" You ask sweetly, Zoro looked confused over this clearly about to question why not call the nurses button bit Shanks got it and patted Zoro shoulder. "Come with me" He said calmly as he lead the green haired man out the room and closing the door behind them. There was a few moments of silence, your hand finding its way to your own gauzed up chest.

"They told you?... right?" You asked softly, wanting to know of he knew about the amputation and the heavy scars on your body. He nodded calmly. You winced at this, feeling... ashamed at this and uncomforble, Giving a forced chuckle-

"Well... no more bikini seasons for me.." You try to make light, even if your bottom lip quivered. Touching that spot on your chest again. Mihawks eyes hardened at this and he gently pulled your hand from your chest and held it tightly. He knew what you were insinuating and it broke his heart all over again.

"(Y/N).. never say that- You are beautiful in every way imaginable. No matter what has been added or taken away... you're beautiful cause.. just cause your here with me" He admitted, staring at you. You felt your eyes grow warm with fresh tears at such thoughtful words.

"Honey.." You whisper softly, giving his hand a gentle tug to come closer to you which he obediently did and kissed you on the lips which you savored. Tears running down your cheeks at his sweet words-

"I love you Mihawk" You whisper softly again his lips, he pulled back ever so slightly and smiled.

"I love you too My Heart"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one peice live action #one piece #one piece mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x y/n #dracule mihawk x reader

[junipers-archive]

And They Were Roommates

Word Count: 1k

Includes: Fluff, fluff, some more fluff and a kiss? You confront Spencer about your relationship status after Penelope informs you of everyone's belief of you being more than roommates :)

(Prompt from this challenged by @imagining-in-the-margins)

You were at the coffee shop nearest to the apartment, desperately trying to find a pick me up. It was 6:30am...a new record for you. Seeing as your roommate and best-friend Spencer hadn't alerted you that you guys ran out of coffee at home, you were now standing in what you deem the longest line in the world you'd ever seen for coffee.

Then again it was one of the first times you'd been up this early to see people who actually got up early. It'd only been 10 minutes but you swore if you didn't get your daily caffeine boost soon you'd start to shut down.

The line was moving at snail pace so you decided to see what the problem was, only to catch a Penelope Garcia with 8 coffees in her arms, trying to balance her way out of the crowd.

Fortunately for her, Spencer had introduced you to the team a few months ago after they'd wanted to see where he lived and he was essentially peer-pressured in showing them by Derek. You'd been given a 5-minute notice at the late hour of 11pm and to this day are still making him pay on movie-nights where you got to choose the film.

You were torn between helping Penelope and staying in your spot in line, but seeing as you remembered how kind she had been and she was about to drop all that coffee, you took pity. Rushing over and calling her name,

"Penelope, you need some help there?"

"ah!-oh hi Y/n, sorry you scared me for a moment! And yes please."

You took one of the trays of coffee from her, holding her purse around your other arm. "Not that I mind helping, but why all the coffee?"

"Well" She was now wobbling over to a table that was just freed up by a couple, talking to you while placing her many belongings on it,

"Sometimes, I like to get up really early and get coffee for the team, cause you know the coffee at work sucks and I'm sure Spencer's already alerted you, but someone's been stealing the curate cups from the kitchen!"

You now placed the tray you had been carrying on the table as well,

"No...uh Spencer doesn't exactly talk about his job much, we usually just talk about other stuff"

She looked surprised at this, "Really? I thought he'd be more open about what he does with his girlfriend. But I guess thats just Spencer."

Now it was your turn to be surprised. "I-I'm sorry, did you say girlfriend?"

"Well, I mean yeah, you live together, he talks about you all the time, and when we went over you two just had so much chemistry we all just assumed-" she stopped talking as she saw the growing disbelief on your face, "I-I just- I'm sorry are you not dating?"

You were speechless. Absolutely speechless.

I mean sure you liked Spencer, he was one of your best-friends and you did live together and yea maybe you had feelings for him. But could other people see it too?

I mean, it made sense, now that you thought about it, you two were practically never seen apart, having roomate-movie-nights, going on consistent 'friend-dates', eating almost every meal together and getting each other gifts for holidays, even sometimes falling asleep in each others beds when you both got black-out drunk on occasion...

Were you dating?

Penelope had taken your silence as her cue to leave, gathering her things, but you had another idea, one that wouldn't leave you overthinking for the rest of the day.

"Wait- I- I'll help you! I mean you can't carry this all yourself!"

"Thank you" she smiled " but you're sure you don't have anywhere to be?"

"Not a place in the world." You would just call in sick today, you thought.

On the drive to the BAU as you talked to Penelope who you found was alluringly talkative, you also realized you might not even be able to get into the building. When you asked she waved her hand, shooing away your worries it seemed as she explained that as long as you weren't a spy you'd be fine for staying a couple minutes since she had clearence.

The topic of Spencer didn't come up again.

Once you got there and helped Penelope up to the office you caught sight of your roommate sitting at his desk. Excusing yourself, you began walking over, It was more decorated than you assumed, containing his adorable action figure favorites and small trinkets you'd given him over the years. And as you got closer you even found he had a picture of the two of you posing at a theme park you'd forced him to go to with you.

He saw you before you were closer, standing himself up as well.

