#heard this one was a reverse trap
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A quick Rika, she seems cool!
(BTW commissions are open)
#pokemon spoilers#scarvio spoilers#pokémon scarvio#pokemon scarvi#heard this one was a reverse trap#good stuff#still don't have a switch tho#Maybe I'll draw Eri or Ryme later#rika pokemon#pokemon scarlet and violet#comms open#commissions open#tomboy
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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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Can u write top suguru x househusband (wifey) male reader
as you wish!
| house husband | v.2
modern au | bottom!househusband!reader x top!teacher!suguru
a reversed roles fic based on my previous house husband writing
summary- suguru has had a frustratingly difficult day day. coming home to his precious house husband is just what he needed to relieve his stress.
cw- amab!reader, dubcon, petname ‘angel’, consensual groping, praise, body worship if you squint, gentle sex, missionary, marking, unprotected sex, soft suguru
not proofread, a bit rushed
wc: 1.2k
you’ve been at home all day, cleaning for the umpteenth time that day. you always kept the house pretty spotless and having no day job left you pretty unoccupied unless you made plans with friends, or went shopping. your real highlight of the say, however, was your husband coming home from work. he worked as a full-time teacher, but the school was one of the biggest in the area, so he made enough to be the breadwinner. today was not his day. he unlocked the door and stepped inside like he had been wishing to do since school started. he took off his lanyard, his shoes, and let out a big sigh, and flopping onto the couch before you could greet him. you heard him from the bedroom and made your way over to him. you say next to his head on the couch and started brushing your fingers through his hair. “how was your day, suguru?” you ask him. he looked a lot more exhausted than usual, so you were pretty attentive about it. he let out a long deep breath through his nose before responding. “those students of mine were really testing my patience today. it gets so frustrating.” he said, clearly angry but his soft spoken voice somehow tuned that feeling out. he scooted his body up for his head to rest on your lap, taking in your gentle aura. he sat up after a while and pulled you to straddle him. “missed you, angel…” he mumbled into your chest as he held you. you found it so sweet when he used that nickname you. you continued rubbing his back as you allowed large his hands so graze over your clothing. he basked in your scent. his hands roaming along your figure on top of him. he tilted his head up to look at you where he met your eyes already looking at him. you leaned your neck down so you could kiss him, tender as ever. he loved touching your body, any part of it he could get his hands on he admired. you sat on your knees to adjust yourself better, “accidentally” grinding against his tight slacks. what can you say, you missed him all day. his breath hitched and his eyes shot up at you. “what are you doing, y/n?” he questioned, a little flustered. “ ‘m sorry suguru, i missed you a lot today…” you answered him, your cheeks heating up at the confession. you hugged him closer, feeling his hands roaming around your ass. you jumped at the feeling, watching as a sly grin formed in his face.
one of his hand sneaked around to both your fronts, reaching palm you through your underwear you had been to lazy to change out of. your breathing got heavy. you could feel against your inner thigh his cock slowly began to strain in his pants. he grunted quietly every time your body shifted on top of his. he pulled your cock out of your underwear, sending a shiver down your spine. he rubbed his finger over the top, collecting any seeping pre. you moved yourself off of him so you could take your bottoms off completely. he does the same, undoing his slacks and slipping them off of his waist. he wasted no time indulging in you, climbing over your body on the couch, trapping you underneath him, your legs on either side of his. he caught your lips for a messy french kiss. he held your face with one hand and your waist with the other. you could feel the heat radiating off his throbbing cock against yours. “put it in, please…” you begged. “without any preparation? are you that desperate?” he said, teasingly. “i don’t care if it hurts… i just need you…” you whines, wrapping your arms around his neck. he felt his heart flutter, honestly. knowing you were craving him so intensely. he did as you wished however, jerking himself a few times so he could have some for, of lubricant if not his saliva. you were so tight. he took longer to push himself inside of you because of that. he hissed, the squeeze of your hole made it so much more heated for him. you dug your nails in his shoulders, the feeling of him stretching you out stung, but it’s what you begged for. you felt your eyes glass over, letting out a string of whines. you heard his grunts as he bottomed out, he would take as long as he needed no matter how frustrated he was, he could never risk hurting you. he hooked your legs around his arms, letting them rest on the nook of his elbows. he planted his hand on the couch next the sides where your upper back met the cushion. making your hips raise up further. “are you ready, angel?” he asked you, looking up at you, seeing the lewd expression painted on your face. “mhm” you answer. you could feel every ridge of his length inside of you. he started to thrust, not taking long until he rammed against the most sensitive spot inside of you. the curve of his cock always seeming to find its way. your lips parted, moans and quiet cries of his name spilling out. he lowered his head to place kisses along the side of your neck, nipping the soft skin, marking you on your tender flesh.
your whined his name whenever his pace changed, going slow at some moments, speeding himself up the next. his long started to fall down into his face from the quick motions. he looked so beautiful with his hair in his way like this. you heard how quiet, but noticeable, moans were released from him. every now and then hearing a, “god..” “you’re so tight, angel…” nothing could get past you. your sensitive cock already leaking cum from the tip everytime your body shook from his thrusts. his hips started to grind against you, your body jolted, the head of his cock continuously hitting your spot. you gripped onto him tighter, moaning his name. your walls convulsed around his shaft, making him groan, sinking his head down. he grinded into you deeper as you came against both your and his abdomen. your body shook underneath him, following right behind you was his release. you felt himself slowly try to pull out but failing, as he was already shooting his cum inside of you. he watch his release seep from you. he sat back on his knees, catching both of your breaths. you moved the hair stuck to your forehead out of the way, struggling to sit up. “ah, im sorry, angel. let me help you to get cleaned up.” he said, comforting you. you nodded, taking his hand as he picked you up bridal style, smiling at you, taking the both of you to the bathroom, where he started a warm bath for the both of you to share. needless to say, he was a renewed man at school the next day.
————————————————————————
thank you for your request! ~ shius
| written by shius, please do not steal or repost my work without permission! |
#jujutsu kaisen#geto x male reader#suguru x male reader#suguru geto smut#jjk x male reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#geto smut#suguru smut#getou suguru x reader
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When is the next part of Eleven to One: Hate You Lots coming? I am dying to see Chaewon become the next cum slut.
Eleven to One: What's to Hate?
Male Reader x Ahn Yujin, Kim Minju, Kim Chaewon
Length: 4294 words
Tags: Daddy kink, nudist kink, submission, teasing, teaser, trap, making out, passionate kissing, being watched, girl on girl kissing, girl on girl action, fingering, loss of voice, loss of mind, breeding kink, hate sex, choking, riding, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, emotional manipulation, degradation, emotional hurt, everything is fucked up af, doggy, breeding doggy, self-restraint, female orgasm, creampie, good_girls!Minju and Yujin / broken!Chaewon (?)
TW: degradation, hate sex, emotional manipulation, the story is already very fucked up, what are you still doing here lmao?
Credit: @sooyadelicacies for being my co-writer!
(A/N: Finally, another part to this... series. I don't even know how to describe it, but we'll go down a spiral and completely out of control lol. Here is the previous part btw, here is the rest of the series)
"Daddy, I found a letter in the mail."
Yujin's nude body slides through a small gap in your office door. Oh, what a life you're living. All your insane previous work hours reduced to two six hour shifts in your own apartments. Hyewon prepares, executes and delegates everything, you only need to check and sign. She is great and makes you millions in mere weeks.
"Thank you, Yujin. Put it on the pile with the others, right there." You point at a corner of your desk, but Yujin hesitates.
"I think this one is... special," she says and shows you the large envelope. "Look at this playful Emoji on it. Something seems to also bulge it, definitely not paper; something round I think."
"The Emoji looks more like a smiley, don't you think?" you ask, looking past the white, definitely filled envelope to your smocking hot girlfriend. She shrugs her shoulders, you almost believe her.
"Chaewon?"
"She'd never put a smiley on there for you!"
"Maybe she is mocking me?"
"Oh, Daddy," Yujin chuckles. "Just read it after work. I have to head out now, dance practice."
"Sure, but can I ask you a favor?"
Yujin turns around again and smirks. Her amazing thighs jiggle when she steps a bit closer again. You could ravage her every single fucking seconds of your life, if only that was a possibility.
"Yes, of course, Daddy~"
"Try to get both Chaewon and Minju here at 9pm—scratch that, 8pm. I want them both freshly exhausted."
Yujin ponders for a second, playing with her long hair, before leaning in close to your ear, her heat radiating straight to your face.
"Hm, I think I can arrange that."
#
“Hello? Yujin? I'm here."
Chaewon's loud voice comes from the front door of your apartment. It might still be enough to fill the vast confines of each room, but you can hear it slowly dwindle from hours and hours of vocal and dance practice. Surely she won't be able to keep this volume up for long.
"Should I call her?" Yujin whispers in your ear, obediently sitting on your thigh.
"Let her look for you. Where is Minju?" you ask and take a look at your watch. 7:58. Interesting. Minju not being early isn't a surprise, but Chaewon being here before the time? She must have hurried.
"I told her to be here, 8pm flat," Yujin murmurs and fiddles with the collar of your shirt. You grab her wrists and look at her somewhat intensely.
"Try calling her. Hurry."
