#because we’d have had another one of these situations
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click - Sam Winchester/Reader
read it on ao3.
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1)
Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual.
Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem)
Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation."
Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!
“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”
A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.
Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.
He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”
“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”
Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.
John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.
Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.
“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”
Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.
Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”
“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.
You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”
Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.
“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”
And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.
A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.
Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.
The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”
You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.
“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”
You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.
Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”
“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”
“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.
You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”
At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”
“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”
“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”
You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.
“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”
Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.
“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.
The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.
“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”
“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”
You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.
You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”
The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”
Yup. Total dreamboat.
“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”
Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.
When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”
You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.
“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”
Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.
You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”
“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”
You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.
“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”
He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”
Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.
Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.
“You’d what?”
Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.
Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…
I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.
I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.
I’d have sex with you.
I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.
Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.
A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.
You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.
Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.
“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”
I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.
_
The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.
“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.
You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.
“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”
But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”
Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.
You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.
“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”
Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.
For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.
Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.
Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.
Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.
Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.
Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.
You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.
While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.
He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”
When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”
You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”
Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.
“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.
“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.
It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.
Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”
“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.
“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”
“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.
“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”
Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.
You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”
Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.
“Okay,” Sam melted.
“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”
Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.
You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.
You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.
You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.
The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.
“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”
Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”
“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”
Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.
“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”
You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.
You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”
Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”
“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”
You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.
“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”
“Okay. What was your first time like?”
Well. Shit.
This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.
He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”
You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”
“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.
You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”
Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”
You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!
Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.
“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”
You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”
An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.
“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”
(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)
Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”
You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”
“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).
It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”
Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.
You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.
It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.
In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”
Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.
…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.
“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.
He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.
Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.
…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—
Click. Click click click click click click.
“_____?”
You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”
It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.
“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”
Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.
Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—
Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.
“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”
Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.
Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.
“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”
“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”
Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”
It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.
You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.
“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”
Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”
Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.
You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.
“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”
Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.
You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?
“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”
Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.
“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.
He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”
You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”
Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!
You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.
Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”
So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.
When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”
Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.
“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.
You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”
The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.
You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).
A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.
“C’mere,” Sam grinned.
You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”
The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.
His—lap.
There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.
“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.
The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).
Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”
“Is that a yes?” He hoped.
You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”
Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.
That is not the case.
With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.
“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.
“Shut up, Sam.”
He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.
The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…
He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.
Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.
Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.
Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”
It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?
You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.
Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.
It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”
A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.
“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”
You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.
Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).
Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.
The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.
Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.
He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—
“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.
The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.
“Everything okay?” He worries.
Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.
You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”
Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.
“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”
His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).
“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.
You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.
Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.
“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”
The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.
“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”
The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.
“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”
Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.
“...In our bed…”
Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.
“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”
What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...
You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”
Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”
Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”
“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.
You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”
“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.
Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.
“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”
You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.
Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”
“Got super noisy?”
After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.
Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.
“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”
He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—
Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.
The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.
You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.
This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.
You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.
Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?
Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.
“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”
He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—
“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”
What in the ever-loving fuck.
I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).
All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.
Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.
“Still ready, _____?” He asks.
You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”
He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.
Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.
This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.
They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.
You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.
“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”
The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.
You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.
Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”
Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.
Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.
Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”
Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”
He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”
The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.
“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.
You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.
Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.
You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”
You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”
This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.
“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”
“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”
You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—
“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”
Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.
“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”
But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…
Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.
You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”
After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.
Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.
You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.
“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”
You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.
Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”
“I forg’ve you,” you croak.
“Forgive who?” He presses.
“I forgive you, Sammy.”
“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”
Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.
Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”
It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.
“A-ah!”
Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.
There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.
Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”
(He just wants to hear you say it.)
“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”
“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”
Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.
If this is just how his fingers feel…
Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.
Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.
To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.
Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?
Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.
The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.
“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.
Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”
A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.
While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.
There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!
So…
Close…
And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.
Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.
“Sa—Sam—”
Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.
“Sam…”
You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.
Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.
Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.
A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.
You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.
“...Uh-huh…?”
“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”
The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.
“Look at me a minute.”
Sam does, curious.
“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”
And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”
“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”
In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.
Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”
(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)
He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.
This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”
With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”
You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.
He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.
Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”
Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.
“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”
His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.
When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.
“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”
Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.
…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.
“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”
You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.
It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—
“Take it out.”
Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.
It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…
You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.
You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.
For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.
“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”
“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.
For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.
Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.
“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.
You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”
Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”
He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.
“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”
He cares so much, you realize.
“Sam?”
He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”
“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.
Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.
You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”
Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.
Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”
You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”
Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—
—you go for it.
Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.
Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.
Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.
You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.
“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.
You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”
Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.
For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.
You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.
Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.
He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”
“Oh fuck,” you whine.
(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)
It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.
“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”
Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.
You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!
It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.
Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.
…This could be. This could be very good.
Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.
“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”
Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”
Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.
“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”
Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.
“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.
“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”
“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.
This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.
You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”
This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.
Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.
He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.
But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.
“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.
Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”
Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.
Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.
“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”
“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”
_
Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.
“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”
You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.
You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”
_
Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration
READ PART TWO.
#sam winchester#spn#supernatural#uncouthspn#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester x reader headcanons#sam winchester imagine#sam winchester smut#user uncouth
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Regret on the Rocks
Summary: Spencer finds himself at a bar being served by the girl who once broke his heart. Turns out she feels a lot more than just regret for letting him go.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Light Angst/Smut
Content Warning: drinking, Spencer is a little depressed, mentions of heavy bullying (specifically 3x16), car sex, female masturbation, Spencer POV, heavy kissing, unprotected penetrative sex
Word Count: 4.3k
Masterlist
Regret is an emotion I’m well accustomed to. It’s not to mean that I’m unhappy with my life by any means, but I’m aware of the space between my current situation and the ‘beyond’ that could’ve been if things had just been different.
If I’d never joined the BAU.
If I’d had a more conventional life in the first place.
If connection came to me as easy as it seemed to other people my age.
But none of those things seemed to ring true, so I carried regret in me like a bruise of honor. Despite the regret, I faced it every day and lived to do it all over again in the morning. It didn’t mean it was easy, and today proved that. Today, it was hard going to sleep knowing I’d wake up to do it all over again.
In light of this, I’d found myself in a bar, alone. The case we’d been working on saw little to no fruition despite our efforts, and it’d resulted in another body we couldn’t save. Another person I was responsible for. It weighed down on me more than I cared to admit.
I found myself continually lost in my thoughts, navigating through the carefully weaved web of guilt and self-doubt, spiraling, until a much softer, surprised voice pulled me out.
“Spencer Reid? Is that you?” She asks. I hear her voice before I see her, and I know that it’s the bartender stood behind the bar, and there’s confusion as I wonder who could’ve possibly recognized me in a rundown small-town bar.
I look up and meet her eyes, and it’s as if a flood of memories ensues. A flash of recognition crosses my face, and seeing the images playing in my head, almost akin to a film reel, slowly walking me through one of my earliest regrets.
I was 15, navigating my senior year while being the youngest one there. Despite the oddness of my situation, it never crossed my mind that I shouldn’t have tried so hard to participate in the same social events as my peers. With the hindsight of adulthood, I now imagine that if I had withdrawn, spent more of my time alone than trying to not be, the hurt of never being accepted would sting less, because I’d never had tried in the first place.
But I had tried, and she was the only one who got me. She was older, yes, and beautiful and popular, but those didn’t matter half as much as the conversations we’d manage to have. She never seemed to take offense to any ramble of mine, and I’d feel my heart soar when she’d ask questions after my monologues, sending me the clearest signals of interest in what I had to say.
And as a lonely 15 year old? It meant the absolute world to have that. To have her as my friend.
And so, when it came time for senior prom, in the interest of at least trying to fit in, I asked her to go with me. As friends of course, but even then she shook her head, and ruefully told me someone else had asked her. I vaguely recalled the name she’d given me off of a football roster I’d once read while attending the school, and nodded. I understood. I was prepared for the rejection, in fact I’d already taken it the moment she said no. I was prepared to live with it.
Then came the week before prom. Being lured away from the safety of the campus, and onto a football field. Being tied to a flagpole, while everyone watched- and laughed. I remember seeing a face, his face, knowing he was the one who was taking her. Taking (Y/N) to the prom.
I rarely dwell on the events of that day, but I do remember the regret. I remember wondering that if I’d just never spoken to her, I’d maybe have been less of a target. I wondered if maybe I’d never asked her in the first place, maybe our friendship could’ve survived the whole ordeal, but it hadn’t. She never spoke to me after that, her head hanging low as she continued to hang off of his arm, never sparing me another glance again.
But here she was, glancing- no, staring at me, her eyes wide.
“What are you doing here? Are you.. Did you always live here all along?” She asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft and mellow. She was loud back in high school, I remember. She had the best laugh I’d ever known.
It takes me a second, but I give her a flat smile, setting my glass down. “I’m here for a case, actually.”
“A case..?” She says, her head tilting a bit in confusion.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, a case. I’m an FBI agent. I’m here for a recent string of murders being committed in the area.”
“Wow, FBI, huh? I never thought of you as law enforcement.” She says, her eyebrows raising. “Always thought you were going to change the world with that brain of yours.” She adds, a small smile on her face. My eyes narrow in distrust at the sudden compliment, unsure of her intentions.
“I’d say I’m changing the world.” I respond, a little defensively. “I like my job. I like that I change lives by not letting them end.”
She immediately retracts her statement, vehemently shaking her head. “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, of course you’re changing the world- I just thought you’d be doing more. Okay- not more. I just- Gah. I swear, don’t take it the wrong way.” She pauses, before gesturing to herself. “I mean, I have no room to talk.” She says, the words a little rushed and frantic.
“What do you mean, no room to talk?” I ask, squinting in genuine confusion.
“I mean, I work as a bartender. I don’t know what I want from life, but it’s certainly not this.” She says, motioning to the shelves of drinks behind her, a little defeated.
She’s so different from when I knew her. Self-assured. Confident. She seemed almost meek in this environment, and the only recognition of the girl I knew came from the small, embarrassed smile she gave me.
“Well. We’re a lot more alike than you think, then. Titles mean nothing.” I say, voice a bit quieter. “I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, though. We’re just getting through life the best we can, right?”
She nods a little, seeming to take comfort in my statement. “Look at you. You’ve still got the same sweetness in you from high school.”
Stiffening at the mention of high school, I just nod and taking another sip from the glass in front of me, which was starting to empty out. “Not trying to be sweet, I think. Just honest.” I say, bluntly.
It’s mean, I’m aware. I can feel her trying, but I don’t want to offer her the same. I want her to feel awkward. I want her to know what she did was wrong.
There’s a silence that passes through the two of us, before she breaks it with a continued gesture of kindness, turning around to fill another glass with my drink of choice and setting it down in front of me, a small smile playing on her lips.
“For being honest then. Thank you.” She says, and her eyes meet with mine. I almost hear the unspoken apology in her voice, in the way her fingers slowly push the chilled glass towards my empty hand, in the way she bites her lip softly, waiting to see what I’d say.
“To being honest.” I say, raising the glass slightly and downing the drink a little faster than I intended, not wanting to think too much about the implications of the gesture. To know that she possibly had regrets too. That she might still have the goodness I once knew in her.
“I have about half an hour left in my shift, but if it’s alright, I’d love to catch up properly.” She says, keeping her gaze trained on mine. “I’ve.. missed you.” She says, her voice soft.
I don’t respond to her last statement, but I can’t deny the magnetic pull begging me to say yes to her request, to at least see where our lives had gone after our separation. So I nod, silently.
“I’ll be here.”
I try to lay off the drinks for the next thirty minutes, opting to sip some water instead to clear my mind in preparation for the time I’d be spending with her. Part of me wondered if I shouldn’t have accepted the invite at all. It wasn’t that I forgave her per say, but the curiosity to know her all over again was overwhelming, regardless of the pain she’d caused me. I’m once again reminded why “curiosity killed the cat” is such an overused aphorism.
She comes up to me thirty-six minutes later, and I hate myself for keeping track. She flashes me a small smile.
“You waited.” She says, softly.
“I said I would, right?” I respond, unsure why that would mean anything to her. I agreed to this. I wanted this, even if I could physically feel the inner turmoil brewing throughout my body. I suppose it didn’t show though, because she continued on, smiling.
“There’s an ice cream place I like around here. Would you like to go?” She asks, and I see her teeth catch onto her bottom lip, the plumpness of the feature being exacerbated by the action, causing me to momentarily lose my train of thought.
“Uh. Yeah, ice cream. Sounds good.” I say, placing my hands in my pockets.
“Did you drive here? I mean- I hope not. You drank quite a bit.” She says, starting to walk to the exit of the bar.
“No, no. My hotel is actually right here. I walked. Needed to get my mind off some things and I ended up here since it was convenient.” I say, and I feel myself falling back into that comfortable rhythm of just being able to speak freely around her.
It’s like no time has passed at all, and yet I’m acutely aware that nothing is the same. That we’re avoiding a bigger issue at hand.
“Yeah.” She murmurs. “The murders around here have been grisly, haven’t they?” She says, starting to lead me to her car. “I get nervous when I hear about that stuff, so I find myself looking away from the news more often than not.” She continues, quirking her mouth to the other side, as if she’s aware this isn’t the best course of action, but does it anyway.
“It’s cute.” I think.
I push the thought away.
“Understandable.” I reply, nodding. “I don’t watch the news either. I mean- I do read the news. But I don’t watch it.”
She starts the car, and I observe a hint of a grin on her face, her eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that makes my heart jump. “So you still like to read then?” She says, seeming genuinely happy I’d kept up the habit even after my youth.
“Oh yeah. I mean, reading isn’t something I really ever let go of. It’s a good activity when you’re out on the road so much.” I say, feeling solace in talking about something I truly loved. “Sometimes I feel like books provide me with better stimuli than social interaction.” I continue, unaware of the implications of my words, and I only realize once I’ve seen her raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I mean. Friends are good too, right?” She says, a hint of concern making her way into her voice.
I chuckle a little bitterly. “Probably. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have my team, and I’m grateful but-” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. It doesn’t come to me like that, you know? And I’m not bothered by it, but I don’t like to think about it.” I say. There’s a faint feeling of heat on my face from the honesty, but I continue to stare straight ahead, not wanting to see her reaction to my words.
“You were a good friend to me, Spencer. Better than a lot of the friends I had in high school, and I’m not just saying that.” She says, softly.
I respond without thinking, shaking my head with an embittered motion and a click of my tongue.
“Yeah, and look where that got me.”
She’s a little silent then, and I refuse to say anything else. She’s the one who invited me here. I don’t know what she wanted out of this, but I wasn’t going to forego my own feelings just to spare hers. I was here. That was enough. I was allowed to say that.
We pull into an empty parking lot, where I see the neon lights advertising an ice cream parlor, but we don’t get out. She turns off the headlights and blows a bit of air between her lips, placing her hands in her lap and turning towards me.
“Spencer.” She murmurs, swallowing a bit. “I am so, so sorry for what I did in high school. I know I wasn’t there when.. You know when. And I know I didn’t speak to you afterwards, and I am so sorry.” She repeats. “I hope you believe me when I say I really did miss you. I was such an idiot back in high school, and nothing can repair that, but I missed you so much.” She says.
I turn to her and can see the tears welling up in her eyes and feel my heart soften. It’s insane, the effect she can have on me, even years later.
“Hey, don’t cry.” I say, immediately reaching over to wipe a tear from her cheek, my thumb swiping over the expanse of her smooth skin. “It’s just high school. It’s a long time ago.”