"Y/n? What-What're you doing here?"

"Are we dating?"god you needed to get a filter, but you were really curious.

He sputtered at that, which admittedly made you smile, "I-uh-Who-did Garcia?-What?"

By pure instinct you grabbed his face so he had to look at you now, as he had a habit of looking down when nervous.

You asked him once more,

"Doctor Spencer Reid Are you dating me?"

You could feel him blush against your palms as he answered,

"Uhm...do you want me to be dating you?"

You don't know what had gotten into you that morning, but the next thing you did surprised both of you, pulling him closer as his hands circled your waist hesitantly and you kissed him.

It was soft at first, almost gentle in the way the both of you were nervous, but eventually he deepened it, grabbing one side of your face, the other circling your waist completely now as you arms came to rest around his shoulders.

When you both had to finally come up for air you breathed out your more than obvious response, "yes."

And while you both grinning like idiots at one another, Penelope was adamantly taking photos of the two of you for your wedding which she had already informed Spencer was to be on October 31 of next year.

You never even noticed you didn't get your coffee, knowing you were now with the Dr.Spencer Reid was enough of a pick-me-up to last you a lifetime.

Reblogs and Comments appreciated!!

Update: Part 2

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fancfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #please please let these tags work tumblr im begging #junipers-archive

[joelsgreys]

surprise

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You're four months pregnant when you have an accidental fall; while you and Sarah wait for Joel at the hospital, an ultrasound technician accidentally reveals the sex of your baby.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY, reader has an accidental fall, minor anxiety, Sarah calls reader her mom, talk of gender and gender reveal. fluff.

word count: 1.5k

a/n: i am a snail when it comes to requests, but i got around to this request here. it is the same reader featured in family, but it can technically be read as a stand alone. i know there isn't a ton of Joel, but I just adore Sarah and had a blast writing her!

“Where is he?” Sarah paced anxiously in front of your hospital bed. 

A thin, light blue curtain shielded the two of you from the rest of the busy, bustling emergency department that you’d been brought to in Austin. 

“I called him half an hour ago, what’s taking him so long?” she said, a frown turning down the corners of her mouth. “Should I just call him again?” she suggested, the anxiousness evident in her tone. “There’s a payphone down the hallway, I should call him and see where he is.”

“I’m sure your dad on his way,” You assured her, delicately rubbing at your swollen midsection with your hand. You were about four months into your pregnancy, and although your growing baby bump was still on the smaller side, it was very much there, prominent underneath a scratchy, itchy white hospital gown a nurse had helped you into. You watched the teenager as she continued to pace and pace; you didn’t blame her for being worried, but it was causing your own anxieties to begin creeping in, and the last thing you wanted was for Sarah to see that you were scared too. “Sarah, honey, can you please just sit down and relax? I’m sure the baby is perfectly fine.”

She stopped, turning to you. “You fell down the stairs,” she reminded you, as if you could have somehow forgotten that. “What if the baby is hurt? Dad’s not here, the doctors are taking fucking forever—”

“Language,” You glared at her lightly. 

“Sorry,” Sarah mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is all just so scary. I don’t even know how you’re staying so calm right now. How are you not afraid?”

You beckoned her over and patted the space on your bed beside you.

Sarah hesitated, but then carefully sat down beside you.

You slid an arm around her shoulders, being careful not to yank at the intravenous line taped to the back of your hand. “Well if you want the truth, I am afraid,” You admitted, softly. “But I also know that freaking out isn’t going to help. It could actually make things worse and put a lot more stress on the baby.” Feeling her lean into you, you squeezed her shoulders gently. “Besides, if I show you that I’m scared, you’ll be even more scared than you already are and I don’t want that.”

“I just wish my dad was here,” she murmured, resting her head lightly on your shoulder; she placed a hand on your stomach, right over your own.

Although you didn’t say it, you silently wished the same.

Joel had been away, working at a construction site a couple of towns over when it happened, and when Sarah called him in a panic, he had promised that he would get to the hospital as quickly as possible. He sounded distraught over the phone, and as much as you needed him to be there with you, you didn’t want him rushing and risking getting into a car wreck. Still, every single minute that ticked by without Joel there felt like a fucking eternity.

“Miss Miller?” A woman’s voice called politely from the other side of the curtain.

Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Miller?”

Sarah lifted her head from your shoulder, looking guilty. “I might have put that down as your last name when I was filling out the admission forms for you earlier. Is that okay?”

Before you could respond, the curtain around your bed was pulled off to the side, and a blonde haired woman appeared, wheeling what you guessed was a portable ultrasound machine behind her. “Miss Miller, I’m here to do your ultrasound.” She glanced at Sarah. “This must be your daughter?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied quickly, nodding her head as she stood up from your bed.

You glanced up at her, your heart fluttering inside of your chest—did she really see you as her mother figure?

“Are we going to be able to see if the baby is okay?” Sarah wrung her hands together nervously as she questioned the technician. “And my mom? What about her? She told one of the nurses that her ankle was hurting her a little after the fall, are you going to check that too?”

My mom.

It sounded so natural, so right to hear her call you that.