"Yujin! Where are you?" Chaewon calls again, then her voice cracks. "I don't want to play these games, not with this pig around—"
"What pig?" you shout back, making even Yujin shudder as she rushes towards your office to hide and look for a phone. "I do not allow such animals in this house."
You could practically hear Chaewon's face morph into a scowl at your voice.
"You heard me! You're a pig. I am only doing this because Yujin invited me over!"
"Well then, come on in!" you sarcastically laugh back, making sure to be louder than her, to urge her not only to walk further into the trap, but also to raise her voice at you.
“Fuck you," Chaewon hisses and enters the living room. In the flickering light of your fireplace you see her hatred filled eyes stare at you. God, she tries so hard to kill you with just that look, but it's all futile.
The white dress makes her look like an angel, a sweaty angel that has the fabric stuck to her small body. Her hair is a mess, her faint makeup is a mess, now her voice is a mess mess mess.
"Fuck you, where, where is she?"
"Oh," you mock her with a pout and reach for a glass of wine on a side table. "Your voice... you should drink something, hm?"
Suddenly, Yujin bursts into the room. Chaewon's features turn from gloomy to delighted, but just as quickly she just looks lost and, judging by the light pink hue on her round cheeks, horny.
"She'll be here in a minute, Daddy," Yujin purrs and grabs the glass from your fingers. "Hi, Chaewon. Nice to see you~"
“Minju is a part of this too?" Chaewon asks.
You ignore her and continue on.
"I must admit, you do look quite stunning in that outfit. It's a pretty dress."
"I'm not here for you to gawk at."
"Hmm. No, I think it's quite the opposite."
You turn your attention back to Yujin and motion for her to sit back on your lap and give you a sultry searing kiss. As she does, you fixate your eyes for one second on Chaewon. Oh, she is gawking. She is so focused on it, the way Yujin's bountiful curves melt into you, how willingly she becomes your good little baby girl, to be played with. You can hear her gulp and the revealing dress becoming too warm.
"Daddy, your tongue," Yujin quietly moans, trying to get more from you, but your ears have already picked it up: the arrival of Minju, hectic and clumsy as per usual. The front door crashes open, it hits the wall and almost comes back to haunt the poor girl.
"I-I'm here—Chaewon-unnie!?"
"Minmin, look at who I personally invited over,” you boast from your couch and take a final sip of wine. “You're right on time, but try to be early in the future."
"Yes, Daddy! Oh, I want to kiss you too, Daddy..." Minju says with longing, seeing Yujin on your lap.
“No, Minju, don't," Chaewon barely crooks out past her dry lips, her gentle red lipstick almost peeling off of it. She uses the remnants of her energy to put both a foot and an arm in the large door frame, but it won't be enough. Her blockade is too small, Minju could still get past it.
In desperation, Chaewon resorts to other means. She grabs her taller friend and with a knee between her legs pins her against the door frame. Minju yelps, her own hands trying to avert the attack.
"Please don't go to him! Stay here, stay w-with m-m-me..."
Endearing, it makes you feel like the heartless animal Chaewon probably envisions you being. A pig, greedy for only the most beautiful, submissive, willing girls, never stopping. No, Yujin isn't enough, perfection isn't enough. You need Minju, on you—but there is something even more fun right now.
"On second thought," you say in the general direction of the two, Yujin's saliva still fresh on your tongue, her soft fingers on your cheekbones. "Don't kiss me, Minju. Go kiss her. Kiss her now, right on the lips."
"Wha—" Chaewon stops to breathe.
"O-okay, Daddy."
Suddenly, the roles are reversed. The hands that pressed, the knee that pinned, the eyes that begged; the dynamic falters. Chaewon, only wanting Minju to look at her, can't bear the adorable, loving features coming closer, the puckered lips, oh they look so soft…
"Minmin, time to put your training to use. Make Chaewon feel good," you say gently as Yujin keeps kissing your neck. You watch the show unfold before you.
First a peck. Simple, disarming. Chaewon's weak arms bend more and more, she can't keep her friend away. Of course she wants this, but you cannot be the one in control of it. Feel adrenaline rush through your body as Chaewon caves in, nothing compared to Minju's unstoppable approach.
Secondly, the tongue. Minju's prise open her Unnie's lips and you hear, see, even feel her squirm and willingly lose the battle when Minju wraps her arms around her waist. Chaewon becomes one with the doorframe, seemingly one with Minju when their legs brush and tongues twirl like greedy tornados. Chaewon even follows Minju, when she backs off a bit and disconnects their lips—just to adjust her hair, smile brightly with her huge blush and dive back in.
You turn to Yujin in disbelief.
"How—since when is she so good? Our little Minmin..."
"We trained her well, I guess~" Yujin smiles lewdly, another torrent of sloppy kisses.
"You lewd slut. Get me out of these clothes."
"Of course, Daddy."
"Also..."
"Yes, Daddy?"
"You're still the best kisser, Yujin."
She smiles from ear to ear, her hand already popping open your buttons and belt.
"Thank you."
You allow Minju to keep pleasuring a little longer Chaewon, to bring the elder to the brink of bliss. Like the test ride of a new sports car, Chaewon gets to feel every extraordinary, expensive curve and benefit of what she can never have. Not when you’re still pulling the strings.
"Minju, you're such a good kisser," Chaewon says softly.
"Daddy's been teaching me well and—"
"That's enough Minmin,” you call her and consequently bring Chaewon down from cloud nine. “Come here."
Minju merely nods and without a care in the world, she moves over to you as you plant a sloppy kiss on her lips. Chaewon’s hands tremble as if she’s feeling the withdrawal of a drug.
"Daddy, did I do well?" Minju gleefully asks.
"Yes you did, baby girl."
"What the hell?" Chaewon's eyes glaring daggers.
"Oh. Did you think Minju was into you? That she was enjoying it? Why don't you tell Chaewon the truth." You command Minju.
"Unnie, I," Minju hesitates, her stammer only interrupted by Yujin slurping on your cock and drowning it in her drool. "I like you but... you are not a g-good kisser. I liked yo-your fingers but Daddy and Yujin are—"
"No! They are using you!"
Chaewon has lost her voice, tears spark in her orbs as she reaches for her throat. She wants to shout at you, scream her love back at Minju, but it hurts. It's not coming out.
"Minju," you groan, your voice teasing. "Why are you still wearing clothes?"
"Oh, sorry Daddy. I'll lose them asap."
"Very good. And then you can get your prize."
In the flash of an eye, Minju is naked, her clothes spread all over a tearful Chaewon and a cockhungry Yujin, who you quickly guide next to you on the couch.
"I give you a choice," you tell your girlfriend. "You can masturbate while watching us or you can try to keep your hands off your body and then I'll fuck you the whole night. Your call."
Yujin's eyebrows furrow. It's rare for her to not touch herself when naked on any occasion, but around you and her hot former bandmates and all the sex that's about to happen, it is close to impossible.
You don't think about her for another second. Minju finds her way on your lap, your stiff, lubed up rod in her always curious hands. Grab her by the waist and spin her around so she faces Chaewon. A disappointed moan.
"But I can't kiss Daddy like this."
"Just turn your head to the side, Minmin. I can kiss you from every angle. Now spread your legs and show her how I fuck y—"
"No, I don't—"
You interrupt Chaewon by spitting at her pathetic figure kneeling on the ground. Her nerves must have been broken; confusion, anger and never before felt horniness all wrestle for control in her delicate body while she can barely speak.
"You know what you need to do," you growl and push your cock upwards into Minju who desperately searches for your lips as groans escape her own. "But just watch, I guess."
You begin to pump into Minju and kiss her with pure lust and dominance. Her entire being submits to you, becomes obedient and willing to take your cock faster, harder, deeper—you know the drill and so does she. Minju’s lips have an addictive taste, it might stem from Chaewon, whose sweet loss you can (metaphorically, of course) nibble from her friend.
"Minmin, you know Chaewon loves you right? Like loooves you? How do you feel about that? Do you think you can ever love her back the same way?"
"Yujin… make him stop..." Chaewon all but cries out.
Yujin however is in her own world. Her struggle is real, no matter how deep she digs her nails into the couch, they try to sneak back and touch her needy spots. The three aroused nubs, her clenching pussy, hell, her entire body has become an erogenous zone at this point. She reaches for some of Minju's clothes to maybe tie herself up, but all she finds are panties, stained with love juice and perfectly smelly.
Chaewon looks back at you as you ravage her friend. Your thrusts go harder, your grip on Minju's hips and tits gets tighter, your tongue licks faster—has it always been this close? Chaewon wonders, her eyelids flickering.
His cock is... right there. Oh God, she is taking it so well, Minju's pussy looks so good, so stretched... and her midriff is so smooth.
"I-I," Minju's screams get Chaewon out of her dream. "I loved Unnie! Her fingers, her lips, but... she has not been th-there for mee—
"Ah, Daddy, I'm cumming!"
In the midst of her climax, you pinch Minju's nipples and bite her ear. Your cock stretching her to the max, you ask:
"What do you love? Say it!"
"Daddy's cock! Daddy's cock is the best."
"I'll do it." Chaewon unzips her dress, face pale and blank, voice fragile and pleading. "I'll fuck you. Please."