“No.” She says, emphatically, shaking her head. “Don’t lie to me. What I did was awful. It doesn’t matter if it was long ago. You can call me a bitch. You can- scream or hell! I don’t know. You can be angry at me. You should be angry at me. I could never say sorry enough.” She says.
I shake my head, all the previous resentment and bitterness dissipating instantly. It was a bit odd, feeling the emotions I’d long held onto even years after our fracture go away so quickly, but she was my friend. For what it had been worth, she had been good to me. And right now, she was my friend, crying in a car, and the guilt and shame couldn’t be more obvious.
I move to hold her hand, wanting to comfort her, rubbing small circles into the skin near her thumb, her fingers grasping over mine, almost afraid to let me go now.
“You’re right, in a way. What you did confused me and left me feeling really.. lonely. But now that I’m older I think I better understand it, but it doesn’t change the fact you hurt me.” I reply, and I see her jaw tighten, nodding and taking my words to heart.
“But I don’t think I resent you anymore for what happened.” I continue, the words tumbling out. “Seeing you guilty and ashamed so many years later is just making me wish we’d talked earlier, so we wouldn’t have had to feel this way for so long. Maybe we could’ve.. I don’t know. Picked up where we left off.”
She gives me a flat smile, tears still in her eyes. “Yeah? I’d have liked that.” She murmurs.
“I mean it.” I say, flashing her a soft smile. I decided to lighten the conversation for her comfort.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t call you an idiot for dating that prick though.” I respond, a little teasingly, hoping to get a bigger smile out of her.
“Oh god.” She says, leaning back, laughing a bit. “Please do. God, he was so .. awful.” She says. “He wasn’t half as funny as you. Just.. boring honestly.”
I smirk a little at the words, feeling a bit of pride but brushing it off with a shrug. “I mean, it's a cliche right? Beautiful, smart girl with the boring jock?” I say. “You and like, 6 out of 10 high school girls probably fall directly into that category.”
She gives me a laugh at that one, a real one, and my heart soars upon the sound alone. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her.
“6 out of 10? Where’s that statistic from? High School Girls Anonymous?” She responds, matching my energy and continuing the banter.
“Just trust me. I know these things very well.” I say, trying my best to sound as faux academic as possible, hoping to make her feel at ease, to fully let go of the tension from before.
“Well, then.” She says, softly, turning the conversation to be a bit more sincere. “I’m glad I don’t fall into that cliche anymore. I’m glad my taste changed.”
I nod, surprisingly relaxing into the vulnerability of the words. “Yeah, it happens. Tastes do change throughout life, especially post-adolescence. One could denote it to the development of the prefrontal cortex, but I like to say it’s out of knowing what you want out of life.”
“Have yours? I mean, your tastes. Have they changed?” She asks, her eyes boring into mine, and I realize that my hand is still holding hers.
I lick my lips and shrug. “Here and there. For the most part, yes, but I find myself clinging to certain aspects of my teenage self.” I respond, vaguely.
She continues to look at me, nodding. “Mine have. For sure.”
“How so?” I ask, my heart speedingbup.
“I think I learned to like sweeter guys.” She says, softly. “Ones that don’t bore me entirely, and ones I actually want to spend time with. Maybe that’s a cliche in itself but..” She shrugs, ending off her sentence there.
I nod, wondering where this was leading. Her eyes were trained on mine and I could feel my pulse quickening. Was she going to kiss me? Was I going to kiss her? Was I crazy for thinking that at all? What was happening here?
“You said you still have certain aspects of your teenage self in your tastes.” She says suddenly, her face moving a bit closer to mine. “What did you mean by that?”
I sigh, taking in the features of her face, and how they seem to be illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows of her car. She was so stunning, even now. Even after all these years, I couldn’t deny she’d only grown to be more beautiful.
I lick my lips and nod. “I guess I just meant.. I still find you just as beautiful as I did back when I first knew you. Even moreso now, honestly.” I say, quietly.
I can feel her breath hitch, and her own tongue darting out to wet her lips, mirroring my actions. Her gaze shifts from my eyes to my lips, and back to my lips again, and I’m extremely aware of what I want at this moment.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, my hand still in hers, studying her with a careful gaze.
She nods almost immediately, and at the same time, we surge forward to meet the other’s lips, her hands immediately cupping my cheek and my hands moving to her waist. I hear the click of her seatbelt being unfastened, and suddenly she’s in the passenger seat with me, straddling my waist and continuing to keep her lips locked firmly on mine.
It’s like I can’t get enough of her, my hands exploring her back, eventually lowering them to squeeze her ass, which elicits a low moan from her. I pull back a little, panting and see her eyes blown out with lust, causing me to groan from just how deep my desire for her ran in this moment. I let one of my hands to run over her bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it bounce back up, enamored by just how close she was.
“Fuck.” I murmur, unable to contain my awe at her and without wasting a moment, she’s grabbing my hair roughly to pull me back in again to meet her mouth with mine. When given the opportunity from another soft moan from her, I immediately slip my tongue into her mouth, relishing in the way she grabs my collar and presses her body against mine, matching my enthusiasm one for one.
It felt so good to be wanted by her.
She starts to whimper at the intensity of our prolonged contact, and the sound activates something primal in me. It was almost as if once I heard it, I couldn’t go back. Pulling myself back from the kiss, I start to trail my lips up and down her neck, leaving hot, wet kisses in my wake while she writhed in my lap, her fingers tugging on my hair in desperation. I played with the motion for a bit, testing out certain points on her, before finding that she’d moan loudest at a pulse point at the junction in which her jawline met her neck. I sucked on the spot, being sure to leave a large, dark mark.
I didn’t care what would happen after this night, but for right now, she was mine, and I intended to treat her as such.
“You said your hotel room was nearby, right?” She pants, starting to move her thighs off mine. “We can go and-”
I immediately wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me with a force that surprised even me, before gripping her hair and placing my mouth near the shell of her ear. I can hear her squeak at the motion, but her legs relax back into straddling mine.
“I want you now.” I whisper, my voice hoarse and low. “We can go, if you’d like but- I need you now. I can’t stress that enough.”
She melts in my arms as I say that, and a grin comes upon my face from the desire she was displaying as well. She nods quickly, before moving her fingers to my belt, and just upon hearing the sounds of the hardware moving, my head involuntarily falls back because- holy fuck. Feeling her so close to where my pants were now currently constricted nearly had me finishing right there. I could barely look at her without feeling overwhelmed. I feel my cock being pulled from my briefs, and I let out a moan.
I look at her again, and she’s the picture of lust. Her pupils are dilated and her hair is messy, and her mouth slightly agape. She’s everything I want right now. All I want.
“You’re so big.” She mumbles, leaning back, her hand wrapped around me, beginning to stroke me in a gentle, rhythmic motion.
“Yeah?” I murmur back, breathing in sharply when her thumb runs over my slit, feeling the precum already dripping down my shaft. Even her hand is making me question if I’ll finish right here before ever getting to be inside her.
“Yeah.” She whispers, almost breathlessly.
“You can take it.” I say, looking at her, and the girl looks like she’s about to moan off of my words alone. She licks her lips before responding, her voice a bit higher than before.
“I don’t have a condom- but I’m clean and-”
“Yes.” I respond immediately and she moves quickly. My fingers, as if possessed, move to unbutton her dress a bit, letting her breasts spill out (to my delight). The urge to strip her bare for me crosses my mind, but then I’m acutely aware that we were in her car, and the risk of being caught was far too high for the pleasantries I wished to indulge her and myself in, and I find myself slightly wishing we had gone to the hotel room. Next time.
Before I get too caught up in the fantasy of possibly ever fucking her again, I see her reach under her dress, presumably to move her panties aside and groan at the thought. My hands roam over her body to find her hips, slowly guiding her onto my cock, her walls squeezing around me tightly as her hips met mine.
Her moans were sweet, but I found my hand covering her mouth quickly, watching as her eyes shone with pleasure with just the slightest movement from either of us.
“Need you to stay quiet, pretty girl.” I murmur. “You can do that for me, right?”
She nods, eager to please, and I keep my hand on her mouth for a moment too long as I watch her eyes flutter shut, then open, her hands wrapping around my neck to stabilize herself. She starts moving then, lifting off until my tip is the only thing inside of her, before slamming against me, creating the best type of friction for both of us, causing there to be desperation for more. My hands rush down to grip her waist, and I can barely stifle my own noises from how fucking good she feels.
It’s a frenzy after that, and I match her movements with thrusts from below. I know it’s enjoyable for her, based on how hard she’s trying to not make a single sound, but still lets out the tiniest little whimpers and gasps when my cock grinds against her spot, and from the way her thighs shake every single time I disappear deep into her, a small bulge forming in her lower stomach every time I pushed into her. Every clench and squeeze of her cunt drives me insane, and I can’t help the low groan slipping out of me.
Her movements get erratic, signaling her end, and I grin at how quickly I managed to get her there. My fingers move to stroke her clit in circular motions, savoring the way I could hear her whisper my name, grinding down on my dick and chasing the feeling of my fingers on her.
“Close?” I mumble, biting down on her shoulder lightly, which causes a louder moan to slip out of her.
“Yes. Yes.” She whispers, breathlessly. “Please, Spencer. Oh god. Please.”
I jut into her more rapidly, continuing the motions against her, before her walls tighten and squeeze around me, and her cunt flooding the base of my cock. I continue to move like a man possessed, swallowing the moans of her orgasm with a messy kiss, before finally, I reach my release as well, coating her walls from the inside out.
She pants for a second, collapsing against my shoulder as she tries to catch her breath, and I stroke her hair, attempting to do the same. She moans softly, her hands wrapped around me as her eyes flutter open and shut.
“I was wrong.” She mumbles, nuzzling into my shoulder, kissing it softly. I’m unsure about the meaning of the words, so I quietly ask her.
“What about?”
“You’re incredibly different from when we were in high school.” She says, softly.
“Good or bad different? I ask, a little self consciously, which is amusing considering I’m still inside her.
“Good. Really, really fucking good.” She clarifies, quickly, with a dazed smile. I lean in, kissing her a bit more softly now, letting my lips languidly trace over hers.
“You too.” I murmur, and I can feel her smile against my lips.
No regrets about this one.
WOAHHH. oh em gee. a fic! so so so deeply sorry i didn't live upto posting more fics this december and january, but i swear i'm gonna keep trying to at least get two out a month. valentines day is coming up, so you already know i'm gonna try and write something fluffy and cute for that, so look out for that. as usual, thank you so so much for any and all continued support. it seriously means the world to me and i cannot say that enough <3 i hope this fic was enjoyable. like, reblog, comment, whatever <3 just ty for reading!! <3
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid self insert#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds self insert#dr spencer reid
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Being a female viewer and hating Criston Cole is deranged.
I have to get this off my chest. The blind hatred that Criston is receiving from women is insane and I’m going to explain why.
For context, I am talking about Show Criston, not Book Criston. Comparing two standalone versions of a story is silly.
I cannot wrap my head around the fact that so many women, who are the primary victims of utilitarian relationships, would ever come together and shit on Criston for enduring such a situation.
I’m sorry, but how many of you have been used by men? How many of you have been reduced to one night stands, situationships and placeholder wives? How many of you have been deemed “not good enough” to be an exclusive partner? I log into tiktok and I see NOTHING but stories of broken women who are just used for sex, money, care and whatnot by men, and then they are tossed away like worthless trash while said men continue their pursuit of the ideal woman. Being used by men just for sex and being denied the status of girlfriend, let alone wife, is probably one of the worst plagues women are experiencing in the western world because the MOMENT we were emancipated, men understood that they don’t owe us shit anymore and instead of treating us with respect, they decided to grab whatever they can and give nothing back. Do not tell me that there are women out there that are fine with this arrangement because the multiple “GWM while I tell you about the guy that was with me for 12 years and then married someone else” tell a different story, one of multiple women’s dignities being trampled by hungry men. My heart breaks for every woman (EVERY woman, cis, trans, EVERY woman) who has been called by a man she loves just for sex, for every woman whose man never wanted to be seen in public with her, for every woman who had to hear that her man is not ready for a relationship only to witness him getting engaged to another woman 2 weeks after. I hope you overcome this and become stronger and I am glad that we are finally supporting one another.
How can we then, the women who are helping other female victims rise up and speak out against this kind of abuse, push Criston down and tell him to suck it up and accept being Rhaenyra’s plaything? Have we no mercy? Are we so hungry for revenge against men that we’d want them to endure the same humiliation that we did, as if one fictional man’s suffering would bring us justice? Are we so jealous that Criston didn’t sit down and just take it like the rest of us, but instead spoke up and removed himself from that situation? Or are we so gullible that we accept what the screenwriters shove down our throats and unknowingly support the patriarchic view that if you’re being used by someone you should just accept it?
I can hear some of you arguing that “Oh, this is different because Rhaenyra is royalty!” as if being used and tossed by a powerful person somehow makes the situation any better? Would it be okay if a rich person wanted to constantly use you for sex while he keeps looking for a better woman to be by his side, just because he values his wealth and status more? Rhaenyra straight up sneered at the idea of a simple life with him. She straight up told him that HE is not worth as much as her crown. OUCH. Even though I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of being told you are not enough by your loved one, it was Rhaenyra’s right to choose what her priorities are, but WHY would he have to accept being her sidepiece? “These were different times”: does this make it any less devastating for the victim? And he was a victim because Rhaenyra still used Criston and misled him by constantly complaining about how she HATES her duties for YEARS and then luring him to break his oath. Do you think he would have still slept with her if he was aware that moments ago, Rhaenyra was begging on her knees to be fucked by Daemon and only turned to Criston because her first option was no longer available? Like, the man was contemplating having sex with her and resisted her for a good fucking while, so imagine how quickly he would have turned around and walked out that door if he had that information beforehand. You know why? Because he loved her. He loved her to the point that he broke his oath for her, the oath of a station he FOUGHT FOR IN A WAR. He shed blood and sweat and risked his life for the mere opportunity to gain that position. This was ALL he had, he came from NOTHING and he was still willing to toss it all away for Rhaenyra not once, but twice. It wasn’t just sex he wanted because we never see him have sex again after that. He became vulnerable and gave up everything that he was to be with Rhaenyra. He was willing to abandon his whole identity for her sake. Is this not what the ideal partner is? Ready to abandon everything for your shake? Everything he fought for, tooth and nail? Was he unreasonable in thinking that Rhaenyra was willing to do the same for him? Was he crazy to think that because he was ready to put everything he FOUGHT for aside for her shake, Rhaenyra would also put aside a duty she was handed and actively seem to hate for him too? Fuck no! After hearing her constant talk about how she hates her father, her duties, her refusal to wed other men, how she is trapped as a princess, how people have no idea how much it SUCKS being her, why would he not assume that she’d be willing to give it all up for him, as he’d do for her We never see Rhaenyra even TRY to be a ruler, just complain about it. Of course it would be a fucking shock to him hearing her say “Lol dude, I actually do kinda want this”.
Criston was actually the only person in the series that wanted Rhaenyra for her, not her money or crown. I’m not saying she had to follow him, it was her right to refuse him, but his willingness to lead a simple life with just her has got to mean something. And don’t give me that “he only wanted to redeem his honour by marrying her” crap, because first of all Criston nutted up and admitted everything to Alicent and was ready to face death without EVER blaming Rhaenyra for anything, and second of all, oh no, how dare a human being have ethical values and desire to live with dignity in society’s broad light rather than move in the shadows as the princess’s secret boytoy! Bad, bad Criston for feeling you have to atone for your sins. Maybe we as people have become so corrupt that we envy those who wish to walk a virtuous path in life. Or maybe y’all have become so fond of the unhinged unapologetic character trope because it feels “original” (even if it’s ridiculously overused nowadays) that you’ve actually forgotten what characters with good morals are. Like, picking your fave war criminal and rolling with them because you enjoy good drama, especially in a show that’s meant to provide entertainment, is one thing, but passionately stating that Criston had to submit to that humiliation is something else entirely.