“I’m just here for her sonogram, sweetheart. The first thing we want to do is to make sure the fall didn’t have an impact on the fetus. The baby, I mean.” The woman slipped on a pair of white latex gloves and peeled your blankets back, away from your lower body. “After, we will have one of the attending physicians run some tests and get an x-ray of your mom’s ankle to make sure it’s okay.”

Sarah reached for your hand, holding it in her own as the technician lifted your hospital gown and squirted a clear, cool gel onto your skin before running the doppler over the lower part of your abdomen; she squeezed your hand, her light green eyes fixed intently on the screen attached to the portable machine. “I can’t tell what any of that is.”

The woman smiled, pointing to the lower part of the screen with her free hand. “Well, the entire image is her uterus. And do you see that right there, that little thing? That’s the baby. There is her heartbeat, looking healthy and strong.”

You froze and Sarah’s mouth fell wide open.

“Her?” she gasped. “Did you just say her? It’s a girl?”

The technician’s smile faded. “You weren’t aware of the baby’s sex?”

“Does it look like we were?” Sarah nearly squeaked, her eyes wide.

The woman flushed a deep shade of red. “Oh no, I am so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” You managed to tell her. “Please, don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

After cleaning the gel off of your stomach and tugging your hospital gown back down into place, the technician excused herself, uttering another quick apology about the mishap before leaving.

“It’s a girl,” You breathed out, a smile breaking out onto your face.

“I’m going to have a little sister!” Sarah squealed, beaming as she threw her arms around you. She pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew it, I totally knew it would be a girl! Uncle Tommy owes me twenty bucks.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “You and Tommy made a bet?”

“We sure did! A bet that I won.”

Before you could say anything, the blue curtain around your bed was pulled aside once again and a frantic, panicked Joel appeared.

“Dad!” Sarah ran up to him, throwing her arms around him. “Finally!”

He gave her a quick squeeze and then rushed to your side. “Baby, I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I tried to get here as fast as I could but traffic was so damn bad, it was a nightmare just tryin’ to get back into the city,” he explained breathlessly, taking your hand. He began to sputter out his questions, going a hundred miles an hour. “Are you alright? What did the doctor say? Has anyone even been in to see you yet?”

“Joel, breathe. I’m fine,” You promised him. “I might have twisted my ankle a bit, but they’re going to take a radiograph in a bit. Other than that, I’m okay.”

“And what about the baby?”

“I just had an ultrasound done and the baby is okay. We’re both fine,” You assured him, prompting him to exhale a sigh of utter relief.

Joel pulled your hand up towards his lips, kissing the back of it gently before he asked, “Baby, what the hell happened?”

“I was doing laundry. I was carrying the basket of clothes downstairs from our bedroom and my foot slipped,” You admitted sheepishly.

“I’d just gotten home from school and I saw it happen.” Sarah walked over to his side. “I called for an ambulance and then I called you right after.”

Joel placed his other arm around her, pulling her close. “You did the right thing, babygirl. Thank you for that.” He kissed her temple and turned back to you. “And you’re absolutely sure the baby is okay?”

You nodded. “She’s fine, Joel.”

“Good. Because I was so—wait, what?” he hissed, his his dark brown eyes going wide with shock. “Did you just say, she?”

“Surprise!” Sarah grinned, her arm tightening around his waist.

Joel glanced at her, then back at you once again, thoroughly confused. “Wait just a damn minute, I thought we all agreed that we didn’t want to know the gender until it was born! You two asked for the gender without me?”

You almost felt bad for laughing at the look of complete and utter betrayal that crossed his face. “Of course we didn’t. The technician accidentally told us,” You explained. You tossed him a small, joking smile. “I’m sorry, Joel. I know you were rooting for a boy.”

“Sorry dad, you’re outnumbered,” Sarah teased him. “Three to one.”

Joel kept his arm around her as he leaned down, kissing the top of your head. “I might be outnumbered, but that’s perfectly fine with me,” he said. “Me and my three girls—my perfect little family. It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

#joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller drabble #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction

[maerinhearts]

Anything For You

Your boyfriend gets some wild advice from his closest friend and decides to bring it to fruition. Only it's incredibly embarrassing and not at all what you're into... Or so you thought...

Warnings: dom!bokuto, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, creampie, fem!bodied reader

Minors DNI.

All characters are 18+.

2100+ words.

Smut is below the cut as always.

A/N: I've never written for Bokuto before, so I'm a little nervous putting this out there. Please let me know if y'all like it!

 “I want to watch.”

Your hands stop their ministrations in his hair, eyes peeling away from the movie you were watching together to glance down at the man between your legs, his eyes wide and curious. You must have had a funny look on your face at his statement because he turns around, kneeling before you and sliding his hands up your outer thighs, resting his cheek against your right knee.

“Watch me what?” you ask, genuinely confused and curious as to what the actual hell he was asking for. Watch you cook? He did that already. And you were already watching a movie together. What could he possibly want?

He inhales deeply, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I want to watch you,” he answers.

You feel yourself getting annoyed with how vague he is being. You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you being so weird about telling me the answer? Just tell me what you want to watch me do.”

He sits back on his knees, hands leaving your body briefly before he’s grabbing your knees and shoving your legs apart. You yelp in surprise, heat rushing primarily to your core at his roughness, but a touch of pink dusts your cheeks.