"And then?" you respond, a babbling Minju unceremoniously dropped onto a still restraining Yujin, who shrieks at the touch of hot skin, sweat and saliva on her own scorching body.
"I—what more do you want?" Chaewon asks shakily.
"You don't get it do you? I don't care if you fuck me or not. I don't need you. No. I want you to beg for it. I want you to realize whose fucking house you're in right now. Your Yujin is mine. And your Minju? She won't ever love you unless I give her permission. So first, you're going to apologize to me. You're going to get on the floor and beg me for forgiveness and then you're going to beg for my perfect fucking cock, Kim Chae-won."
Chaewon, struck by lightning, hesitates to respond. Whatever sentence her brain is scrambling to create, it's not a worthwhile response. In fact, nothing is. She is a puddle, absolutely destroyed by your authority, her every weakness now used against her.
All that can work now is taking action. Fighting back, literally.
In a single motion, Chaewon rises from the ground and the ashes of her dignity like a phoenix, digs her fingers into your jaw and pounces on your lap. There is a new fire in her eyes, blue flames of frustrated rage that show that she is indeed no celestial, but a woman filled with vengeance.
Panties pulled to the side, she guides your cock behind the curtains of her short dress and like a magician makes it disappear in her tight entrance. Feel that she is a lot wetter than last time right from the get go; her pain resistance due to your size seems to have risen as well.
What can you do in the face of this power, this unbridled will, her hips that smash down on you with the force of a falling anvil, the pointy ends of her nails in the skin of your cheeks, piercing like arrows, her hateful moans of victory? Chaewon will fuck you senseless, squeeze out every word of a long apology and show Minju that serving you is a waste of time. You're a pig after all.
At least that's what you make her believe.
Your face twists into a smile.
"A whore who can't control her urges. Who is the pig now? C’mon then, fuck it out of me, if you think you can! I'll tell you what: If you make me cum before I make you cum, I'll release Minju back to you. You'll both be free to go and I'll never bother you again.
"You're sick,” Chaewon hisses back. “I want Yujin free too."
Yujin looks at you for a moment, wondering if you would really give her away like that, fingers on Minju’s body to distract her from the juices leaking out of her pussy.
"Listen here," you viciously whisper and pull away Chaewon's hand which bothers your face. "Try to get some leverage in this position, before making absurd demands. As of now, you have nothing on me."
"I-I'm on top," Chaewon moans, continuing to bounce on your cock.
"It means nothing. I can easily make you cum like this. I can also make you cum by folding you in half and pressing you into the couch or picking you up like a human fleshlight or... fuck, I could order your friends here to force a hundred orgasms out of you, all before you can even think of satisfying me.
"Do you understand, Chaewon? Earn yourself the spot above me, because right now, you're nothing but a toy."
Chaewon's face contorts in pleasure and embarrassment. She can't let these insults get to her, but at the same time, she gets off to them. Her pussy clenches around your cock, needily sucking it back in, wanting it to fuck upwards and claim every inch of her hot, velvety insides.
"At least your body is honest." You smirk.
"Wh-what—ah, no!"
You get a hold of Chaewon's hips, her dress spilling out of your hands as you hold her steady and thrust into her. Unlike before, you make sure to give her every inch every time. Chaewon's eyes roll up in her head, then down to your body, easily overpowering hers from below. Her voice breaks at every moan and scream, and she can't bear the sight of her friends, who look on closely.
Their Unnie is becoming stupid for this cock.
Minju pouts sadly.
"Chaewon-unnie, you should enjoy it. Daddy's perfect cock...it's the most special thing," Minju mumbles, drool in the corner of her pretty mouth.
"Unnie, maybe you should apologize to Daddy. He'll make you feel good," Yujin says sincerely.
"N-never! I-I will n-not—"
All it takes is you swiping her clit, found under her dress. The tiny bundle of nerves had it coming and now the fearless leader is cumming on your cock. However, it is not this grand, cathartic orgasm for her, just a demonstration of your power. Frankly, this is what you think Chaeeon deserves: A pleasureless loss, pathetic for the woman she wants to be. So much on the line, yet she did not even come close to achieving her goal.
In a well-timed outburst of your horny rage, you pull out of her and throw her on the couch. Giving Yujin a teasing brush on her flexed thigh and then a kiss because she needs to hold out just a little bit longer, you then focus on Minju.
"Get on top of Chaewon," you order. "I'm gonna fill you in Doggy for being a good girl."
"Thank you, Daddy," Minju excitedly says and once again traps Chaewon with her body.
You push inside Minju's sweet pussy and tug at her hair.
"Minju, how would you feel if I bred you tonight? How badly do you want to be bred?"
Yujin almost became distraught, before remembering her place and knowing this was a part of your plan. You wanted to show Chaewon what was truly yours.
"Daddy… I don't know if I'm ready to raise a child, but I want to carry yours so badly," Minju whispers and looks right through Chaewon’s hazelnut eyes.
Perfect. You would fuck Minju, break her while Chaewon would be right below her, helpless to watch as you filled Minju with your seed.
"I want you to tell Chaewon the truth,” you tell Minju and caress her smooth back before pushing it a bit closer to Chaewon. “Then you can be filled to the brim."
"I want Daddy! I want his Daddy cock and his Daddy seed deep in my pussy! I want him to breed Minju every day!"
Minju has never clenched harder around your dick than at this moment. It's not a hyperbole, because for the first time you find it irresistible to not cum in another pussy that isn't your girlfriends'. This moment right here, this impeccable, cruel set up is Minju has finally becoming ethereal truth and beauty: on all fours, drooling on her former lover's face, sweat pouring out everywhere, nothing can fill her heart like you.
Fill her, you do. The way to Minju’s heart is through her desperate, empty pussy—try to rephrase that at a different time, because now, it’s quite befitting. The breedable girl won’t be able to keep herself upright for long, that’s the measurement of power for how hard your thrusts are. You don’t really want her to anyways. She is allowed to freely fall on top of Chaewon, who constantly fails to close her eyes to Minju’s face.
A face of desire, of pleasure; a tongue hanging out, hoping to suck the same cock that’s rearranging her insides—also something that should be rephrased. One day, but not today. Today you give Minju loving spanks for being the good, rod-taking girl that you and Yujin envisioned her to be. After the fifth slap, her legs go weak first, her midriff meets Chaewon’s, but her pussy still sucks you back in. Minju is thirsty.
Thirsty for cum, and you give it to her greedy pussy that wrings you viciously. Minju is a vacuum, getting your balls dry and although you make sure everything is dumped deep inside her cavern, huge amounts still drip out of her and onto Chaewon, who shrieks at every impact of cum on her skin.
You're still dreamy, Minju's deep breaths are the only thing audible to you, her ass the only thing in your line of view. It seems you forgot something, a promise you have made.
"D-Daddy!" Yujin calls for you and shakes your shoulders violently. "I haven't touched myself, please, please, please fuck me now! I'm a good slut, use me, fill me, I need your cock."
You turn towards her. This poor girl is standing there, shivering, her wrists awkwardly turned to prevent her from touching her already squeezing pussy. In a moment of thrill for you and catharsis for her, you grab Yujin's hand and pull her into your bedroom. The door shuts and moments later, Chaewon and Minju hear their Dongsaeng cum, loud and proud.
"Yujinie is—" Minju whispers, wanting to start a conversation, but Chaewon interrupts her.
"A-are you really going to be pregnant?" Chaewon quietly cries out, tears and snort on her face. Minju props herself up and smiles down at her dear friend.
"To be honest," she starts and blushes. "No, I'm protected. But it feels so good, so right to say it."
"Th-that is fucked up, Minmin," Chaewon whimpers.
"Unnie, sex can be so much fun. Here, put your finger in me, like you used to! He feels so warm, and there is so much."
Minju guides Chaewon's fingers to her freshly fucked, leaking entrance and although she hesitates for a bit, Chaewon starts to finger more and more cream out of her friends cunt. Minju softly moans and they both watch a downpour of white fall on Chaewon’s navel in the middle of August.
"I was unsure at first too," Minju continues and cups Chaewon's face. "But it can feel so good, the best feeling ever. I won't leave that.
"I still love you, though. We all do. Yujin and Eunbi-unnie and Hyewo—"
"What do you me—oh my God."
Suddenly, Minju kisses the beyond shocked Chaewon before the latter loses her mind to the most absurd scenario that is imaginable but also so immoral, it should not be. Instead Chaewon melts into Minju's lips and decides to stay quiet. She could never be part of such a fucked up game, it’s just wrong, filthy, absolutely disgusting. He is such a pig!
"Unnie, come here more often. Daddy can be so soft, he will train you, you will be better at sex and one day, he will cum in you and you will love it.
Minju, you are out of your mind… but what if—
"Trust me~"
#
The luxury of getting up at 11am and still making more money than most people do in their life time should be appreciated by you, but instead you whine over the fact that after three more rounds with Yujin after the initial, massive filling of Minju and eight hours of sleep, you have to get back to ruling your business empire.
That's when you find the envelope Yujin brought yesterday. You finish a boring phone call and pick it up, still very much unsure of what the round thing inside it is. Tear it open and a letter slips right out—along with a cute little collar. Intrigued you begin to read while you pick up the round object.