Finally, let’s ditch the Criston being a misogynist bullshit because he had NO issue obeying Rhaenyra before their affair or Alicent. And he is ALWAYS true to himself and his values, because even after everything he endured, he did not use Alicent’s anger as an excuse to take revenge on Rhaenyra and harm her children. Criston never betrayed her, Rhaenyra used him and he walked away and he went towards the only person who seemed to spare him some sympathy and understand him and not condemn him for his crimes even if he hated himself, which is typical victim mentality. And don’t get me started on the Joffrey incident because y’all tore Cole to SHREDS for it. Joffrey had it fucking coming. You don’t go up to people’s faces, especially ones you don’t know, threaten them by telling them you know their secret, a secret that SHAMES them and burdens them to the point they’re ready to commit suicide, and all but directly call them a whore. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? They’d shake hands? Piss off. Let this be a lesson to anyone that doesn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of other people’s business. Also, mocking his suicide attempt makes my stomach turn. Just take a moment to consider all the young women who just like him, reluctantly surrendered their virginities to men only to find out they were nothing but sex dolls in their eyes, all these girls whose trust led to their secret being spread and them getting ridiculed and slut shamed for it: how many girls have taken their own lives because they found living with such a burden unbearable?
For the love of everything you hold sacred, please wake up sisters. The narrative that you can be used by someone powerful and you have to accept it because that’s the way things are is a man’s construct. Do not let them fool you.
#house of the dragon#hod#game of thrones#asoif/got#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#rhaenyra targaryen#criston cole#alicent hightower#anti rhaenyra targaryen#anti criston cole#anti alicent hightower#pro rhaenyra targaryen#pro criston cole#pro alicent hightower#daemon targaryen#team black#team green#house stark#house hightower#house targaryen
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Radio Silence
The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.
Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader
Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code)
Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama
Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms
Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)
Captain John Price
The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).
When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.
And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.
Price hates how good his intuition can be.
“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”
With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.
“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”
“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”
“Al-Qatala?”
“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”
“Breeze, what are you seeing?”
“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.
“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”
He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.
“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”
He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.
“Bravo 1-5-”
There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.
Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.
“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.
“I’m sorry, Price.”
“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.
“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”
“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”
“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”
Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.
“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”
Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.
He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.
“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”
He waits for a moment.
“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”
The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.
Silence.
Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has.
Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.
Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.
“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."
With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.
The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.
When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.
“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”
Laswell’s voice rings out.
“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”
“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”
“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”
“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”
Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.
“... and I intend to deliver.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.
Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.
Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.
“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”
“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”
He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.
“How long do you think I’d last?”
“One hour at most.”
“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”
“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”
As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.
“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”
“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”
Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.
“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”
There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.
“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”
“Stay frosty, Breeze.”
“Got it, Simon.”
Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already? Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.
It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.
“Breeze, head back to exfil.”
“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”
If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.
“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”
“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”
Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.
“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”
“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”
“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”
The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.
“Breeze? How copy?”
The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.
“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”
Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.
“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”
Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.
But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.
“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”
But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.
“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.
“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”
“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”
“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.
The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.
The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.
Call of Duty Masterlist
#cod x reader#task force 141 x reader#call of duty x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#captain john price#simon ghost riley#cod 141#cod mwii#call of duty modern warfare#/*avery actually writes*/
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same name
alessia russo x reader
based on this request.
———
It was a normal Tuesday afternoon. You were standing on the grass field, watching all your children play a bit of football.
You teach the fourth years. Every Friday, you like to give your students to do what they want to do, and most of the time, they choose to play football.
“Miss! Miss!” You turn to your right to see one of the girls in your class running towards you.
“Hey, Ellie. D’you need something?”
“My mum bought me a Lioness jersey and I’ve just noticed it’s got your name on it.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, do you play for the Lionesses?”
The question made you laugh, but covered it up with a cough, not wanting to embarrass your student.
“No, I don’t Ellie. That’s Alessia Russo’s jersey. Do you know who that is?”
Henry, another one of your students, heard you as he was running past, quickly changing directions towards you.
“I know! I know!” This caught the attention of the rest of your class, everyone now formed a group around you. “My mum loves to watch football and told me she’s her favorite!”
“That’s amazing, Henry. Who here knows who the Lionesses are?” Most of the class raised their hands. “Wow, a lot more than I thought.”
“The girls are more interesting to watch than the boys.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, my dad said it’s because there’s less flopping, whatever that means.” A bit shrugs his shoulders, making you giggle.
Before you could say another word, the bell had rung.
“School’s over. Grab your bags, it’s time to head home.”
“Have a great weekend Miss.”
“You as well.”
Walking through the front door of your house, you were met with silence. It wasn’t a surprise as you didn’t see the white Mercedes in your driveway.
You decided to get started on dinner, so you’ve got dressed into something comfy and made your way to the kitchen. As you’ve placed the food in the oven to cook, you heard the front door open.
“Honey? I’m home!”
“In the kitchen!” You called out, washing the dishes.
Footsteps got louder as they walked closer, arms wrapping themselves around your waist, a head tucking themselves in the crook of your neck.
“Hi, Amore.”
“Hi, Lessi baby. How was training?”
“Same as always. How was your day?”
“Watched the kids play football, like every Friday.”
Alessia almost sounded like she was purring, trying to somehow find a way to be closer to you than she already is.
“That reminds me. One of my students brought you up, how her mum bought her your Lioness jersey then asking if I was a footballer cause we’ve got the same name.”
“That’s hilarious, really.”
“Then everyone gathered ‘round and we spent a few minutes just before the bell just talking about the team. Almost all of them are big fans of you lot.”
“You never told them who you were married to?” Alessia asks, not put off by you not telling her students, just curious.
“I just wanted to get situated with them for a bit. It’s only the second month of me being there. But if they ask, I won’t deny it.”
“Mmm. Okay. I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Impossible.”
On Monday, Alessia arrived at the Emirates training grounds for another day of training. She greeted everyone she saw walking by, sleep still present on her face.
“Morning, Lessi. How was the weekend with the missus?” The morning was no longer peaceful. Katie’s loud voice cutting through the silence.
“Very relaxing. How was yours?”
“Very energetic.” She stated, wiggling her eyes brows suggestively.
“Stop that.” Caitlin slaps the back of her girlfriend’s head.
After training, the gunners crowd around each other, calming themselves down.
“Uh, could I ask you guys for a favor?” Alesia speaks up after catching her breath, pointing her attention to her Lioness teammates.
“What’s up?”
“Well, Y/NN’s class are really big Lioness fans and I was wondering if Leah, Lotte, Beth, you’d want to join me in surprising my wife’s class on Friday?”
“Oh, we’d love to!”
Friday comes around quickly. You were leading your class out to the field, bag of footballs over your shoulder. Getting closer, you see four figures standing on the field.
“Miss! It’s the England captain!”
Leah Williamson is indeed standing in front of you, as well as Lotte, Beth, and Alessia.
“What are you guys doing here?” You ask, giving them all a hug, Alessia’s lasting longer than the rest.
“Thought we’d surprise the kids. Play some football.”
“Hey! You’re the one with the same name as Miss.” Ellie points a finger at Alessia.
Alessia crouches down to her height, the other kids getting closer.
“She actually stole my name.” All your students gasped.
“What? No, I didn’t. She’s lying to you all. I got her permission.” You send your wife a look that she knows means ‘stop or you’ll sleep in the couch’ making her lift her arms in surrender.
“Lying is bad. Shame on you.” Alessia now has a look of embarrassment on her face, getting told off by a child.
“My mum has a crush on you.” The statement was directed at Leah. “I don’t know what that means. Why does she want to crush you?” Leah’s face goes bright red.
“Okay!” You get everyone’s attention. “Let’s play some football!”
They all split themselves into teams while you and Leah stay on the sidelines. Watching your wife with all the children is making you feel lots of emotions.
“She’s so good with kids.”
“Am I gonna get any godbabies soon?”
You snap your head towards Leah. “Who said you’d be the godmother?”
“I’m just manifesting. Don’t make me wait too long.” Leah walks away, seeing Alessia walking towards you.
“Hi, love.”
“Hey, baby.”
“What were you two talking about?”
“How my ovaries are bursting watching you with kids.” She wraps an arm around your waist, you looking up at her, chin on her chest. “You’d be such a great mum.”
“You would too.”
“You think it’s time?”
“I mean…” She’s looking down at you suggestively, a smirk on her face. “We can start trying once we get home.”
“Hate to break it to you, but none of us have the right parts for that.”
“Doesn’t mean that we can’t practice.”
“Lessi!”
#woso x reader#greynatomy#woso#woso imagines#woso imagine#alessia russo#alessia russo x reader#engwnt#engwnt x reader
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Coming in HOT with some ANGST and FLUFF, having SUCH an intense emotional fight with Carmen one night. Maybe you’re both arguing about the opening of The Bear or finances or even just with communication in your relationship, Carmen just snaps about how you weren’t always this hostile. Just losing it on him and in tears crying out “YOU LEFT!! YOU LEFT ME CARMEN!! I understand what happened with you and your brother, but you just fucking left and didn’t even say goodbye!! You know how AWFUL that made me feel?! Like all of a sudden after everything we’d been through! It was like suddenly I was another face you just cut out and forgot about. It took me MONTHS to stop even just thinking about you. And then when you came back? It was as if nothing happened, but I was SO happy you were back….and now you always act like I’m some inconvenience that’s always in the way!!!! So what do you WANT Carmen?! Do you want me to stay or is this another New York situation?”. You can see Carmen’s heart shattering in his face as he just crumbles at the end begging for forgiveness 🥲. It ends maybe with the both of you holding each other in the kitchen “I’m so sorry” “No no….it’s okay….I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that…”
All for you
this request was so good! your brain anon..😍 i hope i did it justice, this is part one of two because i always seem to be extending things that should be a one shot! i'm thinking part two should be from carm's pov? what do you guys think??
warnings: shouting, self deprecation, angst to the tenth power, no happy endings, carmen is so so so bad at communicating, unresolved tension/anger, new york carmy!
Loving Carmen was a lot of things.
It was the smoulder of colours brushed onto a canvas, it was the crash of waves in the middle of the pacific, fighting and thrashing against each other until it took you under and below. It was the spoonful of honey that eased the bitterness, it was beyond your control. A love so smouldering and bright that you didn't quite know if your heart could fit it all.
But it was also difficult, like dragging a 50 pound steel anchor every way you went. You were forever grateful to have Carmen in your life, again at least, but it wasn’t exactly like the things that he had struggled with before he wasn't struggling with even more now.
You were patient, you tried to be at least. When he wouldn’t pick up your calls for hours, when he was so caught up with work he forgot to eat, when he was so caught up with work all the last of his energy was spent on you and not himself.
You loved Carmen too hard to let him destroy himself for his work, even if he hated you for it, you couldn't watch him crumble and break from the stress of the restaurant and the overwhelming pressure he put on himself.
Especially when you saw him begin to unravel before you, melting hot wax crackling and setting form. He had begun to throw back bottles of pepto like it was water, crunching on tums like popcorn any chance he got, and it wasn't like the restaurant was doing bad, in fact it was doing amazing. Yet, it was that fact alone that made Carmen get worse, made him slip into the sinking black hole that told him one moment away from the shop, one glance off of his work and it would crumble into ash.
You had seen this in New York, where he would call you during the depths of the night, the sound of his stuttered sobs breaking any resolve you had left. You had raced to throw on a jacket and bring a pot of soup to his place even when he protested. You fed him whilst he shook against you, you whispered stories until he fell asleep, you kissed his curls.
You wondered if he knew.
You find yourself doing the same thing now, like an endless dance you both are bound to, every rational part of you wants to hate it but you can't deny the way your heart shimmers in want. Your mind moves with the familiarity of it, chasing after him like a game of cat and mouse.
Only this time you live with Carmen and not in a dingy shoebox in New York holding back every ounce of love you wanted to pour into him.
Carmen’s mind was forever connected to food, it was something so automatic it fell unconscious under his skin. You found amusement in the way he’d stand in the middle of your apartment living room in quick critic over the late night cooking shows that you would turn on whilst waiting for him to come home, or the coffee around the corner he swears isn’t actual beans.
But your soup, and anything else you made was something he had always reserved with a certain adoration. He’d whisper into the anonymity of your neck under the covers, recounting how your food was akin to a warm hug, coming home to the smell of cookies and a house of laughter and light he wished he had growing up.
You hoped he had actually eaten something today, but it was that belief that evaded your mind as quickly as it came when you reminded yourself who Carmen was. It was push and pull, and you would be damned if he didn't finish your food and then some.
Your job allowed you to work from home, and you don’t know if it was your laziness or intelligence that enabled you to make it so that you only had to work a couple hours in the day. It was sometimes strange to Carmen, how you could be able to find love and creation in something without putting everything into it.
Carmen was always watching you, he found peace in it, the moves and motions of you all over the apartment, the scent of your body wash, you toothbrush next to his, you were a movie right in front of him and he would watch you for eternity if he could.
You turn into the back of the Bear, parking between the faded white lines before turning off the engine and staying in the car for a moment. You hated the cold, and your breath had already begun to blow out misty clouds every time you exhaled. Collecting the warm container of soup and a sandwich you quickly jog towards the restaurant, taking the back door when you notice Manny leaving.
“Hey Hun, how ya doing” Manny nods towards you with a warm smile
“Hey Manny, just coming to get Carmen to eat something other than tums”
“Chef is definitely wound tight, mix up on a new delivery of some kind of fruit? Forgot the name.. It's spiky and smells like when we moved out those ovens and found those burnt onions and stock stuck to the floor” Manny replies with a wince as you both recall the devastating smell that hadn’t left your nostrils in weeks during the renovation.
“Uh, Durian?” You reply and Manny clicks his fingers at your reply.
“That's it. That mind of yours is really something. He hasn’t taken a break since the morning, but you always have a way with him” Manny raises his eyebrows and you shake your head with a laugh
You only remember that particular fruit because Carmen had been obsessing over a new menu item that included it as its main component. He had spent sleepless nights perfecting it, despite it being utterly magnificent the first try. You couldn’t shake him from his work, it could consume him for months if he let it, and you feared he was at the precipice of falling into that hole once again.
You walk through the back hallway leading up to the main kitchen, passing by the tired hunches of the shoulder dressed down in crisp white shirts and aprons. The Bear had a late start today, Sydney suggested opening a little later for a full dinner menu rather than lunch as well and the turn out had shocked you all.
It also meant Carmen came home even later than he already did during those nights, you’ve had to damn near carry him to the bath to get him to not drop dead the second he came home. You didn’t mind however, you couldn't deny the faint thrum of your heart content as you washed Carmen’s hair whilst he lay against you half asleep.
You spot Sydney at her station, and you quickly walk over to see her prepping for dinner, the swoop of her knife cutting into red meat in a kind of curve you knew she had perfected over the years.
“Hey Syd, early start?” You say, once your side by side with her
“Oh don’t remind me, can you believe the L got backed up from all the ice last night? Added a whole 45 minutes to my commute” Sydney groans out, shaking her head as she turns to you. Grateful to have a reprieve from her repetitive cutting.