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” he says softly. He peeks up at you through his eyelashes. “Can I?”

You stare at him blankly, cogs turning rapidly in your mind. Watch you? Touch? Yourself? He… wants that? But why? Where is this even coming from? Now that you think about it, him and Kuroo had gone to dinner the other night to catch up while they had the time. Were they talking about their girlfriends? Did this come up during dinner? Only Kuroo would tell your boyfriend how hot something like this was. And he would soak up every single word that bastard spewed at him. Kuroo and his girlfriend were notoriously kinky. You knew this because his girlfriend was a close friend of yours and you heard all about it every time the two of you got together.

Anyway, there was no possible way you were going to let him watch you touch yourself. No way in hell. How embarrassing…

Is what you thought…

So why…

Why are you sitting against the arm of the couch with your legs spread wide, your bare pussy on display for him? He sits across the couch from you, leaning back against his own armrest as he watches your fingers dance across your clit.

“Slowly, Y/N,” he says softly.

You lean your head back to stare at the ceiling, tears fogging your vision. You slow your fingers to a snail pace, groaning in frustration as your body starts to calm down from a steady build up. This bastard… He isn’t even touching himself! Even though he is clearly hard as a rock. You lift your head back up to glare at him, fingers stopping altogether.

“Don’t stop,” he snaps, making direct eye contact.

You bite your lips, a tear making its way down your face as your fingers begin circling your clit again. You moan as you make eye contact with him, fingers dipping down to collect the essence that was leaking out and rubbing it back into your swollen clit.

“One finger,” he says now. “Put one finger inside of you.”

You listen so well, he thinks, as he watches you slowly slide your middle finger into your hole. You whimper as your finger disappears completely inside you and your head falls back. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, but watching you obey his every command while you touch yourself is so hot, he wants to drag this out for as long as possible.

You stay still, walls fluttering around your finger as you try to dial your orgasm back.

“If you come without permission, don’t expect me to fuck you,” he had said when you started.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you attempt to calm yourself.

“Finger yourself,” he instructs you. His voice is firm.

You meet his gaze again, eyes pleading to just either let you come or to come fuck you already. Nevertheless, you slowly begin thrusting your finger into your pussy, moaning freely now as you feel your finger enter and leave your body. Every time you pull your finger out, you can feel your walls suck it right back in. As you pick up your pace, you begin to hear just how wet you are.

“Ko, please,” you beg, voice breathless.

“Slow down,” he says simply.

You whine as you still your finger inside of you, orgasm floating away from your grasp once again. You nearly cry as your body starts shaking.

“Please,” you beg again. “Ko, please come fuck me.” Your face is covered in your tears with more threatening to spill out.

He wishes he could take a picture of you just like this. Your finger buried knuckle deep inside your own pussy, your face wet with tears, it’s so sexy.

He smirks at you. “Add another finger,” he says, ignoring your pleas.

You nearly begin sobbing as you pull your finger out and shove your ring finger back in with it. Your brain is pure mush as you begin fucking yourself with two fingers now. You can’t think straight as squelching noises fill your ears. It feels so good, body shaking as your orgasm begins building up once again. You cry out, head falling back once again.

“Please, let me come,” you try again, words barely leaving your lips.

“No,” he replies sternly and like the good girl he knows you are, you pull your fingers free from your sex to stop yourself from coming.

You ball your hands up into fists, chest heaving as your orgasm gets further and further from your grasp.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you softly.

You lift your head up, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears, breathing so heavy, that you didn’t hear him move closer to you.

He cups your face in his hands, thumb pulling at your chin to open your mouth as he leans in to devour you. His tongue dives quickly into your mouth, stroking against your own. You sob into him, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him against you. Not that it did any good, the beefy asshole. He pulls away from you easily.

“Fuck me, please,” you beg as he looms over you. Without thinking, you shove your hand into the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock. He stiffens above you. “Kotaro, I’m begging you, please. Fuck me.”

He presses his forehead into yours as you slowly stroke his cock. “How bad do you want it?” he asks. He was really dragging this out.

“So bad,” you tell him. Your mouth was moving of its own accord. You were saying anything just to get his dick inside you. “Please.”

He pulls away to yank his shirt off and pull his dick out. He doesn’t even bother taking off his pants.

“Since my baby has been so good, I better give her what she wants,” he says simply before he fully sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp out in surprise as an orgasm rakes through your body just from him entering you. You cry out, hands wrapping around his wrists as more tears fall from your eyes. He grunts from above you, closing his eyes as he feels your pussy convulse around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He stays still until he’s sure you’re done coming, not wanting to overstimulate you so early. As you calm down, the smirk returns to his face and you know the teasing is about to come full force. You cover your face with your hands. “All that just from me shoving my dick into you? What do you have to say for yourself, angel?”

He grabs you by your waist and pulls your body down so your back is flush with the couch cushions. He pries your hands away from your face and pins them to the couch.

“Hmm?” he hums, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You don’t answer, opting to turn your face away from his gaze. In response, he pulls all the way out and slams himself back into you. You cry out as the head of his cock grazes your cervix.

“Too deep,” you gasp out.

“Answer me,” he demands as he begins thrusting his cock into you.