Dear you,
yes, you. Yujin told me that you exist. You're her boyfriend and although she doesn't talk about you often, I can tell she really loves you. You seem like a very wise person, especially when you can get along with Yujin.
I wanted to ask you something: could we maybe chat a little? Talk face to face? I know it's a weird request, but I kinda want someone to talk to right now. I feel I can trust you, more than other people around me. If you can keep your relationship with Yujin a secret, this will be easy-peasy, right?
Feel free to talk with Yujin about this first, but you both keep quiet! I don't want the others to be worried.
Thank you very muchie!
Signed
Yena, meow
#kpop smut#female idol smut#girl group smut#male reader insert#izone smut#male reader#male reader smut#ive smut#le sserafim smut#lesserafim smut#chaewon smut#yujin smut#minju smut#ahn yujin smut#kim minju smut#kim chaewon smut#2kim smut
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Inspired by the latest entry in your p⭐️ Gaz series (which was excellent, by the way. 10/10 great form)
since our dear Reader did such a good job topping our lovely boy, what if we took that same approach and followed it to its natural conclusion: Reader pegging Gaz.
It’s up to you whether p⭐️ Gaz has prior experience with pegging, either way the potential for the deepest and most sensual fucking Gaz has ever received is 🤯
oh boy oh boy. well, i'm sure you guys can guess the warnings for this one. not edited just horny.
more ps!gaz here
Once the hilt of your strap fully sheaths inside Kyle, he lets out a groan that's only buried by the sheets and mattress underneath his hands and knees.
It wasn't easy taking all of it, especially with so many people watching with beady eyes behind cameras and lights. The fried remnants of his brain attempts to complete a thought, but it's all disconnected. All short. The only thing he can register is the stretching of his ass, your hands rubbing his back, and the aching twitch in his cock.
"Talk to me, Kyle," you croon while your hands trace the rippling muscles on either side of his spine.
"Fuck," he hisses. He clenches around the silicone, and though you can't feel it, you can see it. "It's good- I'm good."
It's an unfamiliar feeling, being stuffed so full, and while the burn of discomfort fades, he feels the way the faux cock brushes against him. How it sends a jolt of pleasure throughout his body, making his cock jump in excitement. You grin as you slowly move your hips back, lube quietly squelching as you do. All this is just as unfamiliar to you as it is to him. You doubt you can move your hips with enough force and fervor as he usually does with you, but the sweat glistening on the nape of his neck tells you that you won't have to do much more than what you're already doing.
"Good boy," you tease as you push back into him.
Everyone in the studio looks bored, and you're not sure why. With the precious sounds you're pulling out of him, you're too enthralled to care about anything else. Yet half of the studio is on their phones typing away some message certainly complaining about the shoot, but you refuse to go any faster. Kyle's putting his implicit trust in your hands, and you wouldn't do anything to break that. You promised you'd take just as good care of him as he does of you.
When you bottom out a second time, Kyle whines and it sounds like music to your ears. His hips rut forward, almost like he's forgotten how the roles are reversed. He learns to keep his hips steady for you as you find your rhythm. You've never heard Kyle sound like that. The whining like a dog, the gasps like he's breathing through a straw.
You feel the presence of the camera man behind you pan over your shoulder, getting the perfect view of your sweet boy too fucked out to properly think. You'd be lying if you said your cunt didn't ache at the sight of it. At the sounds you pull from him.
"Fuck I- please. N-Not gonna last much longer," he whines.
Smirking, you snake an arm around his waist where you palm at his leaking cock. Once again his hips rut forwards shakily, and the next time you fully sheath the strap inside of him, you keep your hips pressed against his.
"That's alright," you coo. Your hand leisurely wraps around his puffy tip where you slowly began to glide along his length. His head digs into the mattress with a groan. "Let it out, baby. You've been so good."
His hips begin to jerk uncontrollably, and you've got him completely trapped. Moving forward only stimulates the absolute torturous pace you're jerking him off to, but moving backwards only stimulates that ever-winding spot inside of him. With no where to go, his body nearly convulses at the pleasure.
He babbles incoherently as he reaches his peak, and then all words fail him as he spills over your hand. All he can do is pant with shuddering breaths as his cum seeps into the sheets underneath him. Giving him mercy, you slow your hand but offer him no other reprieve as you lean forward, pressing your chest against his back as you plant a kiss against his spine. It's as if everything else doesn't matter. Not the cameras or the people. He's either too fucked out to care, or simply can't be bothered as the remainder of his orgasm washes over him.
"Christ," he pants. "I... hardly fuckin' lasted."
Smirking again, you rock your hips forward, making him jump. "I'll take it as a compliment."
#pornstar!gaz#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader smut#kyle garrick x reader smut#cod smut#f!reader
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Ascendn't
Summary
I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene.
(Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)
Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav
Rating: M
Word Count: 4.5k
Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent
It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)
“I can do this, but I need your help.”
You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.
“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”
He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.
But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.
“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”
Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.
“But I’m not above enjoying this.”
With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.
Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.
His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.
You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.
You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.
“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.
“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.
“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.
“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”
“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly.
“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.
Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.
“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.
“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-” his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon.
“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.
“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.
“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.
You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.
“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.
“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.
“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.
At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable.
Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”
“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.
“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”
“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.
“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.
You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt.
Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.
“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.
“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.
“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk.
“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”
“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.
“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.
“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.
The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone.
Astarion Ancunin
1229 DR - 1268 DR
He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.
“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.”
He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”
“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that.
He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you.
“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex.
“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”
“Thank you.”
You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.
“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads
Astarion Ancunin
1229 DR - 1268 DR
1492 DR -
His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.
“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.
“Meaning…?”
His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.
“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.
“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside.
He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.
His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.
“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.
“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.
“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other.
“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”
“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.
“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.
“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.
“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.
“Beg for it.”
That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.
“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”
Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking.
Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you.
His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.
He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his.
“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads.
#astarion fanfiction#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#baldurs gate astarion#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x gn reader#astarion x gn!tav#bg3 spoilers#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#astarion angst#astarion fluff
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could you do a fic for re4 leon where he and fem!reader are in a relationship (secret bc they can’t let the agency find out) they are on the spain mission together and luis starts flirting with her and its taking everything in leon for for him to not say “thats my girlfriend” or something like that?
sorry if this is specific i just thought of it in the middle of class
Music For Two People in A Secret Relationship
RE4R!Leon x F!Agent!Reader
Leon is a stickler for the rules. Well, he was– he made sure that he followed the rules he was made to obey, even when he didn’t exactly agree with them. One fine training day, you lunged at him with a combat knife, a deadly fire in your eyes and he felt the ground beneath him shift. He had to move and dodge away from the next offense, even if he wanted to give himself time to admire you. You moved like a panther, your gaze much more penetrating than the blade you held in a reverse saber grip; you embodied one too, light footfalls as you circled him before pouncing with your claws out towards the man in front of you. If giving in to the calling of his heart is a crime then he’d gladly be an outlaw.
Here he is now, dancing around the rules in order to be your boyfriend; twisting, bending, and extending his will to resist the temptation to hold your hand in the walls of the USSTRATCOM headquarters, proudly referring to you as “his” and for him to hear you call him “yours” towards colleagues and higher-ups. He had to settle for the tension-filled stares across the briefing room, the kinds of looks that set off sparks in his chest, and the electric accidental brushes of his finger against yours as he reaches for something.
Although Valdelobos is everything but idyllic, he’s thankful for the opportunity to be with you despite this decrepit village being another reminder of Raccoon City; he wouldn’t want to relive Raccoon City again but it’s less triggering for him because he’s with you … and a certain Spanish gentleman with a penchant of flirting with his girlfriend; he didn’t trust the man one bit but what choice did he have? The man held vital information regarding the villagers and Umbrella; a former scientist, Luis claimed. Despite him being a little different from the usual scientists behind BOWs, he seemed to know a lot regarding the cult and the parasite– Las Plagas. Charming and charismatic too, the perfect man all in all. He also served as the brains behind the group, oddly familiar with the puzzle mechanisms that the Los Illuminados employed.
Now, all of you were stuck in this misty baroque ballroom somewhere in Salazar’s palace. As soon as everyone was inside the room, the big wooden doors closed and several locks were heard clicking in place. Silence followed, Ashley huddled in the middle by you, Leon, and Luis’ bodies as you formed a protective circle. The fact that silence followed and not the groans and cultic chanting unsettled everyone, unused to this odd peace. After a few moments of guns being out, Luis’ Red 9 is holstered back into its brown leather confines.
“Do you smell that,” he softly whispers. “The rusty air. This ballroom was an old bastion for the Los Illuminados, held their sacrifices here but albeit more… morbid. Sacrifices were released like bulls in a bullpen, they all tried to escape while trying not to die on the way– had to escape booby traps and avoid stepping on the wrong tiles. There’s a lot more with the trap system they set up and they’re all elaborate.”
The atmosphere that hung over everyone was heavy and miserable now that Luis had to point out the history behind the room. No one stepped foot away from where they were standing, afraid to trigger something to fly out and impale someone.
“What ballroom is this,” Ashley asks.
“The Birdcage,” Luis responds. “La Jaula de Pájaros.”