“Goddam Chicago, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it in my fridge and it is dying to be opened and shared by two very, very tired women” You reply, smiling at the way Sydney raises her eyebrows gleefully at the thought.
“I am holding you to that, as soon as we get through today. God, this new dish Carmen has thought up is kicking my ass” Sydney replies, and your ears chirp at the mention of the man you’ve been looking for.
“Speaking of Carmen, have you seen him?”
“Yeah, I think he’s still in the office, been on call with one of our vendors cause of the mix up with the--”
“Durian, yeah. Thanks Syd” You reply, giving her a nod before making your way to the hallway leading into the office.
You hear Carmen before you see him, the sound of his loud voice seeping through the cracks of the door. His voice rises as he gets more and more agitated, and you don’t miss the sound of a cup being thrown against the wall as the phone call continues, not waiting a moment before firing back muffled words you can hardly make out except
“Unprofessional” “waste of my time” “fuckin’ dick”
So yeah, you thought it was definitely a good time to walk in and get your extremely agitated boyfriend to eat your soup.
Just as you walk through the door, you see Carmen slam the phone back onto the receiver, shouting out obscenities at the object as he throws his chair back onto the floor. Years working together has made you unfazed by his outbursts of anger, though you have been sly in trying to get him to go to therapy so that he doesn't get an aneurysm over the phone with the Wifi company or something hilariously trivial.
“Hey Carm” You say, whilst closing the door, and Carmen look up at you in surprise, his features sobering, as his eyes relax into a comforting gaze.
“Ah shit, sorry bout that, just some stubborn, pig headed vendors who don’t want to fix a problem they fucking caused” Carmen replies, his chest rising rapidly as he takes sharp inhales of oxygen.
He turns to face you and you take in the sunken look of his cheeks, the skin a little discoloured like he was sick, and his hair dishevelled and falling flat against his face like he's run his hand through it too many times.
“Jesus Carmen, have you gotten any sleep?” You reply, instantly as you make your way over to him, pressing a hand on his shoulder.
Carmen shudders against your touch, shaking his head as he leans back and away from you. You stumble as you look down at your hand now inches away from his shoulder in confusion. Carmen never turned you away from him, in fact during those unforgiving times of anxiety and anguish, when he felt the entire sky falling, you would be his anchor to bring him back.
The fact that he had visibly shuddered when you touched him made your heart ache, and it hurts even more when Carmen notices, the guilt spilling into him.
“Just been so busy” Carmen replies, his eyes darting everywhere but you, as you nod with a tight smile, backing away from him.
You reach for the soup you've left on the edge, placing it on the desk and you nod to it
“Have you eaten today?” You reply and Carmen stops watching you, blinking slowly as he tries to remember the last time he's actually consumed something, before coming up empty and shaking his head up at you with a groan.
“I thought so, you need to eat Carmen, how can you expect to function let alone run a restaurant if you aren't at your optimal level” You reason, leaning against the table, with your arms crossed against your chest.
“It’s fine, I was just gonna grab something small” Carmen waves you off
“Actually, I brought you food right now so I think it would be a perfect time-
“Is that why you came? To micromanage me like some toddler” Carmen suddenly replies, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you through half lidded eyes.
“I- what? I didn’t-”
“I can run my restaurant blindfolded with my arms tied behind my back, alright? I don’t need you to come and patronise me like you know every goddamn thing” Carmen spits out, and you can't help the way your blood runs hot, the rhythmic beat of anger pounding through you like a hammer.
How fucking dare he
“Excuse me? I came here for you Carmen, not some self-righteous moment to say I'm better than you. God damnit, is that what you think? I came here to make sure you didn't faint and fall into a pot of boiling hot water” You spit out, Carmen looks up at you, hes blues swimming in ire as he lets a humour-less laugh rumble through his chest.
You felt all the things you had kept a lid on begin to tumble out of your mouth, and soon you’re anger morphed into a building current. The flashes of everything that had gone wrong, the lack of communication, the coming home late, it all has begun to accumulate rapidly and you let it consume you in its entirety.
“Sure, of course,” Carmen sings. “I’m not your fucking child alright? You are my goddamn mother so stop treating me like you need to make sure I eat 3 times a day and have my nightly bath. I’m a grown man-”
“Then ACT LIKE IT!”
Carmen looks up at you in surprise, his brows knitting as his head swivels back from your outburst. You had never screamed at him, in fact, Carmen can’t remember a time where you had screamed at anyone like you did now as you stare him down deviantly. Eyes burning with a fiery anger that begged to be stoked. Carmen knows this, your hands shake in tight fists like your seconds away from swiping him, and he resorts back to his usual self destruction of turning back and running away.
“Yeah, yeah that's right, walk away, walk away like you always do. Carmen, soon enough you're going to have to face it you know? You’re gonna have to face your fucking issues before it destroys us both” You scream, and Carmen pauses, causing you to stumble. Carmen turns around to face you in the middle of the hallway, the rush of anger present on his cheeks, causing the veins to bulge out on his neck and he looms over you
“Issues, I have fucking issues? You’re screaming at me because of goddamn soup”
“It’s more than fucking SOUP!” The screech of your voice bounced across the thin walls of the restaurant hallway, your throat begins to burn as you begin to swallow down the emotion bubbling within you. You want to reach into him and rattle his neck, force him to see the destructive path he was taking, force him to do anything but turn away and shut you out.
A quiet trepidation falls over the entire kitchen as they watch you both fight, it was unheard of, an anomaly that seemed wrong, like someone had gotten a couple from the street and put your faces on it.
Watching you both fight was like watching a performance. The way you both leaned into each other menacingly, neither of you backing down, there was an indefinite energy that bubbled between you both, you were seconds away from shocking each other or making out.
“What is it then huh? Why are you acting like this? You expect me to read your goddamn mind? You’ve changed alright? Everyone can see it, I can't even recognise the person in front of me half the time” Carmen sneers, his neck turning a crimson red as he clenches his jaw painfully. He’s holding himself back, his body shakes with it, the tight clenches of his fist stopping him from putting a hole in the wall or smashing a chair.
“I’ve changed? Me?” You cut yourself off with a chuckle, Carmen shifted his gaze as his eyebrows knot in confusion, and when you catch a glimpse of his face you can’t help the booming sound from crawling up your throat, keening over as the sick sound of laughter rocks through your body.
The rest of the team now watches on in horror, you were laughing, why are you fucking laughing?
You try and gulp down the uncontrollable fit of laughter, you can practically feel your body shift down into the jagged memories from all those years ago. From a place and time you had shuffled into a no named cabinet and thrown into the deepest depths of the ocean.
You didn’t want to remember, you begged your mind to forget, but as your laughter slips into sharp inhales, you already can taste the wetness streaming down your cheeks, and slithering down the slope of your neck.
Your sob’s rack through you, winding you until you hunched over, reaching out onto the wall to steady yourself and trying to find footing as the ground caves beneath you.
Carmen recognises it in an instant, taking a tentative step forward, raising his arms before dropping them in a second, like he was approaching a volatile animal.
“Fuck, I’m sorry I-” Carmen starts, but you’ve already raised yourself from your hunched position, the tears dripping into the linoleum floors and splashing onto your combat boots.
You didn’t want to face that time in your life again, but Carmen has practically forced you too, and there's no way in hell you weren’t going to drag him down into that bordered off well. Fuck being the bigger person.
“No no, you spoke, this is my fucking turn now” You grunt out, the rippling grief leaving your body in a flash as you sneer over him.
Carmen gulps back a retort, his mind re-circuiting, trying to figure out your polar behaviour. Carmen knew better to interrupt you now, in fact the restaurants was a pin drop quiet, safe for the whooshing sound of the central air corn, and the sound of Carmen's stuttering inhales.
“YOU listen to me” You spit, pointing a finger, pressing it into Carmen's chest so hard he stumbles back
“You fucking left me Carmen. You! You- just, you dropped everything we had, everything we ever built in New York and you disappeared. And it was Mickey, and you needed to be there and I got that, I get that, but you- you just left me there.” You grunt, biting back the swell of emotion that erupted when you thought about those years ago.
“You became a ghost, and god,- you could have told me, after everything I thought we had- you could've told me! But then you didn't. And I was left to pick up the pieces, wondering if you had ever loved me, wondering if I should have given half of myself to you whilst you couldn't even call me back” You stutter out, shocking back the onslaught of tears as you swallow around the lump in your throat.
Carmen’s face pales as he registers those years ago in New York, the immediate look of guilt and anguish twisting his features as he leans onto the wall for support.
Even after all these years, all this time, you still felt it like it was yesterday. All your work had become undone, the thin veil of healing had been stripped back to bare bones in an instant, and you hate it, you hate it so much. Why couldn’t you have packed up and moved on? Why did you have to fold back into yourself at those memories? You don't know what you're seeking now, vengeance, restitution, it all becomes blurred in the heat of it, and god have you wanted to strip your skin and wake up restored since that night.
“You ruined me for a year Carmen. I was a shell of myself because of you. And then you called me that afternoon and you know what? I wanted to throw my phone into the fucking Hudson. I wanted to rip my hair out and scream and hurt you like you hurt me because the truth was I already forgiven you before you even apologised. And you never did. And I still wanted to come back to Chicago for you.”
“Honey-” Carmen's strained voice shudders at your words, and you can make out the red of his eyelids, the tears collecting at his lids.
You hold up a hand, stopping Carmen from speaking, tears begin to form at your waterline, threatening to break, your vision blurs, the features of Carmen’s tormented face becoming wobbly and undefined.
You were so sick of crying, you were so sick of it.
“And I won’t ever make you keep paying for a mistake for the rest of your life, I let go of that anger because you needed my help and in some way, I fell in love with you all over again, I was able to make peace with it.”
“But you don't think I know you Carmen? When you overwork yourself to death you can barely eat? When you get bad again at calling me? When you were good, you were the best person in my entire world, but when you're like this?” You shake your head into the empty space between you, hands waving in front of you.
Carmen looks torn apart, his hair falling flat against his forehead, his hands in tight fists as he shakes his head against your words. Begging, on his knees, begging for you to stop, to stop saying those things that came from your mouth that were not true. His body shakes with it, the gushing feeling of guilt, it washes over him in waves.
His mind is going a mile a minute, every thought of work, of that mismatched order he had to deal with, of the vendor who refused to deliver, it all went out the window the second your face contorted in that heart aching way. He can't lose you, every fiber in his being yearned for you, he lived for you. And here he was losing you, like a brush of paint across a canvas.
You were slipping from him every second you stood there with tears dripping down your cheeks like a stream.
“You’re the one that's changed. You're the one who's always changing. Don’t throw it back at me just because you can’t see it” You mutter with a shake of your head. Your voice carries a finality with it, and you jerk from Carmen when he takes a step towards you. You can't breathe in here, and you pass by the concerned gases of the rest of the Bear, shaking your head and moving away from Sydney, before dipping back into the busy streets of Chicago. You bite your tongue the entire way until the taste of copper fills your mouth.
Folding yourself into the huddled waves of mundanity, leaving your soup and the last bit of your aching heart on the bench of Carmen's office.
#neonovember#carmen berzatto#the bear#the bear fx#carmen berzatto x fem!reader#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy the bear#carmy berzatto x angst#carmy x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto x angst#carmen berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto fanfic#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto x you#carmy berzatto x fem!reader#the bear fanfiction#carmen berzatto ansgt#carmen berzatto fic#neo’s asks#neowrites#carmen berzatto masterlist#the bear season 2#carmy#carmy ansgt#carmen berzatto x y/n#the bear hulu
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BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY
summary: you used to date quinn, the relationship starting not long after him and his other ex broke up. she got mad, made drama about you, and in the end, it flared up by the time your relationship was long gone.
pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader
warnings: death threats
thin mints. god you loved thin mints, and currently you craved them. actually, you craved the nice memories they brought. the memories where your ex told you he would have some guy get some for you. he ended up being that guy.
quinn hughes. your favorite past lover who will continue to outshine the rest. he treated you well, made you happy. he was perfect.
bonding over the black eyed peas and the smiths was something you found to be hard when it came to other people. but with quinn, it was easy. he made love seem easy and effortless.
but the downside, was his ex. she was pretty, but they had broken up about three months prior to you and him hooking up and then ultimately getting together. no one necessarily knew of their breakup. they didn’t post pictures often of each other due to quinn living in vancouver and his ex living in michigan.
so everyone assumed they were fine, until quinn decided to hard launch your relationship. you were fine with it at first. it was innocent, like the cuddling on trampolines you guys loved to do.
but now you were being called a slut. at this very moment, you were being called a slut and getting death threats. at the time, you were getting the same treatment.
it seemed his ex put the idea that he cheated on her with you, into everyones head. and they believed it. they believed it because of the stereotype against hockey players. the stereotype against girl best friends.
but that didn’t stop your relationship. you were so into it. you were there for everything, even his brothers… until you weren’t. it wasn’t like you both ended on bad terms. in fact, you both ended things, stating it was better to stay friends.
then she released a song. a song where she practically tore you apart, tore you down. you were the hot topic on her tongue.
she painted you out to be the bad guy. the manipulator. the one who made him take you to bed. you were just trying to hold him close and love him.
the only win from the whole situation was the fact he called you his favorite love. that you would always be the favorite.
but to everyone, you were the slut. you didn’t have a choice in that matter. you were the homewrecker. all because you liked a boy.
ynusername
liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes and 625,737 others.
ynusername all because i liked a boy. coming out oct 14 (with permission). thinking of dating a boy with an ex? i wouldnt recommend it. especially if stuff happens after you had already broken up!
comments.
user and shes gonna eat 😜
user she alr did with ‘skin’ 🤭🤭
user DIE WHORE
_quinnhughes insanely proud of u y/n/n
ynusername thank u quinner 😪
jackhughes AND ALL OF THIS FOR WHAT⁉️⁉️⁉️
lhughes_06 WHEN EVERYTHING WENT DOWN WE’D ALREADY BROKEN UP 😱😱😱
user all hughes brothers being her no.1 supporters is so cute
jackhughes can i get you thin mints this time
jackhughes im exless!
jackhughes no im not but my ex forgot i exist!
jackhughes choose me instead!
_quinnhughes jack please this is embarrassing for u
jackhughes SHUT UP QUINN
user i cant tell if quinn is okay with this or not
ynusername he is 😭 me and him are best friends now and have no hard feelings or any romantic feelings towards one another anymore. plus jack will never have a chance 🤷♀️
user ITS GONNA BE A BOP LMFAO
user slut! homewrecker! cunt!
user banned!
user i love i live i laugh
user i alr know this will slap
trevorzegras @/jackhughes shes mine
user STOP.
user puckbunny ass bitch
user i know what im streaming when it comes out!
user i still prefer quinns ex over y/n
user then use her name instead of y/ns xx 😻
erm..! this lowkey sucks LMFAO
taglist (perm!) @hockeyboysarehot (just ask to be added for perm tags! <3)
#hockey#jack hughes#nhl imagine#nhl hockey#nhl#quinn hughes#luke hughes#quinn hughes x reader#quinn hughes x y/n#quinn hughes imagine#hughes brothers#all because i liked a boy
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I was re reading your pool fic bc it’s one of my favourite and I wanted to ask ab how Vil would go over giving you a make over when he finds out you’re a girl or how Vil, Rook and Epel would be involved?
Would Epel finally be happy to not be the only one being tortured by Vil with his 20084 step skin care routine?
Would Vil take you shopping and go full MUA?