You moan out as he thrusts repeatedly into the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the immense pleasure he was giving you. You aren’t sure what kind of answer he is looking for and you aren’t sure how you should even answer his question. Especially when he is fucking you so relentlessly like this.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans. “Feels so good.”

You moan out in response, pussy involuntarily clenching around him at his words and he sucks in a breath at the feeling.

His hands find their way underneath your knees, pressing them into your chest. In this position, he reaches a new depth inside of you and you throw your head back in pleasure, mouth wide open in a silent scream as he continues to relentlessly fuck you.

“You take me so damn well,” he praises. “Your pussy keeps sucking me right back in.”

His thrusts turn sloppy, moans picking up as his orgasm quickly approaches.

“Look at you,” he grounds out. “So fucking sexy.”

“Come,” you squeak out in warning, hands pushing at his shoulders as pleasure overwhelms you.

“You gonna come again?” he asks. “Come for me. Open your eyes and look at me, I want to watch you come.”

You pry your eyes open to find his heated gaze. As your eyes meet, your orgasm washes over you again, body shaking as he continues to fuck you. His moans pick up before he follows with his own orgasm, spilling his seed right into you.

You both try to catch your breaths as he lets go of your legs. Your body feels like jell-o, you’re not even sure how you’re going to move from this very couch.

Kotaro leans down to kiss your forehead before pulling away from your body. You feel his come start to slip out of you and you hurriedly cover yourself with your hands to try to catch it before it hits your couch. That would be a hard stain to remove, and an embarrassing one for someone to see.

He comes back with a warm cloth and gently moves your hands out of the way to clean you up. You smile tiredly as he takes care of you, gently wiping your sex and taking the utmost care to thoroughly clean you.

Then he’s hoisting you up into his arms and carrying you to bed. He disappears to dispose of the rag before silently climbing in beside you and pulling you to his chest.

You sigh contentedly before he breaks the silence. “We should do that again,” he comments.

“What?!” you exclaim, sitting up to look at him. “Did you like it that much?! It was so embarrassing!”

He grins at you. “You seemed to be into it,” he says as he brushes your hair out of your face. “Am I wrong?”

You feel your face heat up and avert your gaze.

“That damn Kuroo,” you mutter as you lay back down and turn away from him.

“What about him?” Kotaro asks as his arms snake around your body.

You glare at the wall. “I know he told you about doing that with his girlfriend and that’s what gave you the idea.”

He’s silent behind you.

“Look at you, can’t even deny it,” you mumble.

“Well, he was damn right about it being the sexiest thing ever,” he admits with a shrug.

“How was that even remotely sexy?!”

He hums from behind you, lips pressing into the back of your neck. “You were so wet, I could hear it just from your fingers,” he murmurs into your ear. “And the look on your face? The way your eyes begged me to just fuck you, your little eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. Your body tense as you waited for my next command.” His hands begin fondling your breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. You begin panting. “The way your pussy glistened in the light. Fuck.” He presses his hips firmly into you and you can feel he’s hard again. “It was so hard not to touch myself.”

Your brain is reduced to mush once again, face hot as you ask him to fuck you again. He chuckles from behind you as he pulls himself from his sweats and enters you from behind in one thrust.

“Anything for you.”

#bokuto smut #bokuto kotaro smut #haikyuu smut #bokuto x reader #haikyuu x reader #please be nice to me about this #i'm so afraid i didn't capture him correctly lol

[shomixremix]

Hello! If it's okay, can I make a silly request? (I think they are open? I apologize if they aren't) may I request something fluffy with the immortal characters (which ever you write for) where their s/o is mortal but they've been together so long that their s/o is an old wrinkly person and the s/o gets mistaken for their grandparent? I just want some cute fluff, but everyone writes smut 😫

Eternal love ♡︎

hi anon!! yep, reqs are open!! i'm so sorry for not being here for some time, exam week was hell but i'm back now lovelies!!

idk rlly which immortal characters you meant but i hope it's okay that i chose these two!! and also i know that this is like fluff and all but for some reason this is so sad to me!! like yeah the reader is old and they are immortal but the reader is GONNA DIE AND OH MY GOD THEY'LL BE ALONEEEEEE AND GRIEVEINGGGG i don't deal well with thinking about death so this was a little challenging to write. but fun!! and hehe don't worry anon even though i write smut more i'm always here for fluff!!

hope you lovelies enjoy <3

tags: zhongli, neuvillette, fluff, slight angst, female!senior!reader

-> being in love with an immortal being had its' many perks, and yet, it had it's flaws. you only began to realize those flaws existed once you celebrated your 50th anniversary with your husband.

reqs open ♡︎

-> zhongli

"there you go, love. would you like to rest now? it is way past your usual nap time... you're sure you'd like to stay here?"

your husband asked, handsome face washed in worry for you. his appearance, ever so youthful and mighty, completely contrasted with your wrinkles and gray hair. but morax didn't mind the slightest - he still thought you were beautiful.

even though you were now hunched over, thick glasses sitting snuggly on the bridge of your nose and spent most od your times either asleep or knitting, he had loved you just the same as all those years ago. he looked at you now, at seventy, in that same way he did when you were his sweet, twenty-year-old fiancé. you were still you, no matter how old, and you were still the most heavenly person he has ever met.