“I’ve read somewhere about certain macabre ballrooms being connected to cult hide-outs and traps and usually, the ways to beat those traps is somehow connected to culture like dances and poems,” she begins to explain. “Basically, we might need to dance or make music to make it out alive for this one. Just like… just like a bird. Wait– this place’s name is ‘birdcage’ so we have to escape like birds by means of making music and moving around like how birds chirp and fly!”
“Make music? How exactly,” you ask.
“Rhythmic tapping might be one of them,” Luis suggests.
You look at the people around you, eyebrows meeting in the middle as their foreheads crease in focus and worry. Leon bent down and observed the ground, calloused fingers grazing over the cracked tiles. With each lengthy swipe of his finger, he noticed that the imprints on the ground had a pattern. He leaned closer to the ground and observed what looked like musical notes; he turned to the ground Ashley stood on and noted the same patterns of notes and symbols used.
“There’s musical notations on the ground, maybe we can use that for the rhythm of our tapping,” Leon informs the group. “Who here can read music–”
“I can,” you interrupt. You bend down, fingers skimming over the etching. After a few seconds of remembering which notes sounded a certain way, you get back up and relay the information you just got. You get everyone’s attention and start humming the tune before softly stomping your boots on the ground, asking everyone else to follow along to make sure that they remember the beat.
“Uh guys,” Ashley speaks up. “We have to start soon.”
She points to the ceiling, several ganados kept in cages dangling overhead. The ceilings may be high from where you all stood, but there was nothing separating your group and them. With a determined yet wary nod, you nod to Luis. He approaches you and bows, to which you respond with. He slowly places his hand on your waist, the other gently holding your gloved hand. You glance at Leon, seeing him do the same with Ashley with the placements of his hand in areas that don't make Ashley feel uncomfortable. You give Leon another nod, signifying the start of the dance. Your pair and Leon’s slowly drift to opposite parts of the room, dancing a fierce tango with rhythmic footfalls. You could dance but not in this way and you were lucky that Luis was there to guide you. In the drop of the beat, he spun you and for a quick moment you saw Leon glance at your direction before turning his gaze back to Ashley and making sure he doesn’t mess up his part and involve Ashley in whatever fuck-up he might make. You wouldn’t admit this to Luis but you wished that it was Leon who was spinning and dipping you, that it was the large hand of Leon’s that was perched on your waist. Maybe you’d like to go dancing with Leon once this shit is all over, maybe invite Luis too but you’ll spend most of the evening slow dancing with Leon when you’ve both had one too many drinks. You knew that Leon felt the same based on the gawking Leon unintentionally does, those types of gawks that once you blink, you’d miss and assume that you were just seeing things differently. As much as Leon admitted that Luis was a gifted dancer to his standards, he wished that he could just swoop in and swing you around, to feel your hand around his neck and for you to gaze up dreamily at you when he dips your body. It doesn’t take long for you to get into the dance, the twirls and spins along with the echo of the taps of shoes helping you get into the feel of dancing even though this dance could very much determine whether or not everyone will make it out of this ballroom.
After a few minutes of dancing, all of you finish the beat and you hear a faint click. The eyes and mouth of a tarnished Tarasca statue moves, its neck opening to reveal an ornate conical capsule. Hastily, you run to the statue and take the capsule and twist it open. An intricate copper key falls out.
“We might be able to get out of this,” Leon points out. Hurriedly, he runs to the doors and inserts the piece of metal to the keyhole.
“Careful, Sancho. This thing is brittle,” Luis reminds him. “All that dancing will be for nothing if the key snaps while it’s inside!”
“I know what I’m doing,” your partner seethes.
The faint sound of the door lock’s mechanisms clicking to unlock causes everyone to breathe a sigh of relief, Leon pushing the doors open to let everyone out before himself. You mouth a small thank you to him, to which he responds with a small smile. He finally gets out and urges everyone to run, since the cages holding the ganados were being lowered. After a few minutes, everyone is now out of the palace. All of you stop by the ruins of an old stone house, sinking to the ground to catch your breath.
“Hah… D-didn’t know… hah… you looked lovely in pink,” Luis points out with a tired yet smug smirk bringing a finger up to motion to the flush in your cheeks. “Etérea.”
The Spaniard doesn’t miss the way the blond’s gaze slightly darkens, moving to you as he places a hand on your back as you still catch your breath. You look at Leon as he asks if you’re okay, to which you give him a small smile and a thumbs-up. Leon withdraws his hand from your back to radio back to Hunnigan, giving her information on where you just came from and how everyone’s doing. Since you managed to catch your breath, you check on Ashley who’s doing a lot better now. You offer her the remaining water in your flask, to which she gulped down audibly.
“Water never tasted so divine, holy crap,” she exclaimed as she handed you your flask back.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Since you and Leon were unsure of the safety of the area, you decided that it would be best for you to start moving somewhere less dangerous. Ashley was growing tired, grumbling about her feet hurting but she was still soldering on, walking without breaks. Luis’ chatter made the trip less boring, occasionally talking to Ashley and then flirting with you. After seeing Leon’s subtle reaction to him complimenting your flushed cheeks after running, the cheeky side of Luis decided to flirt with you some more to see how far he can push the reserved and stoic man.
“Hey,” Luis begins. “After all this, what do you say to a little Spanish countryside getaway? You and me.”
“Sounds nice,” you say. “But I’ve got a little night out scheduled with someone when I get back.”
“You aren’t exactly saying ‘no’.”
“I’m going to have to confirm this with my boyfriend. You’re a chill man but I still have to let my man know.”
Luis simply chuckles, his steps slowing down so he’ll fall in step with Leon who is busy craning his head here and there, trying to spot any threat before a possible threat spots you. Well, this is only half true. As soon as he heard Luis proposing the future prospect of him showing off the Spanish countryside to you, he forced himself to pay attention to something else other than the fact that you’re smiling and laughing softly at the Spaniard. The agent brushes whatever he heard off, knowing that his girlfriend loves him and only him but the fact that he can’t do much, especially that their relationship isn’t exactly encouraged at their agency and the fact that they’re both at work; he’s relieved that you aren’t returning his flirting. All he can afford to do is to ask if you’re fine by masking it behind the simple concern for a coworker and nothing more.
“How’re you holding up, Sancho Panza,” Luis whispers to which Leon responds with silence.
“Ah, I think I know why you’re silent,” the chatty man beside him observes. “It’s because… you like her!”
Leon stops in his tracks and looks at Luis with a slightly baffled expression, head tilted with his eyes slightly squinted before proceeding to walk again, the squelch of his boots against mud resuming again.
“I know just the remedy to this, Leon,” Luis excitedly begins, lowering his voice just before he continues the rest of his sentence. “Y’know, I know a nice bar somewhere in Madrid. Good drinks, good music. I’m sure she’d love it there.”
Leon stays silent again but mentally notes the ‘good drinks, good music’. It would be nice to take her somewhere upbeat.
“But if that’s getting a bit too ahead of our current predicament then you can offer to tend to her wounds, best done in the evening when the night is cold and the fire is the only thing keeping us warm. It’s a sincere tender moment, just imagine it: you, her, and the rustling of trees. She–”
“She’s my girlfriend. I’ve done plenty of that and more so she’d go out with me,” Leon interrupts.
Luis freezes on the spot, eyes the size of golf balls, with his mouth ajar. Leon simply smirks and scoffs at the sight, trudging on. After a few moments, Luis comes rushing back to him. Luis is just staring at him, going off at him in Spanish while he just continues walking and tries to hide a smug grin. Luis wraps up on whatever he was saying, now staring back and forth at you and him before walking a little faster to join you and Ashley several steps ahead. The usual cocky expression makes its way back to Luis’ face, shooting you and Leon a knowing look now before chuckling along. Moments later, Leon decides to speed up walking to be able to catch up with everyone. He hears Ashley and Luis exchanging jokes with you occasionally laughing and butting in with your own. Out of the blue, Leon nonchalantly wraps an arm around your waist, much to Luis and Ashley’s shock.
“Ash, don’t tell HQ about this,” you whisper with a wicked grin before getting on your tiptoes and planting a kiss on Leon's cheek.
NOTE - Thanks to the lovely anon that requested this, I hope you enjoyed reading this :) I had a lot more fun writing this since I had to think a little more than I usually do when I write (if it makes sense), especially for the ballroom part of the fic. I'll try to write for other versions of Leon soon since I mostly write about RE2 Leon. Also, does anyone know the manga 'Veil' ?? I've recently (yesterday) got into it and now I'm hoping that physical copies are being sold where I live... Aleksander is cute I'll say that (I NEED AN ALEKSANDER IN MY LIFE IM SO ALONE AND SINGLE RIGHT NOW- SINGLE SINCE BIRTH EVEN). Anyways, that's it and thank you soo much for reading my fics!! I <3333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The dividers are made by @benkeibear , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).
#leon kennedy#resident evil#fluff#leon kennedy fluff#leon kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy fluff#leon kennedy x reader#leon scott kennedy#leon s kennedy#re2#resident evil 4#resident evil x reader#biohazard#resident evil 4 remake#re4make#re4 remake#re4r
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Lost Bird Returns
It wasn't strange that Danny chased Desiree, or that she refused to return to the Infinite Realms. What was strange was that she decided to leave Amity Park.