Would Rook stalk you so Vil can find our about your current beauty regimen?
Also I love your writing so much
Aforementioned Makeover | Yandere Pomefiore
The thing about the pool party is that everyone knew you were a girl
You had told them straight up
But they either written it off or the time you casually mentioned it or it just wasn’t a priority
Rook most definitely already knew
More than willing to share one of his extensive photo albums on you when Vil finally decides you are indeed in need of a makeover
Whether it’s through Rook or forcefully making Epel ask or just interrogating you himself
He’ll go full steam ahead once he has an idea on your situation
But it gets tricky when he realizes Rook’s has a loooonggg list of things he notices and actively updates about your health and routine
It kind of makes him jealous
So he steps up his game a little and demands your presence in Pomefiore immediately
He might wait for exam season where everyone’s on edge
And far too anxious to debate whatever craziness he’s imposing on the Ramshackle Prefect
“This is just for the time being, no need to lose your head. Focus on your exams and I’ll focus on you. Got that?”
He’s reworking your entire life routine to fit around and with him in the center
Because Rook get’s to openly patrol and monitor you he’s not upset
He also expected it’d turn out this way but that’s a discussion for another time+
Epel though is at first willing to excuse himself
Leaving you to the proverbial wolves until he realizes what this means
“After the fitting, we’ll polish their elegance training, and then after that we’ll have to do a hearty meal otherwise they’d whine all day–”
“I agree!”
“But they told me that tomorrow we’d go to the racing derby together…”
“Hm, well we’ll have to cancel that then. (Y/n)’s incredibly short energy and requirements for tomorrow can’t have them waking up too early to go to that. We only have time for what we’ve planned.”
“Yup sorry, monsieur crab-apple! Now please continue Roi du Poison!”
“...”
If he doesn’t actively include himself or remind Vil of his obsession with training him
He’s going to be left out
Lose more time to get close to you
Less chances for him to win you over
Not to mention the bonding and learning he gets from just aiding his upperclassmen in their endeavors
“Now this Epel is the perfect time to ask questions. In this condition their mental state is still intact, so any questions you ask isn’t immediately going to be met with mindless and incoherent blubbering.”
“But why would I want to ask questions? What good is talking to this piece’a crap gonna do?”
“Tsk Tsk pauvre malheureux you have so much to learn! Consider this prey the beginning of a larger scheme…a member of a conspiracy against notre chéri!”
“I see…”
Unbeknownst to him he’s prepared to use it all against them when the perfect time strikes
But it’s not wise to underestimate your teachers
Where do you think that urge came from?
“We at Pomefiore value beauty above most, consider it a privilege we want to highlight yours.”
“Though the urge to lock it away is palpable; for my Roi du Poison I’ll stiffle my urges just a tad longer!”
“Don’t expect to get too far from me I’m mo’ than set onya heart.”
“Epel!”
“I know I know, geez.”
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere harem#yandere twst x reader#yandere pomefiore#yandere vil#yandere vil schoenheit#yandere vil x reader#yandere epel felmier#yandere epel#yandere epel x reader#yandere rook x reader#yandere rook hunt#yandere pomefiore x reader#yandere twisted wonderland x reader
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haiiiii
i was wonder if you could do a skz reaction when they tell their other members that you and him have sex?
like Han being so confused on how you and Changbin have seen each other naked.
(sorry if this is weird or not explained enough haha)
Heyyyyyy thank you for your request! Also, no need to apologized! I understood what you meant :) I also don't think it's weird. I wasn't sure if they had an established relationship or were just FWB type situation, so I made it FWB. I hope that's okay? I didn't necessarily mention this though, so you could also imagine you and skz are already dating? Up to you! Anyways, ily and thank you again! 🫶🫶🫶 Also !!! feel free to lmk if you meant something else!
GN! Reader X SKZ.
(Didn't specify a gender or body parts. I mentioned reader having a chest they didn't want to expose- honeys, everyone has a chest.)
MDNI. MDNI. MDNI. MDNI. MDNI. MDNI!!!!!!!
Warnings: Smut(?), Suggestive if not smutty, swearing, nude mention, implied sexting, alcohol/ drinking mentions, hickey (giving/ receiving.), maybe implied aftercare???, some of the members are unrealistically bold. lmao.
Note: probably the longest reactions I've written so far lolololol. I hope y'all enjoy! Ofc another one for the road, MDNI!!!!! And also I would love feedback 🫶🥹 No pressure, and if no one told y'all today, ilyyyyyyy :) Take care. I also used your example for Changbin's hehe.
♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎
Chan
The sounds of your loud moans spilled out into the rest of the dorm. You were only being loud because you and Chan both thought the dorms were empty.
That was until Felix came back early to retrieve something he had forgotten. When you screamed— from the pleasure, he stood there, wondering which of the other members were with you. That was when he heard Chan’s voice.
Later, Felix saw you and Chan talking casually and acting as if you two didn’t just have sex in the dorm.
“So, I came back earlier.” Felix spoke up, catching both of your attentions. Chan glanced from you to Felix. “Yeah?”
“I heard you two.” Felix continued. You felt your cheeks heat up, knowing what he was talking about. Chan tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t.
“We’ve been… you know… having sex. No big deal.” Chan explained, his cheeks red from confessing that. Felix scrunched his face, cringing.
“I know that now! I’m just bringing it up because why did you choose the dorm? Did you think we’d be gone for that long?” Felix started to ask questions but then walked away, deciding he didn’t want to know this much information regarding you and Chan.
Lee Know
Minho was in the bathroom— somewhere he could really find privacy. He had his phone angled and snapped a photo of his erection, having gotten hard from sexting with you.
He sent the picture and waited for a response when suddenly, his heart dropped, reading the contact name.
“Shit!” Minho cursed, immediately texting Jeongin to not open the chat. It was too late, and Jeongin found him in the bathroom, knocking on the locked door.
“Who was this meant for?!” Jeongin asked. Shock was evident in his tone and Minho felt his heart racing from the panic this caused.
“Uh—“ Minho was cut off by another knock.
“Get out so I can bleach my eyes!” Jeongin groaned. Minho rolled his eyes, pulling up his pants. When he opened the door, he was met with Jeongin, who held his phone opened on the chat.
“Don’t ever send me anything like this again! Double check the contact names next time—“
“It’s for y/n anyway.” Minho mumbled, walking quickly to his room. Jeongin watched, “what? Don’t send y/n that either—“
“We’ve already slept together.” Minho scoffed, still embarrassed. “And you need to forget what you saw.”
Jeongin started to turn red in embarrassment now, hesitantly entering the bathroom.
Changbin
You, Changbin, and Jisung were playing a game together to pass time until the others got back.
“Why is it so hot in here?” You briefly paused the game, taking off your hoodie as a piece of your shirt rode up with it. You felt your shirt leave your skin and quickly pulled down your shirt before it exposed your chest.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to almost flash you both!” You apologized, setting your hoodie down. Changbin chuckled, smirking.
“Nothing I haven’t already seen.” Changbin commented, not thinking first. You pinched the bridge of your nose and avoided Jisung’s confused expression.
“Excuse me?” Jisung asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know this bit of information.
After a moment of silence of exchanged glances between you and Changbin, Jisung spoke up again. “Because that’s not typical flirting.”
“We’ve been… you know.” You confessed. Jisung was still in a state of confusion but slowly came to the realization.
“I know you’ve heard us before because someone, gets pretty loud.” Changbin teased you through the awkwardness of such a confession.
You reached over the small table and nudged his shoulder, almost knocking the pieces of the game over. “Seriously?!”
Jisung didn’t say anything and stood up, leaving the room.
Hyunjin
You put on one of Hyunjin’s robes to cover your naked body as you were preparing to go to the dorms kitchen to get water for you and Hyunjin.
Hyunjin put on a robe as well but only to walk to the bathroom. “Remember, the others are asleep so please tip toe if you have to. I really don’t want to hear anything from them right now.”
You grinned at Hyunjin, giving him a thumbs up, still glowing from the orgasm you’d just experienced.
You left his room and shut the door as quietly as you could before turning and immediately jumping out of your skin. When you saw Seungmin giving you an amused but confused look, your first instinct was to attempt to cover yourself, forgetting you were wearing Hyunjin’s robe.
“I knew it.” Seungmin smugly chuckled, shaking his head. You just stood there, debating on getting Hyunjin or explaining to Seungmin to not say a word.
“The others owe me money now.” Seungmin turned, seemingly headed for the kitchen also. You were about to head back into Hyunjin’s room but found yourself confused at his statement.
“Wait you made on a bet on whether or not we were having—“
Hyunjin heard your voice and entered the hallway with you. “Woah! What’s going on?” Hyunjin cut you off, not understanding the situation.
He saw Seungmin, who shrugged.
“Your group made a bet on whether or not we were having sex.” You whispered. Hyunjin widened his eyes, his face turning a deep shade of red as Seungmin held back a laugh, entering the kitchen.
Han
“Alright! Water only for the rest of the night.” Changbin handed a clearly drunk Jisung a cup of water. Jisung accepted it, taking a sip as he tried to wash the taste of the alcohol down.
“Fuck, I’m going to regret this in the morning…” Jisung groaned, already feeling the migraine coming on. The room spun and his words were slurred.
They were at an after party and the other members had gone off to enjoy what else the party had to offer. Changbin stayed near Jisung,
“Hell yeah, you’re gonna regret this.” Changbin laughed. “Better enjoy it while you can.”
Jisung rubbed his eyes, drinking more of the water. “Where’s y/n?”
Changbin tilted his head, shrugging. “Probably home or with friends. Why?”
Jisung felt his pockets for his phone, forgetting he left it in the car to charge. “Do you think y/n will still want to have sex tonight?”
Jisung wasn’t sober enough to realize what he just asked Changbin, who was taken aback. He looked around the room and then moved closer to Jisung.
“Not if you’re drunk.” Changbin spoke slowly. Jisung frowned, “tomorrow then.”
“Um…”
Changbin had gotten a bit more information than he needed to know. Jisung’s eyes bulged, immediately shaking his head.
“Ah! I shouldn’t have said that! Please forget this in the morning!” Jisung immediately tried to make up for telling him your private business together.
But Changbin was sober enough to forget.
Felix
Felix smiled as he thought back to your encounter last night. The sounds you made, how you felt, tasted, everything.
He was too satisfied the next day to realize the others were giving him strange looks. That was until Chan pulled him aside with a concerned look.
“Did you burn yourself?” Chan asked, glancing down at his neck. Felix was confused now, wondering what he meant.
“No? Do I have a burn?” Felix asked, gently feeling around his neck. His fingers touched one of the hickeys you left on his neck, the lingering soreness reminding him of how good you kissed, sucked, and nibbled on his neck.
He fought back a smirk, reminding himself of Chan’s concern.
“Oh— yeah. I was trying to straighten my hair.” Felix lied, obviously. He wasn’t going to tell him the truth. Chan seemed to buy it, sighing.
“Please ask me for help. I don’t think the makeup artists will like having to use the makeup to cover up the burn.” Chan chuckled, patting Felix’ shoulder.
“Yeah. Sorry.” Felix smiled, nodding. They glanced towards the front door, hearing a knock. Chan went to answer it as Felix watched to see if it were you or someone else.
You entered the dorms and almost immediately, Felix— and Chan noticed the hickeys that littered your neck.
Felix felt his stomach drop as Chan had a look of realization, glancing at Felix with a knowing glare.
“So you both burned yourselves on the same iron?” Chan crossed his arms. Felix sighed and you noticed the hickey on Felix’ neck before moving your hand to try and hide yours with the collar of your hoodie.
“Fine… We, uh, did it last night.” Felix spoke quietly and tried to be discreet, not wanting to say ‘sex’.
“Just say sex.” You sighed, moving to stand beside Felix. Chan raised his eyebrows at your boldness.
“Wait—“
You then dragged Felix into the bathroom and worked on covering the hickeys with makeup before the others saw.
Seungmin
Every time you were hanging around the guys or even mentioned, Seungmin would get shy and nervous, displaying signs that one would when having a crush on someone.
Other times when you were around, he’d be more open and mainly focused on you and anything you said or did, regardless of who was speaking.
Because of this, the other members caught on and began to tease him of his ‘little’ crush.
Seungmin knew this wasn’t the case. You knew that wasn’t the case.
Yeah, he was attracted to you. But it was more than just a crush and it began to annoy Seungmin with their relentless teasing.
“I just wish they’d, I don’t know, stop.” Seungmin vented to you. You took his hand in yours, hatching a plan.
“I have an idea, but only if you’re up for it.”
“At this point? Anything.” Seungmin’s eyes lit up. You nervously chuckled, “we tell them.”
Seungmin’s hopeful smile dropped, “and get teased more?”
“They tease you because they think you have a crush on me. Would they still tease you for having sex with me?” You asked, thinking the plan through with him. Seungmin groaned.
Hyunjin walked in, instantly smiling. “Aw, found the lovebirds.”
You looked at Seungmin, not wanting to go through with the plan without his consent. Seungmin stood up and pulled you up with him.
“Don’t come in my room for the next hour.”
“Hour?” You whispered, widening your eyes. Hyunjin was taken aback, realizing what Seungmin meant by this.
“If you hear anything, don’t interrupt.” Seungmin looked back at Hyunjin, matching his smile from before this info bomb was dropped on him.
Hyunjin didn’t know what to do or say, surprised to say the least.
I.N
“Are you sure it didn’t hurt?” Jeongin asked, knowing it was your first time having sex. You smiled at how attentive and caring he was being even after you’ve reassured him multiple times.
“Jeongin,” you kept your tone soft. “I’m sure it didn’t hurt.”
Jeongin smiled in relief, “do you want to do it again?” He asked, meeting your eyes. You chuckled, “now?”
“No, later or some other time.” Jeongin clarified. Despite how worried he was about hurting you accidentally, he enjoyed it and being with you and he knows you did too.
“Sure. Yes.” You smiled. Jeongin felt more relief hearing that you wanted to have sex again.
You both turned to see Minho in the doorway after he had knocked on the door.
“You both are gross.” Minho joked, although he wished he hadn’t heard your conversation. Jeongin blinked, pointing towards the door.
“Out!” You couldn’t help but giggle at the situation. Minho even let out a small laugh.
“You’re… you’re just jealous because we were doing it.” Jeongin emphasized the word ‘it’, feeling too awkward in that moment to say ‘sex’.
“I don’t care that you’re having sex with each other, just make sure to use protection,” Minho took a step out of the room and put his hand on the door knob.
“And lock the door, lower the noise, and wait until no one is in the dorms.” Minho grinned. You could tell it was forced because Minho’s grin dropped a second later as he shut the door.
♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎
Note 2: Seungmin in his villain era in Hyunjin's lololol & also, hickeys don't look like burns, I know this but a hot iron burn is a common excuse people use when someone else sees them. Also, I know I wrote these but some of the members need to mind their own *inhale* MOTHER FUCKING *exhale* business.
Note 3: I'm joking lmaoooooo. I need to sleep. Goodnight lovelies.
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz imagines#stray kids reactions#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#skz scenarios#skz reactions#stray kids au#stray kids imagine
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A Stellar Birthday
-> Masterlist || → Taglist
Pairings: Jing Yuan, Dan Heng x (gn!) Reader
Summary: It's your birthday, yet there is something that is tainting your mood. He manages to change that, however.