"i'm sure, dear," you reassure, nodding softly, "i would like another cup of tea, please"

he hurriedly called the waiter of the lovely liyue café you were sitting at to bring you a cup more.

"could we get one more cup of this tea for my date?"

the waiter, seemingly very polite and kind, nodded.

"certainly, sir. and i have to comment, i think it's very lovely you're taking your grandma out for brunch! i don't get many people who respect their elders"

zhongli's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. respect his elders? when he was the one a aproximately a millenia older than you?

your husband looked to you, then back, clearing his throat. his voice slightly offended, he spoke: "this is my wife. we're celebrating our anniversary"

the way the waiter's face fell made you softly giggle, giving him a look full of empathy. you knew you appeared much older than zhongli and that people weren't used to it, with you looking like some kind of sugar mommy he married for the inheritance. people had no idea he was actually the older one, and how would they even be able to tell with the way his face hasn't aged a day?

"oh, ma'am, i'm so sorry, i cincerely apologise-"

"it's alright, sweetheart, i can see why you'd think i'm his granny!" you laughingly reassure. the waiter quickly runs to get you your tea, and zhongli turns to you.

"pft, you're not even that old, love. seventy-three is nothing." he scoffs, kissing your saggy cheek, "and no matter how old you are, i don't appreciate you calling another man sweetheart"

-> neuvillette

"are you alright? would you like to sit down, mon amour?" he asks, moving his feet inch by inch as he walked alongside you. even though this pace was almost torterous for him, he'd never dare go any faster. he'd walk alongside you, always, no matter if it meant he had to move at a snail's pace.

"i'm quite alright, my dear. but, could we have a break, just for a moment?"

his ocean-blue eyes frantically searched for a spot to rest, scanning a nearby bench. he set you down on it, wrapping a careful arm around your shoulder and let you rest.

you were so adorable, even now, with saggy skin and an obsession with cardigans. his beautiful, incredible wife, so gorgeous and full of life even though you were in your seventies.

those eyes of yours looked at him with just as much love and just as much wanting as they did a whole lifetime ago. when you first got married, he always had that thought in the back of his mind of a youth potion, always thinking that ot would feel weird if you would change with age and he would not.

but he was wrong. chief justice neuviellette was so, so wrong.

it wasn't weird at all - it was beautiful. your face and body, even though old and wrinkly, perfectly showed everything you two went through; your big smile lines, from a lifetime of chuckling with him, eyes so full of care from the few young ones you raised, hands veiny and rough from a lifetime of caressing his scales.

"would you like to feed the birds, mon cherie? remember, we brought the bread crumbs?"

you nodd softly, softly laying your gray head on your husbands chest.

"oh, yes, the birds! i almost forgot!"

as he gives you a little baggy filled with some leftover baguette breadcrumbs from your breakfast that morning, a couple of melusines swarmed around the two of you.

"mr. neuvillette! mr. neuvillette! we have never seen your grandma before!! hello, mrs. neuvillette's grandma, very nice to meet you!"

your husband softly chuckled, intertwining your fingers. he pressed a loving kiss to your hand, returning his gaze to the scattered melousines: "this is my wife, and i can asure you, you've met her many times before"

"oh, really? we can't remember.." one of the melousines replied, scratching her head.

"that's alright, neither does she" he whispers playfully, earning him a soft smack from you, "hey, i can still hear you, you know!"

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x reader #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #zhongli fluff #neuvillette fluff #fluff #female reader #old reader #request #anon request #requests open

[jamiewintons]

Good Enough To Eat (OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji/F!Reader)

Summary: You and your boyfriend Sanji end up spending some time alone in the kitchen of Baratie.

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY), public/semi public sex, praise kink, ‘good girl’ kink, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering.

A/N: Hey guys! My first non-Mat fic in literal years! This wasn’t meant to end up so long (not that 1400 words is that long) but I got a bit carried away. It’s really just all vibes. Please know that I’ve never seen the One Piece anime or read the manga, so this is based purely on the live action series. Hope you enjoy!! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated :)