That made things 200% more difficult for the halfa because outside of Amity no one had the "no desiring" rule; while Danny was grateful that Amity was kept "secret" and no one knew what was going on inside (and that was a pain in the ass to accomplish), it was also a disadvantage in those situations.
Mainly because Desiree could stay invisible and listen to people's wishes. Like at that moment, where he found her smiling next to Batman, and damn it, what wish had she granted?
Batman, unaware of his unfortunate situation, was watching the streets of Gotham gloomily. It was Jason's death anniversary and they'd had another fight, which happened a lot in those days, but Bruce couldn't help but think of simpler days.
"I wish he could get his spark back" the dark knight lamented, accidentally sealing his son's fate.
And though Danny had caught Desiree in the thermos, the wish had already been made. The halfa didn't know enough to reverse it either.
A few days later rumors began to be heard of a ghost haunting Gotham. A boy dressed in a burnt uniform with a strange look on his face.
Robin, the lost part of Jason Todd that had been trapped in the Realms so long ago was back, and not even the Lazarus Pits would keep him away this time.
#dpxdc#halfa jason#ghost jason todd#the lazarus pits took a part of Jason when he revived#although they rather separated a part of him and left it behind#they replaced that missing part with anger and fury#but that part was left behind in the Realms#confused and incomplete#dp x dc#dc x dp#when Bruce made the wish#Desiree simply brought the ghost out of its haunt#and she located him in gotham#Jason is about to suffer some emotional Russian roulette#Robin's ghost is looking for his missing part and won't leave until he's whole again#He's the spark that Jason lost#Danny heard about the ghost in Gotham and he's not happy about it#he did so much for Amity to be some kind of Area 51 damn it
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𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐦 - Simon Riley x Fem!Reader
narrative: you get kidnapped by graves, and ghost rescues you (in a very aggressive/sweet manner)
warnings: violent, blood, injuries, kidnapping, manhandling
tags: cleaning wounds, soft ghost, solving mysteries, being babied honestly, touching, sweet things amidst gore.
a/n: as always, lmk if this is something you'd like a part two for! love you guys! part 2
A set of strong hands grabbed your two biceps and threw you to the ground, your body slamming against the wet pavement. You groaned in agony, blood soaking your ripped shirt around your sleeves, whilst your ears rang, and vision blurred. Someone leaned down, you weren't sure who, and pulled you up by your hair.
You screamed, "G- ugh, Get off of me!" Graves let a chuckle escape, making your stomach churn. "You tell whoever is unfortunate enough to pick up your rotting body that it was me who was merciful, letting you leave alive when you deserve nothing but a coffin too small for your corpse.”
He dropped your hair, making your head strike the ground.
"Let's go, boys. Oh, she'll be fine, grow a pair!" You heard his eager voice fade out and heavy boots walk away, followed by a metal door closing shut, the rust falling on the doormat.
All the sudden, you heard a flashlight click. It was quiet enough to almost be unheard, but your senses had been heightened, you were aware of everything.
"Who's there?" You whispered, not trying to. You tried to be as loud as you possibly could, but it wasn't until this moment you realized how scared you were of being caught.
"Who's there?" You whispered, not trying to. You tried to be as loud as you possibly could, but it wasn't until this moment you realized how scared you were of being caught.
No one answered, but you could feel someone's presence. You stumbled to your feet, bracing yourself on the side of an empty tank before standing up straight. "I know someone's there!" Nothing.
Sighing, you took a few more steps towards where you heard the click, almost hoping that someone was there listening to you. Your hand slid against the wet metal of the tank, and the other trying to locate where you were hurt the most and holding pressure to where you guessed.
A gun cocked. Your head turned in every direction, trying to see everything at once. I'm about to die, you thought. This was the end. There was nothing else for you to do but accept that you would never see any of your family again, none of your friends.
You walked a little more, almost giving yourself up to whoever it was, and you almost turned back around to hide in the unused tank before wet arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a wall of a body.
Your screams filled the air, harsh groans were coming from the person behind you in response to your thrashing. "Put. Me. Down!" Kicking your legs in any way you could, but it didn't do anything. "Calm down, woman, I'm not gonna hurt you." The body turned around and started jogging towards a running vehicle. There was a man in the front, one you didn't recognize, but before you could scream anything else, you were thrown into the back of the car, and a huge man followed you. Your body hit a leather seat, and he was positioned in front of you, buckling your seatbelt as if you were a helpless child.
"Got her, Johnny. Move out," the man trapping you in a seat said. He said the terrifying sentence with gauze between his teeth, ripping a few long pieces off of a large roll and setting it back in the console. The driver wasted no time in throwing the gear in reverse at his command, and the dog tags on the rearview mirror jangled against themselves as he slammed on the gas.
You couldn't breathe, your head was spinning, and you weren't sure if it was from the loss of blood or sudden fear that you were going to die.
The man sitting in front of you was wearing a few things you deemed as strange: a cream skull-face mask on top of a black linen face covering. His vests and gear were anything but simple, you feared if he'd move the wrong way, he'd set off a bomb somewhere.
His hand reached up to turn on the dinky car light as the driver took a harsh turn. "Could you drive a little slower, mate?" His voice was aggressive, too deep for his own good. It was a weapon in and of itself. Orders that he made were automatically wishes that had to come true.
"Ghost," he said while opening up a few bandages and uncapping a tube of disinfectant, not even looking up at you. "Crazy man in the front is Soap."
You felt tears brew in your eyes as he talked to you in such a casual manner. There was no underlying threat in his words, even as scary as he was. A few heavy droplets slipped and audibly landed on your seatbelt, causing Ghost to look up at you.
Once he saw you crying, he sighed, not out of exhaustion or annoyance, but of something else. You weren’t sure what he was feeling, or why he did things he did. You weren’t sure anyone ever knew. He reached his gloved hand up and turned off the light, continuing to work in the dark. He'd be cursed for the rest of his life if he had to watch you cry.
A woman he'd never met, never even known existed, until that very afternoon.
"Sit down, men." Price said from the corner of the room, uncrossing his arms and walking away from his stance against the wall. "We've got places to be, people to save, Graves to fill." A few young newbies snickered at his joke; the rest stayed quiet. The captain circled the large table, passing out beige files and black masks to everyone sitting down. "Kate, the TV, please." Laswell clicked a black remote, pointing it at a flat screen and waited for a picture to pop up.
A young women appeared, maybe early 20's. Mid-length hair with eyes that could kill. Her license picture, as intimidating as you'd think it be to look into the eyes of a missing woman, it wasn't at all.
Her smile was beautiful, completely clueless at what the terrible world had to offer. What the terrible world had become. She was nothing but happy, just happy to be wherever. No one said anything, but they were all lost in the picture, not sure if what they were feeling was frustration or admiration.
"This is Y/N L/N." Price cleared his throat before continuing, "I used to work with her father, he's a good man. I owe him my life; I'd give him anything."
He made his way to the head of the round table, "Y/N's missing. He's given us the substantial responsibility of finding her."
Gaz spoke up after raising his hand for a few seconds, "Do we know where she is?"
"Well, where do we always find ourselves treading off to when we get any sort of call?" Price said in a sarcastic tone, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.
"Graves." Ghost and Soap spoke in unison, the man in the ghost mask cleaning his knife off with a dirty rag, and the one in with the mohawk stirring some sugar into a mug of tea.
Laswell and Price nodded in agreement to their guess, and everyone else sighed audibly, some out of relief and others in annoyance. Graves was never the best option, but lately it's been seeming like the only option. Soap stood up from his seat, groaning as he scooted his seat in. "Well? Let's get on it."
"You'll be fine, luv. Swear it." Ghost said to you as he trailed his fingers along your head gash, feeling for the cut before using his other hand to pour isopropyl on a cotton round. He suddenly remembered the picture from earlier, the innocent face that's now bloody and bruised thanks to one of the men he's spent years trying to destroy.
"It'll sting," he whispered, and Soap in the front seat breathed through his teeth sharp. "Ooh, I know that smell. That's the smell of pain." You felt your mouth upturn slightly, inhaling the rubbing alcohol as well and leaning into the childhood memories that rushed into your brain. Ones of you falling down on the playground, scraping your elbow on the asphalt and running towards the nearest teacher.
"You okay?" Ghost checked in as he stuck a bandage on your head, and you hummed in response, taking a deep breath in as you leaned back on your head rest. "There she is," Soap said while looking in the rearview mirror.
Arriving back at the base, you felt your eyes droop open and closed, feeling comforted at the feeling of Ghost's thumb rubbing against the side of your jeans, trying to nurse you back to health to the best of his ability. Soap parked the car, slowly pressing on the brake to appease Ghost's previous request.
"You got her, Simon?" Soap asked as he took the key out of the ignition and quietly grabbing his backpack from the front seat. Ghost grunted in approval, and waited till Soap got out of car and shut the door before figuring out what to do with your tired body.
"Should I carry you?" He whispered, bracing himself on the armrest of your seat and bringing the other hand up to the side of your face, balancing your head on his palm as you tried not to fall asleep. You whined in response, not truly being conscious enough to reply properly. "Right then," Ghost said, looking around for things to clean up before heading up to the base.