Tags: Fluff, hints of angst at first (but it's really harmless), SFW, kissing, confessions, Jing Yuan being a scheming master, Dan Heng being bad with feelings
A/N: Second self-indulgent birthday fic! This time for HSR. Hope you enjoy :3
JING YUAN
“Hey.” Your employer briefly knocks at the door of your office to make you aware of his presence before walking up to your desk.
“Hello, sir. Anything the matter?” You inquired carefully, because somehow your gut feeling told you that he was about to tell you something you wouldn’t like.
“Yes. I came to tell you that the vacation day you entered for tomorrow… Unfortunately, you won’t be able to take it anymore.”
“Wh-what? Why?” You ask exasperated. You had booked that day off months in advance because you and Jing Yuan wanted to spend your birthday together.
“I know this is really short notice, but Mei came to my office earlier and it’s her birthday tomorrow. Surely you don’t mind coming to work tomorrow so someone else can celebrate their birthday, right? We’d do the same for you.”
Your boss tapped your desk twice before turning around again to leave, not even waiting for your reply.
The knot in your throat became tighter and tighter and all you wanted was to yell after him that it was your birthday as well tomorrow. Yet, somehow you didn’t have it in you to correct him, also because you could feel that you would burst into tears the moment you opened your mouth again.
You bit back a sob as you could feel the burning sensation in your eyes and some tears welled up. You tried to calm yourself by repeatedly telling yourself that it couldn’t be helped and that your birthday was just another day of the year anyway. No need to make a big deal about it. You could always spend time with Jing Yuan on another day as well. Right?
You learned your lesson and will just explicitly mention that you will take time off for your birthday next year, something that you had failed to do this year and that had caused this situation in the first place. Your boss could’ve checked your employee card and would’ve seen that it was your birthday as well, but he, too, had a lot on his plate and it couldn’t be helped anymore.
Once you were back home from work you slammed the door shut behind you and quickly took out your phone to open the chat between you and Jing Yuan.
‘Need to cancel our plans tomorrow. I’m sorry. Let’s do something on another day.’
You typed and hit send faster than you were able to process before turning your phone to silent mode and throwing it between the pillows of your sofa.
The frustrations of the day began to wash over you all at once at that moment and you could feel the lump in your throat grow to a size that made it hard to breathe. And no matter how much you tried to swallow it down, the tears that started to spill were inevitable. You were angry, frustrated, and just wanted to yell at everything and everyone. Because once again you felt invisible. Like no one in the world cared about your feelings and all you ever had to do was to accommodate everyone else. You hated it and you hated that the feeling was so awfully familiar.
You don’t even know how long you had been crying when the sudden ring of your doorbell pulled you out of the hole of self-pity you had dug for yourself.
You quickly wiped the tears out of your eyes and checked your face in the mirror beside the door. Your puffy, red eyes would betray that you had been crying to whoever was standing in front of the door right away.
So, you contemplated whether it was a good idea to open at all or if you should simply act like you weren’t at home. Because you didn’t really want to see anyone in this state either. Or, god forbid, have them ask if everything was alright. Because, frankly, nothing was alright right now.
“I know you’re there. Open up.”
The familiar voice rang through the door causing you to perk up. Jing Yuan sounded worried. You assumed that he had probably tried to message or call you and you didn’t pick up because you had set your phone to silent.
Your hand wandered in the direction of the doorknob, which you hesitantly rested it on, still unsure whether to open or to play dead.
“Please… let me in.” He pleaded in a way that almost made your heart shatter. So, with much hesitancy, you decided to open the door.
You immediately saw Jing Yuan’s brows furrow when he looked at your face. Pushing past you inside, he closed the door and immediately took you in his embrace.
“Tell me what happened.” He urged sympathetically, gently stroking your cheeks with his thumb.
Under sobs, you began recalling the events of the day, ending it with a full-on crying session by the moment you stopped talking again. You seriously wondered if he even understood anything you were trying to tell because of how much you had started sobbing throughout it.
He hugged you tightly, wiping away your tears once again, and reassuring you that everything would be alright. At the moment you didn’t quite see how, but he always remained right, so you simply nodded against his chest.
Once you had calmed down a bit he briefly excused himself, reassuring you that he would be right back with something that would cheer you up. And not even forty minutes later he was back with two paper bags filled with your favorite street foods and two cups of Immortal’s Delight.
No matter what, he always knew what he needed to do. While you got some plates and chopsticks out of the kitchen you suddenly heard the familiar ringtone of your phone coming out of the living room.
Confused you walked over to where you had thrown it between the pillows. You could’ve sworn you had put it on silent earlier, so why was it ringing now?
You fished your phone out and checked the brightly illuminated screen.
Boss.
Why was he calling now? By the Aeons, you sure as hell had enough of him today already.
“Hello?” You picked up questioningly.
“A-ah. It’s good t-that I reach you. Uhm– actually I-I wanted to to tell you that you don’t need to come to work tomorrow. You get your day off. M-my bad. Heh.” He was stammering and sounded more nervous than an alerted Warp Trotter.
“Uh…okay. Thank you.” You paused, walking over to the kitchen, holding your phone to one ear, glaring daggers at Jing Yuan who was happily chewing away at some gyoza and questioningly raising an eyebrow at you.
“Yeah. Uhm… e-enjoy your birthday tomorrow. Oh, and I-I happened to check our yearly employee evaluation and I’m happy to in-inform you that you’re getting a raise. Come to my office on Friday. O-Okay… bye.”
You didn’t even manage to get a word in before he hung up again. One thing was certain though, something smelled awfully fishy here, and it wasn’t the food Jing Yuan had brought in earlier.
“Who was that?” He asked innocently despite knowing full well who had just called.
“What did you do?” You asked accusingly, crossing your arms over your chest at which he just raised an eyebrow.
“Me? I didn’t do anything.” He acted completely clueless but the twitch of the corner of his lips betrayed the truth.
You knew the influence he had aboard the Luofu. He was the General of the Cloud Knights after all. Never did you expect him to use that influence for such matters, however.
“So… does this mean I can stay the night and the plan to go out tomorrow is back on the table?”
This man was unbelievable.
DAN HENG
“Happy Birthday!” The Astral Express Crew gratulated you in unison.
Himeko placed the cake they got for you on the table in front of you while March readied herself to snap a picture. Mr. Yang stood by and watched with crossed arms and a smile on his face. And Pom-Pom was attempting to admonish everyone to not get any burn holes in or crumbs on the red leather bench.
March began counting down from three waiting for the perfect moment to snap a picture of you blowing out the candles. Followed by claps and more birthday wishes from everyone once they were extinguished.
Well, everyone aside from Dan Heng.
He was silently sitting in an armchair away from everyone simply typing and scrolling away on his phone. He hadn’t even looked up once for hours now, let alone engaged in any group activities.
You told yourself you wouldn’t let it sour your mood, it was your birthday after all. So if he wanted to brood, let him brood.
However, when you tried to hand him a plate with a piece of cake and he just declined the offer with the excuse of not being hungry right now, not even daring to look at you, you couldn’t help but wonder what was up with him.
As you sat back together with the others you occasionally found yourself stealing glances at Dan Heng to see if you could read anything on his face. But it stayed the same. Expressionless and completely unreadable.
Eventually, after you came back from getting yourself and Mr. Yang a cup of coffee, you found the chair he had sat on all evening empty.
Was something wrong? Did he have a grudge against you?
It didn’t go unnoticed by the others either that you grew quieter and quieter as the evening progressed.
March was the first one to address the elephant in the room.
“It bothers you that Dan Heng didn’t join, right?” And she couldn’t have hit the nail more on the head even if she tried.
You hummed in agreement, taking another sip from your coffee. You looked back to the empty chair for a brief moment, while a thousand questions popped into your head once more.
Ever since the Crew had come back from the Luofu he had been more quiet than usual. He barely even spoke a word with you and kept locking himself up in his room for days on end. It would be a lie if you said it didn’t bother you. Because with every day that passed you wondered more and more why he was acting so differently.
“Don’t worry so much. He’s probably just grumpy about something. He’ll be back to normal in no time.” March reassured with an infectious smile, slinging her arms around you in a quick hug. “Now, we should do something about this gloomy mood. It’s your birthday! What do you want to do? More cake? Dancing? Anything?”
In all honesty, you didn’t really feel like partying as long as Dan Heng’s weird behavior was at the back of your mind constantly. Because no matter what you were doing, you kept thinking about it sooner or later again anyway.
“Did… something happen on the Luofu?” You finally decided to ask.
March seemed to be taken by surprise by your question before immediately and hectically waving off that anything had happened. Unfortunately for her, she could be read like an open book. So, you immediately knew she was lying. But why?
What happened on the Luofu?
You nodded, accepting that you wouldn’t get any answers from her tonight, and excused yourself, telling everyone that you would be heading to bed now.
On the way to your room, you saw that Dan Heng’s door wasn’t closed entirely and a streak of light from the inside illuminated the hallway of the cart. You couldn’t help but steal a glance inside, but you found the room completely empty.
Wondering where he went you walked straight past your room, and through some other carts until you eventually reached the observatory and the very last cart.
And this is also where you found him.
He was sitting next to the telescope at the desk, writing something down. When you knocked on the doorframe to make him aware of your presence, he perked his head up to look at you. Yet somehow he immediately almost looked alert.
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded panicked, almost accusatory.
“I came looking for you when I saw your room was empty–” You began to explain, confused about the hostility in the air.
“Did you go in?” He interrupted frantically, jumping up from his chair with a shocked look in his beautiful turquoise eyes.
“I–what? No!” You exclaimed in disbelief. “What is going on with you?”
“It’s nothing.” He once again waved it off, as usual. And his demeanor left more questions than answers every time he did just that.
“Nothing? As in nothing you want to tell me? Nothing why you keep avoiding me? Nothing why you keep diverting the topic whenever I try to ask about the Luofu mission?” You huffed in frustration. You could feel anger that stemmed from weeks of confusion and unanswered questions well up in the pit of your stomach, making you ball your fists at your sides.
Dan Heng exhaled heavily, diverting his gaze to the ground, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.
“Just… talk to me.” You demanded pleadingly.
He took a few steps in your direction, breathing heavily. And before you knew it the air around him began to glow in such a bright blue light, that you had to shield your eyes in order to not get blinded. Sparkles began to form, making the room ooze with magic you had no idea existed.
When the light finally dimmed again, you lowered the hand you had held in front of your face. But what was in front of you exceeded even your wildest imaginations. Long, silky black hair that faded into dark blue cascaded down Dan Heng’s shoulders, crystalline horns had grown on his head, a translucent dragon tail had formed behind him, and icy blue, glowing eyes were staring right at you.
You wanted to say something – ask so many questions that were burning at the back of your mind, but every word you were desperate to speak died on your tongue. You were too stunned to speak.
He nodded, dropping his eyes, and pressed his lips into a thin line with a defeated look on his face.
“There. This is why I didn’t tell you… why I’ve been acting the way I did. Because I was scared you would think I’m–”
“Beautiful.” You muttered under your breath faster than your brain could process that you just said it out loud.
“What?” He asked in disbelief.
“You look… beautiful.” You almost choked on your words, still in disbelief over what you just said. You had never acted on your feelings for Dan Heng because you didn’t know if he felt the same for you and in fear of making things awkward. But there was no going back from it now.
“Like… I truly mean i–mphh”
Before you knew it he had pulled you in by your waist, uniting your lips with an intensity that knocked the air out of your lungs and made you feel lightheaded.
“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry. I just– I didn’t mean to–” He stammered in panic immediately after breaking off the kiss and realizing what he had just done. Lifting his hand up to his lips shaking his head.
“Please do that again.” You immediately cut him off, pulling his hand away from his face and slinging your arms around his neck while pulling him closer. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest at this point and your face felt like it was burning up.
You could smell the bitterness of the coffee he had been drinking all evening on his breath and the familiar scent of his aftershave. Because despite everything, he was still Dan Heng. Your Dan Heng. The one you had grown to love. And nothing was ever going to change that.
And with one last adoring look into your eyes, he pulled you in once more in a silent declaration of love.
Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.
#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#dan heng x reader#dan heng il x reader#jing yuan x reader#hsr fluff#hsr fanfic#honkai star rail fanfic#honkai star rail x reader#hsr drabbles#hsr imagines#🍁 dust writes#🍁彡 hsr
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Would you mind telling us about more disabled Cybertronians?
Oh boy would I
For this list let’s focus on physical disabilities, both because they’re the most commonly dismissed by the fandom and bc if we try to cover everything we’d be here all day (that can be another list, maybe, if y’all want)
This isn’t going to be comprehensive bc I’m tired but!! I will aim for a broad variety of examples nonetheless
Bumblebee - You all know him, you all love him. He’s the most obvious and most well known example of a disabled Cybertronian character.
In many iterations he is mute
Not by choice but because he lacks a voice box. Bee physically isn’t capable of speech and depending on the version has different tools to work around that. Sometimes he uses his radio to repurpose song and radio dialogue into speech, in cyberverse he also makes use of the internet for clips. In the aligned continuity (tfp and connected media) he speaks in binary, a very simplified form of language using beeps and buzzes, but still lacks a real voice and can’t form words.
In IDW he has a cane
At one point in the comics Bumblebee was shot by a human protester and as a result used a cane for a good bit of time. I haven’t had the chance to read that far into IDW yet so I’m not sure how long he had the cane for but it was enough time that it’s a solidified part of the charcaters history. I’ve seen little models of the cane for sale, to be paired with bee figures.
TFP Ultra Magnus - everyone’s favorite awkward commander, despite his popularity he’s surprisingly overlooked when it comes to this discussion
An amputee, he lost his hand
During an energon raid with wheeljack, magnus’ hand was crushed. Ratchet couldn’t save it and had to amputate, replacing it with a hooked prosthetic. I call it a prosthetic rather than replacement part because despite him being able to move it, it’s not a hand. Not in the way he had previously, and he has to relearn how to use it at all.
I think that’s an important distinction to make when discussing disability and transformers. Some bots might have only ever had one hand, or no legs, or etc but that’s always been their level of ability and since they Are robotic. Yeah they might not have the same capabilities as another bot but that’s a hard metric to go by. Seekers can fly but a grounder isn’t disabled because they can’t fly too, it’s a different standard.
WFC Shamble - far lesser known than Magnus, and reasonably so, this background character is Also missing a limb
Amputee, leg edition
His prosthetic is a lot less fancy than magnus’s, it’s a simple peg leg. Put em together and you get a pirate. Not much to say about him since i don’t know how he lost the leg, just that he did.
Shadow Striker - Most awesome lady in cyberverse. Unlike the above two, she Was able to get actual replacement parts rather than prosthetics. Despite this, she is both shown throughout the show and implied to have
Impaired mobility
Chronic pain
She was able to get replacement parts yes but they were needed because she was blown up. The limbs she was given were kinda just what the others could Find and as such are mismatched and don’t fit her very well. Her motor skills took a blow especially when it comes to combat, something she used to excel in. Her new limbs are described as unstable and prone to malfunction. The loss of mobility and implied chronic pain that come along with her situation are rough, but she makes do.
SG Soundwave - my favorite little guy, he’s in a bit of a different situation than the previous.
Bad Joints ™
His body was entirely overhauled multiple times, successfully, but the latest frame change was done with conflicting metals. Earth and Cybertronian materials clash in his joints, making them prone to getting stopped up. The most affected hinge being the one on the door to his tape deck. It is so prone to getting stuck that his cassettes refuse to dock with him at risk of getting trapped. To work around this, Soundwave has the aid of a personalized case he carries around that they dock in instead.