Word Count: 1402

Sanji Tag List: No one yet! (Fill out this form to join!)

~~~

"You look good enough to eat, darling," Sanji told you as he ran his hands up and down your legs, giving you that easy, confident smile that always made your heart melt. The feeling of his strong, talented hands against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs made you shudder, and Sanji’s smile only grew as he sensed your arousal.

You were seated on the counter in the kitchen of Baratie, with Sanji kneeling on the floor between your legs. You knew that the two of you shouldn’t have been doing this here — you couldn’t count the amount of times that you got told off by Zeff for making out in the pantry, and you weren’t exactly looking for a repeat of that — but once Sanji kissed you and ever so gently pushed you against the counter, your bodies pressed together and his hands holding your hips, you knew that there was no way you were going to say no.

And now here you were, a complete flustered mess, although Sanji had barely even touched you yet. He was just like that; he could drive you insane with desire with just a simple touch, or even a look, and the worst part was, he knew what he did to you. Sanji laughed quietly as he felt your body quiver while his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Oh, darling, you’re so needy," he teased, closing his eyes as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. At a snail’s pace he moved further up your leg, until he was mere inches away from the place you needed him most. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

"Please," you sighed, and Sanji laughed once again, though this time it sounded more like a mere exhalation. "Sanji… please."

"Patience," he told you, before moving to your other thigh and repeating the same routine of peppering kisses all over it until you were whimpering beneath his ministrations. "Let me worship your beautiful body the way you deserve."

You closed your eyes, your entire body tingling as your arousal grew to levels you never knew you were even capable of feeling. Though you couldn’t see them, you just knew that beneath your dress your panties were already completely soaked through. You wanted Sanji to just get to the point and give you what you needed already, but you knew that he was right, and that the anticipation, the build-up would ensure the end result was even more wonderful. Just like with food, Sanji would tell you.

When you felt Sanji’s hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, that was when your eyes shot back open. He slowly pushed it up, revealing your cotton panties. "You’re absolutely soaked for me, darling." Even if you weren’t looking at him, you’d be able to tell that he was smirking by the tone in his voice - a mix of smugness and reverence. He brought his thumb to the front of your panties, gently teasing the wet patch on the fabric and making you whimper. "So sensitive, sweetheart. You must be really worked up."

"Well, you have been at this for at least an hour," you complained, trying to sound firm but your voice came out shaky and desperate. Sanji pressed a little harder, and you let out another soft noise.

"It’s not been quite that long, but I’ll forgive you. I’m sure you’re having a hard time concentrating," Sanji said with a self-satisfied grin, before hooking his fingers into the waist of your panties and slowly pulling them down your legs. Without the pesky fabric in the way, your arousal was even more obvious, and Sanji’s eyes lit up as he saw the physical proof of how much he affected you. "Remember when I said you looked good enough to eat?"

With that, Sanji pulled you a little closer to the edge of the counter you were perched on. He leaned in and ran his tongue between your swollen lower lips, a slow lick from your entrance up to your aching clit that made your entire body shudder. The sound that came out of your mouth was somewhere between a moan and a sigh of relief, and it made Sanji let out yet another breathless laugh.

He focused on your clit, alternating between quick licks with the tip of his tongue and slow, languid strokes using the entire organ. Your fingers came to rest on top of Sanji’s head as he pleasured you, threading through the soft blond strands and tugging lightly. This only encouraged him to double down his efforts, following your moans and whimpers to find the best way to please you.

"You taste incredible, darling. Better than anything I’ve ever tasted," Sanji whispered, his words sounding like warm honey, as he pulled his mouth away from your pussy. But he wasn’t idle for long, because only a few seconds later he grabbed your legs and put them over his shoulders before diving back in to eat you out with even more enthusiasm.

"O-oh fuck, Sanji… feels so good," you gasped out, your thighs shaking as Sanji vigorously devoured you like he was a starved man and you were the first food he’d encountered in weeks. You’d never felt as good in your life as you did with Sanji, he was as much of a talented lover as he was a chef, and you thanked your lucky stars every day that you got to be with him.

"That’s it, good girl," Sanji praised gently, those simple words making your pleasure intensify and your hips buck against his face. You then felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, and let out a gasp as he pushed two inside your fluttering walls. "Just sit back and let me take care of you."

Your breathing was getting heavier, you quiet moans becoming louder and more desperate as Sanji worked magic on you with his tongue and fingers. He crooked his digits to stimulate your g-spot, and you knew that it wouldn’t be long until you fell apart for him. "S-Sanji, I’m… I’m close…"

Sanji would have known that you were on the brink, even if you hadn’t said anything, but fuck, did he love to hear you say it. To hear your voice so desperate for him, all because of him. Honestly, it turned him on more than anything possible could. His cock throbbed within his trousers with the thought of being inside of you again, but right now was about you, not about him, and he wanted to give you everything that you needed.

When he felt your pussy beginning to tighten around his fingers, he looked up at you, seeing your beautiful face contorted in pleasure. But more than anything, he wanted to see your eyes, to see how they widened as he brought you to complete ecstasy. "Look at me, darling. I want you to look at me when I make you cum," he told you in a tone that was both gentle and firm, one that you couldn’t help but listen to.

When you looked down at Sanji’s face, the sight of his blue-green eyes darkened with lust — along with how he massaged your sweet spot with his fingers and sucked on your swollen clit — was enough to push you over the edge into an earth shattering orgasm. You cried out his name, your hips bucking and your velvety walls contracting around his fingers. Sanji guided you through your high, not stopping until you went completely limp, and he made sure he was standing to catch you when you did.