He got out of the car first, jumping down onto the gravel and reaching across your lap to unbuckle your seatbelt. "Let's go, Y/N."
"You know my name?" You said sleepily as he picked you up with an arm underneath your legs and the other wrapped around your waist, squeezing gently to signal you jump into his arms.
"Course I do, you've been the talk of the town lately."
"Wow." Rubbing your eyes sleepily, it caused Ghost to look down at your in his arms, distracting him altogether from his mission. All the sudden, your waterline started to fill with tears.
"What, what is it?"
"I couldn't even fight back." You started to cry, your eyes pouring out on your face, something Ghost tried so hard not to watch but had to.
"It's alright, bug, not many of us can get a rile out of Graves anyway, that's reason enough for an award."
You chuckled at the sentiment, and at the fact that he cared enough to attempt to cheer you up. Even if his humor was the corniest you'd ever been around, it was enough to lift your moods a little bit.
As he walked you into the base, a cold chill hit your bare arm, you felt the dried blood crackle as you shifted. "Brr, am I right?" Ghost tried once again to make you crack a smile, walking you into the closest guest room. It was a quaint area, just one cot with a few cream-colored sheets and a dusty quilt that someone had definitely donated from years past. There was only one overhead light, and after Ghost gently set you down on the bed, he walked over to flip the switch.
“This okay? Is your head hurting you?” He asked considerately, walking back over to look into your pupils, making sure you weren’t concussed. “Not too bad,” you responded, rubbing a dry hand on your face, and pulling it back only to find it was covered in blood. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned at the sight, feeling ill knowing there was still remnants of your attack.
“You’re still quite bloody, I couldn’t see very well in the dark car, but someone else will-.”
“You could’ve kept the light on,” you interrupted him, sitting up slightly and leaning your head on the metal bed frame.
“What?” Ghost whispered, knowing good and well what you were implying, but not wanting to act it.
“You turned the light off, in the car, but you could’ve kept it on to see me better. Why didn’t you?”
He exhaled, slightly clicking his tongue against his teeth. “I know, I- I just couldn’t-" He paused to regain control over his stuttering, “I hated seeing you cry.”
Ghost walked over to a small sink, turning one of the knobs and dampening a rag before walking back over to you. He stopped a few paces in front of your bed, just to stare at you. The entirety of your body, nothing left unscathed. Your jeans were torn to shreds, red liquid lacing every stitch. The shirt you wore was drenched in rain and blood, and it ripped in the front, allowing cleavage to poke through, making Ghost’s eyes close abruptly when he saw it.
“You don’t even know me, Ghost, why would it bother you so much?” You adjusted yourself so your legs hung off the side of the bed, your shoulder facing where Ghost stood. “I know, but, I know of you.”
He continued, “Your father, he worked with Price, yeah? Price said your pops gave him the job of finding you.”
Your jaw dropped slightly, but before you could say anything, you were interrupted.
“Oi, Lieutenant, you’re needed. Price says it’s an emergency.” An unfamiliar voice yelled from the hallway, before a few loud knocks at the door.
“I’m takin care of the girl, Gaz,-"
“Nope, Price said now.”
He frustratedly stood up, tapping his foot a few times before turning to you again.
You spoke first, “It’s fine, really, someone else will come along and clean me up.”
Ghost nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. “You sure?” You nodded your head as well in response, knowing that he wasn’t just some soldier, he was Ghost, a Lieutenant, a leader.
A killer.
“I’ll be back in the mornin, I swear it. With coffee and everything.” With that, Ghost left the room, his large boots and velcro straps with keychains hanging from them rattling and filling the room before fading out.
You were terrified, there was no other way to put it. And at this point, could anyone even be trusted? Sure, Ghost seemed nice enough, he wasted his time to tend to you, and Soap was eager to help as well, but it all seemed too strange, too strategic. How was Graves connected to the 141 Task Force? Why had Ghost mentioned they had been affiliated before?
You pulled out a locket from underneath your shirt, a small medallion that would be worth thousands if you had offered it to a trader, but the thought never crossed your mind. Inside was a picture of your father, someone you hadn’t seen in years. How in the world would he know you’d gotten kidnapped? He wasn’t even in the same country, let alone care enough to keep tabs on you. He was a terrible man, someone you told yourself and many others to stay away from. There had to be something else going on, something beneath the surface and even if Ghost didn’t know of it, he was still a part of it.
As much as you didn’t want to trust Ghost, you feared he was all you could lean on. You promised yourself once he’d get back in the morning, you’d discuss it with him; how Price talked to your father, and if it was even your father he was talking to? Hopefully, he'd have the answers, and if not, you'd at least have someone to talk to.
Plus, it didn't hurt how attractive he was.
#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x you#modern warfare#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#circe69scribbles
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Mdni! 18+ , mentions of gore and sexual themes
Your hands skim over the keyboard in front of the security cameras in Jigsaw’s warehouse. Pulling your hair back from your face, you watch with morbid curiosity as a boy is placed inside the reverse bear trap. Pretty brown hair, strong nose. He’s gorgeous as he lays unconscious in that rigged room.
One of the apprentices straps him down to the chair, right across from another unconscious body— one that you know may or may not be cut open soon. Biting your lip, you watch the mysterious boy’s shirt ride up— it exposes a sliver of pale, soft skin.
You want to bite a chunk out of it.
Your friend and colleague, Amanda, stands behind you working on another trap— a collar that has bullets around the edges. Turning to her, you try to act casual.
“What’s the guy’s name?” You ask, motioning to the boy on the screen.
She shakes her head, her eyes not moving from the contraption in her grasp.
“I dunno. Adam, or something.”
Your eyes dazedly turn back towards the security footage and something tugs at your chest.
Adam.
It fits him well, you think.
You hum, watching as Amanda frustratedly slams down a piece of material.
“This piece of shit,” she grumbles. “I’m gonna go get some more stuff for it. I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on that guy, okay?”
That won’t be a problem, you think. You nod, saying bye to Amanda. Finally alone in the room, you bite your glossed lips and adjust your high heels on your feet. You then turn to your purse, pull out a compact mirror, and begin to touch up your eye makeup. Anything to get you to ignore that feeling tugging at you as Adam’s game begins.
—
It’s a mere forty minutes later, and Amanda still isn’t back yet. She had texted you through your burner phone a mere few minutes earlier.
“Got held up.” she said. “Wont be back for another 30 mins.”
Honestly, perfect timing. Because as you watch Adam through those cameras, you notice that he’s beginning to stir.
Of course, as you expect, he’s panicky. You can see all of his expressions: how confused he looks as his eyes first open, then the mere realization that he’s restrained. And then, the panic and fear— his eyes scrunch up and he begins to move his hips in an attempt to get out.
And you’re so thankful that the surveillance is equipped with audio. Because as he struggles, Adam lets out the most precious whine you’ve ever heard.
And against your morals (as if you have any, at this point), your panties begin to dampen. He lets out a pained sound, trying to speak through the helmet. But he can’t.
Watching him so helpless and scared— it shouldn’t turn you on. But something in you can’t help but bring your hand down to your pussy and rub your palm against your swollen clit. You let out a heavy exhale, and your eyes move down to Adam’s hips— those gorgeous, slutty little hips. He’s moving them around like he’s grinding against the fucking chair. And shit, you can’t resist letting out a moan at the sight.
Thankfully remembering to press the button that connects to the television set in the room, you watch with hooded eyes as it turns on in front of Adam. His eyes widen, looking and listening to the instructions. You move your panties to the side and slip a finger inside yourself. Two, after a mere moment; it’s always been easy for you to take your own fingers. Adam’s got his eyebrows scrunched up and you wonder what his cock looks like. Probably cute— a pretty, flushed pink tip when he’s aroused. He looks like the type to shave himself bare, and when you begin thinking about how girthy he might be your mouth begins to salivate. You haven’t even seen all of him (yet), but you know the boy has a perfect cock.
Adam begins to cry. Your pace speeds up. He sounds so pretty and you know if you saw his whole pouting face he’d be even prettier. You press the button to release his restraints. At the freedom of his wrists and legs he throws himself down to the floor— maybe he’s trying to search the unknown man laying limp on the floor to see if he has anything on him to help him escape. He pats his chest, and checks his pants pockets.
And then, he lifts up his shirt to reveal that damning question mark reserved as a cutting guide. He sobs, knowing what he has to do. His hand picks up the scalpel on the small metal table, brought to him by that puppet that you think is very fucking ugly. He looks at it, looking at the unknown man across from him.
And when he begins to complete the task assigned to save his life, your wetness gushes down your fingers in thick, creamy streams. You aren’t looking at the blood and gore littering the floor as Adam cuts into the man— no, that’s fucked up. Your eyes are only focused on the boy doing the cutting. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and you pull your fingers out of yourself to rub your clit in fast circles. Whimpering into the open air, you watch as Adam wins his game. You watch his bloody hands as he unlocks the trap. And when his face is revealed to you, all bloody and handsome and crying, you let out a loud mewl, and cum all over your own fingers.
And after this, realization sinks in that the boy has beat the trap. He will live.
And now you know what your next task will be— finding him. You intend to know this boy— Adam— and you intend to help him heal from this.