IDW Sunstreaker - speaking of assistive devices, this guy was (for a time) a wheelchair user! Or,, hoverchair.
Temporary,,, paraplegic? Correct me if another term fits better
Taking this moment for an aside to say hey!! Lookit that, both canes and hoverchairs are things that canonically and casually exist on cybertron!! It’s not too wild to assume there are bots out there who use them long term!! Yes both characters on this list were repaired eventually but they’re also both very popular old characters from an action based franchise and hasbro doesn’t have the balls to make something like that permanent yet. We the fandom are not hasbro. We can do whatever we damn want with our OCs. It’s canon that ur little guy can use mobility aids.
Ok, PSA over, anyway yeah Sunny’s body was basically wrecked and alpha trion was able to repair all of him except his legs. This put him in a hoverchair for a good amount of time.
Finback - he’s a con, a pirate, who developed a “metal wasting disease”
He’s on permanent life support
The disease is going to kill him eventually, and it’s explicitly stated that he’s come to terms with the idea of his death. In the meantime he’s using pretender tech, kinda like fancy armor, to reinforce himself and boost his immune system
Perceptor - for a microscope, the fact he’s got vision issues in multiple continuities is kinda ironic
He’s fully blind in cyberverse
He lost an eye in IDW
Between the two we get to see both routes taken to work with this. Adaption and technological aid. In cyberverse he uses his scope to compensate for the loss of vision Toph-style. In IDW he built himself a monocle that basically replaces the pieces that are missing.
Now we get into the uniquely Cybertronian disabilities, one’s that don’t quite translate to human conditions
Transmutate - is a beloved bot from beast wars
They can’t transform, they don’t have an alt mode
I’m hazy on the details of their character but afaik they came from a damaged stasis pod. Described as deformed and handicapped for their both their lack of an alt mode and general appearance, they are probably the oldest explicitly disabled Cybertronian character
Xaaron - from G1 is in a similar situation
He can’t transform, it would kill him
Unlike transmutate he does have an alt mode, a tank, but after thousands of years without transforming he is no longer able to. The new stress it would cause on his body would kill him.
Broadside - continuing with the subject of alt modes, this clumsy boy is a boat! That’s not a good thing.
He’s very prone to motion sickness
As you can imagine, chronic sea sickness isn’t the most helpful thing when you are the boat. This brings in the entirely new element of mobility issues that are inherent to alt modes. A bot that functions fine in root form might not in alt mode and vice versa.
Trailbreaker - is another instance of this. He’s not a fast car by any means but that doesn’t stop the fact
His frame has a very high energon cost
Possibly the least fuel efficient autobot, he’s got an outlier ability on top of it all that only further increases his required energon intake. He needs to pay more attention to his energon levels and refuel more often overall.
G1 Knockout - yes that’s right the shiny medic himself is on this list, though not for the same reason as his tfp version, g1 knockout still lives up to his name
He’s prone to fainting
A knockout in the more literal sense, he faints when he gets too excited. Fully collapses and everything. Since he’s a fall risk, his teammates take care to keep an eye on him.
Annnnd Yknow he probably should’ve been earlier in the list along with the “human-ish” issues but I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m bringing this list to a close
Im sure there are more characters that I didn’t mention but I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask
#transformers#maccadam#bumblebee#sunstreaker#sg soundwave#shadow striker#tfp ultra magnus#WFC shamble#broadside#trailbreaker#transmutate#xaaron#finback#perceptor#knockout#cybertronian biology#cybertronian culture#disabilties#long post#Cybertronian disability
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Can we get some more jealous Wednesday from you your writing is just so great! Maybe an angsty thing where Wednesday has a friends with benefits situation with reader and they get into an argument about it and reader avoids her for the next few days hanging out with another person and Wednesday watches this all go down and as days go by getting more jealous how touchy this person has been and she drags reader away up to her room and could you give it either a fluffy or smutty ending please? 👀
casual love
masterlist word count: 2332
any ‘wednesday’ fic i do will be set at ‘nevermore university’ so the minimum age of any character will be 18
wednesday addams x fem!reader
18+ : angst with a happy ending, smut; fingering, brief choking, heated kissing, jealousy, implied dom/sub, pretty soft smut tho
A secret, that’s what you were. Just a way to pass time in the privacy of her dark room, it didn’t mean anything to her and it didn’t to you to begin with. A casual relationship is what you both had agreed upon, no strings, no feelings, just a tryst. A way for you to blow off steam.
And it was great, it really was. Until you let your heart control you - but it happened all at once. You didn’t notice until it was too late, the way she kissed you felt different and any compliment she gave in passing made you bashful. What once was meaningless sex suddenly meant something to you; you had fallen for the painfully unattainable Wednesday Addams and she was none the wiser.
It was bittersweet. You’d often imagined your first love, how you’d get butterflies around them and their kiss would feel like fireworks, how their lips would taste oh so sweet and when you’d hug you’d never want to let go. But expectations only hurt you in the end.
The worst part of it all is that you were right, you had fallen down the rabbit hole of romantic cliches with flushing cheeks and an eager excitement at the knowledge of her company. You’d fix your appearance any time she’d knock on your dorm’s door and greet her with a smile, a swirling in your belly when she’d give you a smile in return.
It was all you’d imagined but it wasn’t real. Feeling this way was forbidden, as stated in the agreement the pair of you had made. So now each sweet kiss comes with a sour aftertaste and the sex leaves you feeling empty, clinging onto something you can never truly have. You think it’s better to have her like this than not at all, but how long can it last?
So you’re holding on to a hope that you know will crush you, the idea that she could feel the same. Lying beside her half naked in your bed after an evening of lust all you can do to stop the nauseating sadness is stare up at your ceiling. The way her arm brushes against yours gives you goosebumps and it’s enough to make you cry.
“Wednesday, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” The words came out before you had a chance to think them through. You couldn’t look at her, focusing instead on the lightbulbs dimly lit filament with your nails picking at a loose thread in the material of your t-shirt.
“Why not?”
You coughed to clear your throat, sadness beginning its change into anger at the way she seemed so unbothered. Any chance of quelling the simmering feelings was that hope you clung onto but you’d be a fool to entertain the idea of her loving you back.
“Because I broke our number one rule.” You sighed, wiping the tear that fell from the corner of your eye before it reached the pillow. You thought you heard her breath hitch and that glint of possibility flickered for a moment until all she said was ‘oh’. You kept quiet, you both did, with Wednesday leaning against the headboard and you feeling hot with embarrassment. With sadness. And anger.
“I suppose we should stop this, then.” She spoke, classically indifferent just as always. You’d usually find it endearing but right now all it does is heighten that bubbling fury. “I thought we’d agreed to keep feelings out of this-”
“Get out, Wednesday.” You interrupted through clenched teeth but she just looked at you, lips parting for just a second as though she was about to speak and when she didn’t words rose from your throat like acid. “I said. Get. Out.” You sat up to look at her, gesturing towards the door, watching as she noticed the pure anger over your face and the glazed over eyes, whites turning pink with held back tears.
You didn’t watch her as she left, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap with the tears spilling now, causing you to gasp out a sob with the aching in your chest.
–
Wednesday didn’t truly understand what she was feeling, feeling much at all was rather new to her so this strange hollow sensation doesn’t make sense. She wandered the hallways back to her own dorm with her eyes cast down, wondering why you had to spoil it.
She thought it had been going well, she wasn’t like her parents with how obsessed with all things romance they are, she didn’t need love. What she needed was something to pass the time, to satisfy the urges that she finds herself having. She would never fall in love.
Wednesday didn’t care, not at all, she didn’t return your feelings so what issue is it if you try to move on with somebody else? She doesn’t care when, the next day, you quite obviously avoid even glancing in her direction. Keeping your eyes so far away it was as though she was an eclipse.
It definitely didn’t bother her to see you spending more and more time with Bianca over the following few days, laughing in her company and allowing her hand to linger on your arm. Anyone would imagine themselves crushing the offending hand with a hammer and some brute force - it didn’t mean anything.
“Wednesday, go and talk to her.” Enid spoke with a nudge to her best friend’s arm. You were lingering in the hallway with Bianca and Yoko and Wednesday had barely taken her eyes off you. Enid saw the way she looked at you, longingly and in adoration, if only her best friend wasn’t so oblivious.
“Why would I do that?” She muttered in response, dragging her eyes away from where you laughed, leaning into Bianca’s side in a much too close fashion for Wednesday’s liking.
“Because you obviously care about her.”
“You’re delusional Enid, I think those nail polish fumes are getting to your brain.”
“And you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous, I just don’t see how she could’ve moved on so quickly.”
“I thought you weren’t an official thing?” Enid answered with a teasing smile, catching Wednesday in a little bit of her own logic.
“We weren’t. I’m not like my parents, Enid. I don’t fall in love, I don’t get butterflies in my stomach or whatever other nauseating concepts you all like to babble about. It wasn’t anything, it was just casual.”
“People who don’t have feelings for somebody usually don’t stare down anybody who so much as puts an arm around them. Whether you like it or not, Wednesday Addams, you have been bitten by the love bug.” She grinned, a perfect contrast to the scowl on Wednesday’s face.
“I can assure you no insect has bitten me, I’d rather enjoy such a thing.” She muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest in annoyance, a burning anger bubbling inside of her at the sight of your head leaning against Bianca’s arm as the three of you chatted.
“You laugh at the things she says-”
“I find her amusing.”
“You invited her to our dorm to watch movies.”
“We have the same taste.”
“You let her read your manuscripts.”
“She’s one of the only intelligent people around here.” Wednesday shrugged.
“You know her coffee order, you bought her her favourite book, you let her meet your parents, you-”
“Enid. You may be my best friend but I am not immune to the annoyance of your incessant rambling.” She interrupted her with a raise of her hand.
“My point is, you have feelings for her. And they’re definitely not negative ones.” Enid returned with a smirk. “And you’re definitely jealous.” She added in a whisper. She expected an arguing retaliation, a comment on her being stupid or ‘too wrapped up in trying to witness a real life rom com’ as Wednesday had once labelled it. But instead she was met with quiet, seeing Wednesday intently looking behind her with her jaw clenched dangerously tightly and her hands balled into fists.
She glanced over her shoulder to find you being pulled into a hug and turned back to the empty place that once held the body of her best friend.
Thick soled black shoes clicked against the wooden hallway floor as Wednesday walked past her, nearing where you stood, oblivious to her approaching form. You weren’t aware of her presence until she grabbed your arm, yanking you away from the group as they just watched in a stunned silence as she dragged you away without a single word.
“Wednesday, what the fuck are you doing?” You asked her as the way her fingers grasped at your upper arm were bound to leave a mark behind, and you knew how much she enjoyed that.
“I am sick of watching her put her hands all over you.” She hissed, dragging you through her door before slamming your back into it firmly with her hands on your waist.
“You lost any right to give a shit the moment you walked away.” You returned in an equally angered tone, trying to fight against her strong hold of you. A hand made its way around your throat at your attempt to move.
“You’re mine. Nobody else is allowed to touch you. Only me.”
“And why the hell should I do as you say?”
“Because I broke the rule too.” She rushed out, hovering her lips over yours. “It has been brought to my knowledge that I’m actually in love with you.” Her breath was warm against you and you closed the space between you with a push of your lips against hers, reunited with more passion than before.
It was an easy rhythm to fall back into after a few days apart, with her hands pushing beneath your shirt to feel your skin beneath her palms and yours pushing the jacket past her shoulders.
She stepped backwards with her hold still on your waist, locking eyes with you with a small smile tugging at her lips which you returned until you reached her bed. She guided you onto your back, climbing on top of you to straddle your waist as she pulled her shirt over her head, ridding you of yours shortly after.
Her lips kissed along your collarbone softer than they had before, teeth grazing your skin, licking tentatively across your neck with a bite and a suck to leave a mark behind. It was more tender than before but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to show who you belonged to,to let everyone see.
She reunited your lips once more, pushing her tongue past your lips along with slow and heated kisses. Your tongue flicked against hers only to be pushed with dominance whilst she smirked against you at the small whimper you let out. Everything about the kiss was intense, messy and palpable with little thought and precision, just two bodies moulded together in lust.
Her hips pushed into yours, mindless grinding against one another with desperate attempts to relieve the aching feeling between your thighs. The way she pulled at the button of your jeans just showed how truly hungry she was for you, slipping her hand past the waistband of your underwear with a teasing fingertip sliding through your folds,
“God, Wednesday, touch me. Please, I need you.” You murmured into her mouth, it was as though she was addicted to the feeling of your lips moving with hers the way she wouldn’t pull away. It was different than before, less transactional, not something for a quick relief but something neither of you wanted to end.
She groaned into your mouth at how you felt around her fingers when she pushed them into your pussy, revelling in the warmth she’d missed as she began a steady pace, curling them into you perfectly whilst her kisses never wavered.
It felt so good to be kissing you, letting herself feel everything she’d been trying to ignore. How she loves the flavour of your lip balm and how you play with the hairs at the nape of her neck when you hold her close. She let herself enjoy the way your teeth gently tug at her bottom lip and how you sound when you whimper into her mouth when her thumb rubs over your clit and how excited she gets when your hips buck in an attempt to chase your release because it lets her know just how good she makes you feel.
She let herself feel, finally letting herself experience what is an act of love between two people and no longer just a casual fling - a quick fuck with a focus on pleasure before parting ways.
Wednesday could feel you getting close, soaking her fingers while your hips matched the rhythm of her pushes into you and your nails dug into the skin of her back leaving crescent shapes behind.
“I want to see you fall apart for me.” She spoke through her heavy breaths, breaking away from the kiss to look down at you and your parted swollen lips. Her cheeks were tinted pink and her eyes were even darker than their regular shade. Her hair was slightly ruffled from your hand and she looked at you with pure lust. The sight along with the fingers fucking into you was enough to bring you over the edge, clenching around her digits with a moan of pleasure and an arching of your back off of the bed.
She watched you intently as you came down from your orgasm whilst she pushed her fingers past her lips, sucking your juices from her skin appreciatively until they were licked clean.
“Fuck, I love you, Wednesday Addams.” You breathed.
She greeted you with a rare large smile, immediately grabbing your face between her hands and smiling into the kiss she pressed to your lips. She loved you too and she’d spend the rest of the day showing you just how much.
#wednesday addams x female reader#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams#wednesday fanfic#wednesday addams x reader smut#wednesday addams smut#wednesday x reader#wednesday x reader smut#wednesday smut#wednesday imagine#wednesday x female reader#wednesday x y/n#wednesday#wednesday netflix
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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Two
A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic
Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?
Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader
Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, alcohol
Chapter summary: Y/N tries to get her life together but finding a job proves to be difficult. So difficult that when Jake catches her in a weak spot at the Hard Deck the two reconnect behind closed doors; Y/N gets a massive surprise that threatens to change everything
Masterlist here; previous chapter here
You were late.
Which was abnormal, because the only thing that was timely about you was the fact that you got your period on the same day every single month. It was the one thing you could count on in a world that was constantly in flux.
This time, you were late. Three weeks late, to be exact.
One Week Before
You weren’t sure what you had expected when you booked your flight to San Diego. The last time you and Bob had lived together you were just kids. Back then it had been fighting over the remote and who ate the last frozen waffle.
Bob had always been quiet. Collected. He blended in with the background of things. Whereas you had preferred to be the center of attention, Bob was the wallflower. He carried your plastic pumpkin behind you while trick-or-treating and he was the one to help make scrapbooks for your high school graduation, taking a special weekend leave from the academy just for that.