"You did so well for me, darling," he praised, one of his hands threading though your hair as he pressed gentle kisses to your flushed face. Once he was sure you could keep yourself upright, he took the fingers of his other hand — the one that he had been using to pleasure you — into his mouth, licking off your essence and moaning as if he had just eaten a delicious meal. "Let’s go back to my room, sweetheart. I’m not quite finished enjoying you tonight."

You allowed Sanji to lead you out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom, his hand firmly held in yours, feeling your heart fluttering with excitement. You already knew that you were going to struggle to walk tomorrow, and you couldn’t wait.

#sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #opla x reader #one piece x reader #opla imagine #opla fanfiction #mari's stuff #nsft text #x reader smut #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic #I hope you guys like this 🙈

[bigfoot-my-icky-brother]

Son who has spent his whole life trying to impress his dad but no matter what he does it's never enough. He'd do anything just to hear his dad say that he was proud of him.

From showering together when they were younger the son is very aware that his dad doesn't have a cock like him but a cunt. The boy has never really cared some dad's just have cunts. But as he got older he started to notice other things. Like how much shorter his dad was, he wasn't sure when he had become so much taller. And he was stronger now too.

He also started having these weird dreams where him and his dad would be having sex. He'd wake up in the morning and his sheets would be wet like he peed the bed. He had to get up early and wash them. He didn't want another reason for his dad to be disappointed in him.

But one night he heard strange noises coming from his dad's room. He was worried so he went to check it out. The door was cracked a little bit so he carefully pushed it open just enough for him to see what's going on. And what a sight it was. His dad was naked on the bed with his legs spread. He was fucking himself with a dildo while holding a vibe to his little tdick. He was the hottest things the boy has ever seen. His cock was hard instantly. He starts rubbing it through his pants as he watches his dad fuck himself fast with that dildo. His dad's legs are shaking and he fucking his cunt faster and harder. He's get more vocal nearly screaming now.

The boy isn't sure what comes over him but before he know it he's in the room, carefully shutting the door and locking it. He turns back to the bed. He climbs on it quickly and covers his dad's mouth. He had grabbed two ties when he entered. He grabbed his father's hands tied them two the headboard. His dad was staring at him wide eyes, the orgasm he was about to have disappeared as looked up at his son.

'What are you doing in here?' The boy could tell his dad was trying to sound angry but he only sounded embarrassed

'Maybe I should be asking you that. Fucking your cunt with a dildo being loud as shit when your only son is home. It seems like you wanted to be heard.

'No that's not it at all."

The son reaches down and grabs the dildo he starts fucking his dad with it again. 'Really Daddy cause your cunt is literally leaking for me. I think you get off to the idea of your son fucking you needy cunt.' He reached down and turned the vibe up

'NO! Stop this is wrong!" The dad tries to say, but his cunt was so needy and he was so close to cumming earlier, it came out almost like a whine.

The boy's fathers starts to shake at the unbelievable pleasure. He's trying to lie to himself to pretending he's not so wet and hard watching his son fuck his cunt. That he hasn't imagined this before when he's alone in his room. But he knew he was getting close to cumming again. And right at that moment the dildo stopped moving and the vibe was turned off. The older man starts begging for his son to keep going.

'But you told me to stop. Which is it stop or go?'

'Please just keep going, I'll do anything.' The dad cries trying to beck his hips so the dildo will slip back in. The son laughs at him but turns the vibe and shoves the dildo back inside his dad. Fucking him hard and fast with it. Dad is thrashing around the bed the best he can with his arms tied down. The noises he's making are pure sin. It doesn't take long for him to get to that edge again. When the vibe are turned off and the dildo slows to a snails pace.

'Huh? Why?" The dad whiles his eyes glassy with tears.

'The only way you're cumming is by telling me how proud you are of me. Say it and I'll let you cum.'

'I'm proud!! I'm so fucking proud of you. You're the best son anyone could ask for. Now please let your dad cum.' His dad says.

The son turns the vibe on the highest setting and dad screams when it touches his sensitive dick. He uses the dildo to fuck his dad faster. His dad is so gone he's thrusting back on dildo. It doesn't take long for him to cum. cum leaks out from around the dildo. Dad is barely conscious still recovering from his orgasm.

The son takes this opportunity to grab his dad's legs and push them into the mating press. His dad looks up at him wide eyed then down at his son's hard cock.

'Um what are you doing?' He asks

'Silly dad did you think I was just gonna let you cum and be done with you. No no no it's my turn now. Look at what you did you me my cock is so hard. And it's gonna go in your little cunt. It's only fair that you take care of me.'

The dad struggles trying to get away but it's pretty pointless without the use of his hands. The younger boy grabbed his cock and rutting it against his dad's sore tdcik a few times to make sure to was lubed up enough. Then a slammed his cock inside his dad. He moaned out like a fucking bitch in heat and the son laughed at him.

'Wow dad who knew you were such a little cockwhore. If this was what I needed to do to make you proud I would have started ages ago. Fuck dad you're squeezing my cock so good. It's almost like you want me to me to fuck you. Maybe you want me to fill you up with my seed huh? Dad is gonna give me another sibling to play with whether he wants to or not.'

'No son, wait. Please don't cum inside me. You don't know what you're doing.'

'Oh. What was that, cum inside you? Okay anything to make you proud dad.'

The son cums deep inside his dad and continued to fuck his cum deeper inside him until his cock goes soft. Even if his dad was quieter this time he can tell from the mess in the middle of them his dad came again too. The son pulls his dick out, wipes it off on his dad's leg before tucking his cock back in his pants. He goes to leave the room and his dad called out to him.

'Wait, aren't you going to untie me?" His dad asks.

'Not until later, and you better keep those legs up. I'm more than happy to breed you over and over again until I get my little sibling.'

And with that he was left alone.

#my posts #1cky thoughts #r@pe fantasy #1cky br0ther #fauxc3st #dadcon #dadcest #dad x son