So it was surprising that almost every moment of Bob’s time was filled. If he wasn’t at North Island training, he was on a smaller mission, gone for a day or two at a time. Whenever he wasn’t flying, he was hanging out with the rest of the daggers. You often woke up and wandered out into the living room to find Bradley sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal, wearing the same clothes as the night before, smiling sheepishly about how he had crashed on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” Bob said, his voice echoing on the phone as you filled a mug with coffee in the kitchen. “I won’t be home until late.”
“You know when I moved here I thought we’d get to spend some time together,” you said. “Instead, I hear from you even less than when I was back home with mom.”
“I’m sorry about that.” You could hear the jet engines roaring in the background. “This weekend. I promise, we can do something fun. The zoo?”
You laughed. “I’m not five anymore, Bobby. You don’t have to plan a fun playdate for me. I just want to spend some quality time together.”
“We will, I promise.” There was a pause. “Ducky, I gotta run, OK. I’ll see you when I get home.” The line went dead. You sighed, picking up your cup of coffee and walking into the living room. You needed to get a job. Pulling up your computer, you flicked over to the LinkedIn tab that was open. Back in Chattanooga, you had spent the year after college aimless. Bartending at night. Taking some classes and studying for the GMAT as you toyed with the idea of business school. But you weren’t really sure what you wanted to do.
You still weren’t sure. That was the part that you had kept from Bob. He was the kind of person who needed a plan. An itinerary. He looked at menus before he even stepped foot in a restaurant. He refused to go somewhere if he didn’t know what the parking situation was. He was by the book. You were anything but.
It was time you grew up a little.
***
By the time Bob got home, the sound of the front door crashing open, you were in bed. Opening one eye, and then another, you waited for the soft footsteps of Bob entering the house. Instead, you heard a gaggle of voices, loud shushes and uncontrolled whispers.
Cracking open the door, you peered down the hallway to where the light was on in the living room. “Bobby?” you called out, stepping onto the carpeted hallway.
“Duck?” It was a slurred whisper. You frowned, rounding the corner into the living room to see Jake supporting Bob as he lowered him down onto the couch.
You rushed over, eyes wide, not even realizing that the hem of your long shirt rode up as you kneeled down in front of the couch where Bob was laid horizontal, one arm hanging off and dragging on the cream carpet. You looked up at Jake accusatorial. “You got him drunk?”
“It was Phoenix,” Jake said, hands in the air. “I swear. I’m just the DD.”
You shook your head. “I’m getting him some water.” Bob started to sit up and you put one hand on his shoulder, shoving him down against the cushion. “Lie down.”
“Bossy,” he groaned, fluttering his eyes closed.
In the kitchen, you ran the tap, seething. Of course Jake had gotten Bob drunk. You barely knew him, but this just proved that you knew enough. His cockiness at the bar that first night had been charming. But you knew from your experience with men that cockiness never aged well.
Jake entered the kitchen, one hand pressed against the doorframe. “Y/N.”
You shook your head, pouring a glass of water. “You can leave.”
“What if I came here to see you?”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
Jake inched closer. “Maybe I thought what we had the other night was pretty great.”
“Weren’t you listening?” you asked, setting the cup down on the counter. “That’s never happening again. In fact, we promised to pretend it never happened. So in my mind, we met for the first time that day at the coffee shop when Bob invited me to meet his friends. That’s the story, Jake. Nothing else.”
“You really think it’ll never happen again?”
Jake was close, the warmth of his body practically heating you through your skin. You had to push away the memory of how his hands felt along your waist, in your hair, his lips on your throat. He was just a guy. There were plenty of other men you could sleep with or date who weren’t part of your brother’s friend group. You owed it to Bob not to get in the way any more than you already had.
Even if Jake was standing in the kitchen looking at you like he wanted to consume you. Even if you felt your legs trembling at the thought of his tongue roaming over your core like it had that night.
You straightened up and looked directly into Jake’s eyes, willing yourself to be difficult. Hard. “I don’t think so,” you whispered. “I know. Now if you don’t mind. I want to get this to Bobby before he pukes on the carpet like a cat.”
You pushed past Jake, heart beating rapidly. A minute later, as you knelt down next to the couch, you heard the gentle clang of the door shutting closed, followed by a car engine roaring to life outside.
Bob was asleep on the couch, glasses askew. You removed them, setting them on the nearby table along with the glass of water. Without thinking, you made your way to the window, peering out from behind the curtains.
Jake was sitting in his truck in the driveway, lights on, but not moving. You pulled the drapes closed, shutting him out.
***
You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel of Bob’s truck and groaned. This was your third interview that you had bombed in as many days. The first had been for a store manager of a women’s boutique on First Ave. The second had been for a barista job and the third for a bartending position on North Island. Bob had been pissed about that third one, but you needed money.
“You have a degree,” Bob argued as you folded a pile of laundry on the floor of the living room. “From a good university. Put it to use, Y/N.”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” you asked, exasperated. “Nobody wants a fucking history major. It’s not like I’m going to go work for a Big Four or some land developer. These are the kinds of jobs that will hire me.”
“You’re better than all of those,” Bob huffed, standing up and shaking his head. “I’ll find you something.”
“You’re not responsible for me, Bobby,” you argued. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you?”
His words clung in the air. Heavy, like fat raindrops. Those two words sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, out of your lungs. Just a black hole and you were falling. That’s all you seemed to do lately. Fall. Fail. Flail.
And Bob knew it.
***
“So you’re from Tennessee?” The guy you were talking to stepped in closer, one hand on the wooden bar behind you, practically boxing you in. But he was cute and when he smiled you felt like he was talking to only you.
You nodded. “Moved here last month.”
“So what do you do?”
You hesitated. There was movement on your periphery and then Bob appeared on your right, face hard behind his wire frames. He took one look at Keith, the guy who had bought your last drink, and his lips practically disappeared into his face as they squeezed into such a tight line. “Fuck off,” Bob growled. Keith looked up, terrified. He spotted Bob’s uniform immediately.
“Lieutenant Floyd,” Keith said, straightening.
Bob stepped in closer. He wasn’t as tall as Bradley, or as built as Jake, but he carried a quiet presence that filled a room. It had run off more than one high school boyfriend. Keith looked like the next victim. “Leave,” Bob said and Keith grabbed his beer, scurrying away with nothing more than a grimace.
You turned your gaze, hot, on Bob. “Seriously?”
“A fucking ensign?” Bob asked. “No way. I didn’t bring you here so you could let some random Navy guy in your pants.”
“You didn’t even want to bring me here!” you argued. Bob turned ashen. “I’m only here because you feel bad for me. Poor little Y/N. Has no life, no job, no aspirations. I’m your pathetic little sister. That’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it?”
“Ducky,” he said, face growing softer. “That’s not true.”
“What if it is?” you whispered, pushing yourself up and off of the bar.
“Duck.” Bob’s hand shot out and you flung him off, eyes wide.
Weaving around the bodies that crowded the bar, you skirted the edge of the room, headed for the bathroom. Inside, you put both hands on the sink, letting your head hang low. Just as the tears started to flow, the door opened and you spun around in shock. “Oh!”
Jake stood in the doorway to the single bathroom. “Shit, sorry, the door wasn’t locked.”
“It’s fine.” You turned back around, expecting him to leave.
Instead, you heard the door shut softly, footsteps as Jake stepped near. “Are you OK?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re crying in a dirty bar bathroom.”
You wheeled around. Before you could think, you flung your arms around Jake’s neck, pulling him in close, smashing your lips against his, tasting the beer on his tongue as he walked you back until your hips hit the sink basin, his fingertips tight along your sides. You gasped into his mouth, feeling his lips close around yours, the heat of his hips drilling you back against the counter, his massive muscular arms winding around you, holding you close, the pine scent of his cologne filling your nose as one of his hands threaded into the hair at the back of your head.
Finally, you pulled back, lips puffy and wet, Jake’s green eyes wide, his mouth pink from kissing. His eyes roamed over your face before he stepped back, his hands falling from your waist.
“Shit,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, you definitely should have done that.” Jake grinned.
“I have to go,” you murmured, grabbing your purse, trying to skirt around him.
Jake’s hand reached out, stopping you. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s OK.”
You turned to look at him, eyes filling back with tears. “Nothing is OK,” you replied quietly, one hand on the door, yanking it open. “In case you didn’t realize, Jake, I’m a mess.”
You scrambled out the door and back into the boisterous bar before Jake could say anything else.
***
“Ducky?” Bob’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door was soft. He must have been in the kitchen or living room. “I’m leaving!”
“OK!” you called back, voice too sharp.
There was a pause. And then, “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah!”
The sound of the front door closing rang out and you sank to the ground, cold tile pressed against your bare feet and the backs of your legs. You could feel your heartbeat thundering in your chest.
You looked down at the pregnancy test grasped between your clammy fingers.
And the pink plus sign staring back at you.
Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:
@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away
#jake hangman fic#top gun fanfiction#jake seresin#top gun imagine#bob floyd fanfiction#jake hangman x you#hangman fanfiction#jake hangman imagine#bob floyd x female reader#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x y/n#bob floyd x reader#jake seresin x y/n#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x reader#pregnancy#pregnancy fic#unexpected pregnancy#sister reader#natasha phoenix trace#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#glen powell
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Someone had the audacity to say Katniss had no character development?!??
“My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”
Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now.
“Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says.”
Like my girl goes from being awkward and uncomfortable about a mere comment to flirting back with him.
“Do you think we’d have ended up like this if only one of us
had won?” he asks, glancing around at the other victors. “Just
another part of the freak show?”
“Sure. Especially you,” I say.
“Oh. And why especially me?” he says with a smile.
“Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don’t,” I say with an air of superiority.
“They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you’d be lost entirely.”
“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness," Peeta points out, "Except perhaps when it comes to you.”
I mean like look at her initiating?!!!???
Oh and let's not forget her ultimate line.
"I do", I say. "I need you." He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss.
I think people really need to redefine what character development means. Because the core of someone's personality doesn't change all that much, Katniss at the end of the day is still stubborn and impulsive. If you changed everything about a character you might as well be writing someone else, staying true to certain traits your character has is realistic writing. Because as humans certain attributes never really change, we only learn to make exceptions or adapt for certain people or situations.
And that is what happens to Katniss, she leans to stop being stubborn and accept Peeta's love but only for him. In other aspects she continues to be stiff, such as never taking order from authorities, trying run from her squad. All impulsive and stubborn acts, true to her original character.
#I do#omg “I do” sounds like a wedding vow#my babies pretty much got married in CF#everlark#katniss and peeta#peeta mellark#katniss everdeen#katniss x peeta#the hunger games#my babies
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Lucy Bronze
Mi Casa Es Su Casa
Warnings: Implied homophobia, FLUFF, none?
Lucy shows a level of affection that she has been holding back on for a while
_
“You ready?” I give Lucy a light tipped smile as she does the zipper up on her coat.
“Mhm” She nods, picking up the leash as my family dog Bessie follows her out of our home.
Lucy had been staying with my family for the past few days. It was the first time in a good while that we had been able to spend some quality time together. Despite having been together for over a year, the time we spent together in person was always hindered by however many days Lucy had away from training, which wasn’t as many as we liked, so we’d soak up as much time together when we could - for however long we could.
My family adored Lucy. My parents treated her like their own as soon as she stepped foot in our home for the first time, just as Lucy’s family did with me, and it was such a breath of fresh air knowing that our families adored us just the same. Being completely openly affectionate in front of them, though - was something Lucy struggled with - having been in past relationships in which her partners family were not okay with their daughter dating another girl.
-
Winter had hit with a vengeance, the misty air making the end of the walkways almost indecipherable. It was safe to say the pair of us were freezing.
I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth as we walk along the frosted path of the woodland park, Lucy’s hand intertwines with mine.
“I think I’m gonna help your mum prepare the roast when we get back” She states, her thumb brushing delicately over mine.
“Yeah?” I grin behind my scarf.
“M-yeah.” She nods. “Gotta show her I care, right?” She chuckles.
I giggle at the gesture, giving her hand a small squeeze as we continue on our walk.
Bessie trotted beside Lucy, still attached to her leash, while she sniffed around in the leaves.
“Alsooo-” Lucy drags out, stopping us in her tracks as she very carefully pulls me towards her.
“What?” I giggle as my hand glides effortlessly around my girlfriends waist.
Lucy pulls down my scarf as she leans down ever so slightly, placing her lips delicately against mine.
“I feel like I haven’t actually given you a proper kiss since being home” She breathes out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
In that moment - I realised that although Lucy had been staying with us for just under a week, we hadn’t really shown each other that much affection away from my closed bedroom door. I hadn’t really thought about it, because I respected Lucy’s wishes of taking things slow while family were around, it’s something she was wary about and for valid reasons. With the both of us being one of, if not, the only members of our families that considered ourselves to be part of the lgbtq+ community, it was always going to be complex to navigate, even if our families didn’t care. Having people pretend that they don’t mind, but then bringing it up in unnecessary situations was something the both of us had had to deal with in the past. It was just something that played on her mind quite a bit, and that was completely okay.
“Home?” I tilt my head, admiring how the faint white hue of the crisp air made her eyes look all the more greener. I was in absolute awe of her.
“My home is your home” She tilts her head to mimic me.
“Mi casa es su casa” I state, before her lips once again, press against mine.
The kiss was deeper, all the more meaningful, as she brings my chin closer with her thumb and finger, before her hand slips behind my neck.
Her head tilts slightly as I feel her tongue brush against my lower lip, a small giggle leaving my mouth as I feel her grin against me. The brisk air against my face was very quickly masked by Lucy’s lips, as well as her embrace. Not only did she make me warm on the outside, but so warm inside without even realising.
I open my mouth just a little wider, allowing Lucy to deepen the kiss, our tongues slowly brushing against each other in passion and unison.
This kiss meant more to us than any other. It was soft, slow, and it felt like we were the only two people in the entire world.
That was until I felt Lucy jolt against me.
“M- what the fuck” She gasps as her lips leave mine.
Bessie jumps up at Lucy repeatedly, her muddy paws leaving almost perfect prints on her grey joggers.
Lucy cackles, giving me a short peck on the lips.
“Okay Bessie!” She laughs at my extra impatient dog. “Come on!” She grins as she begins to be dragged along by Bessie, her hand latching on to mine as we are unwilling lead away from our intimate situation.
“Wait.” Lucy turns to me. “One more” She pleads, giving me a soft peck on the lips.
“One more” She kisses me again, chuckling as Bessie drags her further and further away from me.
“Wait!” She pouts, attempting to give me one last peck before reluctantly continuing to walk.
“She’s a jealous lady, aren’t you Bess!” I laugh as I watch Bessie pull Lucy along the crystallised path.
“She doesn’t like her mama showing affection to others, she’s the one you have to watch out for!” I snort.
Lucy flashes me a playful eye roll.
“Mama? Sounds good” Lucy glances at me, a soft smile sweeping across her face before her eyes avert down to her feet.
The thought of - one day - having children with Lucy made my heart burst, and I could tell by the way that Lucy looked at me in that moment, that that was what was going through her mind.
“One day, Lucia” I give her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.
“One day” She nods.
#lucy bronze#woso x reader#woso#lionesses#reader x lucy bronze#england#lucy bronze smut#lucy bronze x reader#reader x woso
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A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.
The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.
“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”
Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”
Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.
Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”
Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.
“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.
In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.
But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.
In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”
Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.
“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.
After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.
In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”
Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.
And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.
The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.
Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it’s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”
This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.
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