And once he’s gained your trust, maybe, just maybe, you’ll fuck his pretty brains out.
#adam stanheight#Adam stanheight x reader#Adam stanheight x fem! reader#adam faulkner stanheight#Adam stanheight smut#adam stanheight fanfic#saw#saw 2004 fanfic#saw 2004#saw franchise#saw fanfic#saw x
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NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)
Pairing: Steven Grant x F! Reader
Word Count: 1.8k (Explicit)
Request: "If you are still taking requests from the prompt list… what about Steven Grant and the Alleyway/Alley corner? I recently found your blog and it is *chefs kiss*"
Steven Grant + Alley/Alleyway: (prompt list here)
- Working under the guidance of an ancient Egyptian goddess was hard enough, without having to track one of your counterparts halfway across the globe every time he had a crisis of confidence. Marc Spector had been a thorn in your side for years on the job, his stubborn and erratic personality making him a nightmare to work with and the last person you'd willingly spend time with.
- So when you landed in London and started tailing him to see what shit he was pulling before you made your move, you could hardly believe the the change you saw in him - his arrogance facade faded into a sweetheart who took pride in showing little kids around a museum and helping them pick out toys, even if it seemed like a bittersweet irony that he always strayed into the Egyptian exhibits first. The man had become a creature of habit, taking the same route to and from work every day, stopping at the same places, and generally being far too easy to track for your liking.
- You were sure it was a trap, some fucked up game Marc was playing with you, but that didn't stop you deciding enough was enough and confronting him one night. He'd just finished his shift at the museum, leaving late after being punished with inventory, and as always got the bus back to his side of town. You were sure he'd noticed you sat with your back to him on the bus, but he chose not to say a word which only left you feeling more confused about this game of cat and mouse.
- Finally he slipped down the dimly lit alley that took him almost all the way home, footsteps speeding up slightly, like subconsciously he could sense that he wasn't alone on his journey.
"Marc!" You called out, stepping into the alleyway and blocking his path, his strict daily pattern making him just too easy to intercept. You expected him to start running, to scale the walls beside you, but instead you just heard a quivering voice, with a slightly unplaceable accent, reply,
"Umm, my name's Steven. With a v."
- As you strode closer the cowering man didn't back away, or even try to move a muscle, his wide eyes tracing over your silhouette as he took you in, surprised by the colour flushing to his cheeks and his rumbled brain choosing your beauty to focus on above all else.
"Fuck off Marc, you don't think i'm falling for that do you? We have work to do." You sighed frustratedly, feeling a tinge of guilt as he shook his head vigorously, eyes apologetic and soft, the antithesis of every interaction you'd had with Marc Spector.
"I'm really sorry, I don't know who that is, but I promise I'm just Steven, and we've never met before. Except you were on the bus before right?"
"So you did notice me tailing you?" You countered quickly, trying to get the truth behind the spark of recognition in his eyes. He gulped and nodded, suddenly very self conscious,
"It's hard not to notice a woman as pretty as you."
- His gentle smile, the warmth in his words, the slight hint of both fear and excitement in his eyes, this was definitely not Marc - and you were starting to feel more and more pleased with that fact as you let a smile creep across your cheeks, like everything that bothered you about Marc was reversed here, but in same gorgeous muscled package that you'd wanted to get a better look at for years.
- You only had to take two steps forward before Steven backed himself against the wall, desperately confused by the overlapping feelings of intimidation and arousal building up inside him, sure no-one had ever looked at him quite this way before, the happiest a deer has ever been to be in headlights.
"You're not so bad yourself Steven with a v, and SO much more charming than the guy I was looking for." You purred, inching forward until your body brushed lightly against his, the contact enough to know he was just as interested as you are.
- He didn't know quite how he ended up here, but Steven's mentally cheering himself on for managing not to mess this up yet, confident that anything else he says might be the thing that scares you away - not that you seem like the kind of person who's ever scared really. So he decides not to open his lips again, and instead listens to the voice in his head that tells him to lean forwards, setting his lips lightly against yours, testing the tempting waters he'd let himself sink straight beneath.
- You're leaning into him in no time, fingers trailing through his hair as your lips part, tongue taking control of the kiss and showing him he really doesn't need to be gentle with you. It's been a long time since you'd been able to take a break from work to have a little fun, and even if you still have to hunt down Marc, you can take a night off to enjoy a sweet British guy who takes way too long to build up the nerve to put his hands on your waist.
- You use your arms looped around his neck to pull his body flush against yours, grinding your hips against him and swallowing the whimper he lets out in response. His eyes are clenched shut as he tries to keep some semblance of self-control, mortified by each of the soft moans that slip out at every brush of your hips, determined not to let this opportunity get away from him. He lets his hands drift down your hips, skimming over your thighs as one gingerly reaches under your skirt, stopping when it finds the wet patch starting to form on your panties in all the anticipation.
"Bloody hell love." He breathes out as he starts to toy with you through the slick fabric, the sweet noises his touch elicits emboldening him to apply more pressure, rubbing firm circles over your clit, feeling your breath falter against him. He captures your lips in a greedy kiss as slips his fingers inside the fabric, his thumb returning to your clit as two fingers slide inside you, the delicious stretch almost enough to buckle your knees. His free hand keeps you pinned to his chest as works you up, every touch leaving you panting against him, your kiss trailing to his neck, leaving a bruise he'll wear with endless pride tomorrow.
- As his relentless pace starts to build the pressure inside your core, your thighs tremble again, making it harder and harder for you to keep upright in his arms, his own aching need growing inside his straining trousers. When he hears you moan out his name, he decides it's now or never, taking his hand away just short of your bliss, the whine that escapes your throat entirely involuntary.
"Just a second love, I'll be all yours again soon." Despite his clear power over you, he still stumbles over the words as he glances over his shoulder before undoing his belt, slipping his trousers down just far enough for his throbbing manhood to spring free, the cold night air making him hiss through his teeth at the sensation. Dropping to his knees he places a constellation of gentle kisses on your inner thigh as he slides your soaked panties down your leg, handling you oh so delicately as he helps you step free of them, stuffing them in his pocket before bringing his lips to sensitive skin again.
"You really know how to make a girl weak in the knees." You praised, surprised by the sweet giggle your comment drew from the man. The comment spurred him on to pull your thighs around his waist, rising back to his feet and pressing you against the wall behind you, now face to face again with so little fabric between you.
- Reading the uncertainty on his face you quickly nodded, squeezing your legs around him until you felt him start to slide inside of you, his fingers barely doing his size justice. Pure elation flashed across his face as you moaned out his name, the way he filled you quickly bringing your building pleasure back to the brink again. His hands gripped your ass hard as his hips bucked against you, sharp thrusts fucking into you over and over, his lips hungrily swallowing yours like he'd been starved pf the sweet affections of a kiss for as long as he could remember.
You grabbed at his broad shoulders, struggling to stay upright as his pace quickened, holding off his own release with everything he had before he could give you everything you needed. You were grateful he lived a pretty quiet side of town, the noise of the two of you echoing through the alley, the danger of getting caught only heightening all your senses as Steven's needy whines grew with the frantic pace of his hips, fighting his release but losing the battle in such a salaciously hot situation. You couldn't help but think you might need to extend your time in London to find out what other talents this Steven held, all thoughts of Marc long gone as a his new heavy rhythm brushed just the right spot inside you to have your head rolling back against the cold brick wall as you clenched down around him, your release all the more satisfying for his immediately following it. He clung to you like you were the first life preserver he'd been thrown in a very long storm, panting and moaning as your waves of pleasure seemed to ripple straight through him too, his lips chasing yours even as he desperately struggled to fill his lungs.
- As you come down from your high you'd have to tap him on the shoulder,
"Steven, you can put me down now." Straight back to bashful and embarrassed he'd apologize and pull out of you, cursing the whimper he let out as he finally left your soft warm entrance, dropping to the floor to ensure you were safely back on your feet, and feeling his heart do a flip as he caught a glimpse of his cum starting to drip out of your pussy and onto your thigh.
- By the time he's started to redress himself you're halfway down the alley, disappearing into the dark, leaving him calling after you,
"Am I going to see you again?" He wants to shout your name, but realises he never found it out.
"Maybe. I know where to find you Steven with a v." You replied without looking back, smirking to yourself at the thought of showing up at his door any time you wanted. You only missed the proud smile he gave himself as he pulled your underwear out of his pocket, knowing he'll struggle to think of anything else on his lonely nights now, mumbling to himself 'more like Steven without a v.'
#writing#fanfiction#one shot#requests#steven grant fluff#steven grant smut#steven grant x reader#steven grant imagines#moon knight headcanon#moon knight smut#moon knight imagines#moon knight x reader#moon knight imagine
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i was doing some research into the royal mint court, which is where the OIAR offices are located, and which was also built by robert smirke
in addition to pressing coins, this mint also served as a gold refinery, in which gold was completely purified into bullion (metal refined to extremely high elemental purity)
now, this is where i have the potential to be completely off base, but given the many reoccurring references and use of alchemy and alchemical symbols/themes, i don’t think this is too far-fetched.
one of the three main goals and aspirations within alchemy is the transmutation of metals, particularly lead into gold. the other two are to create an elixir of eternal youth/health, and to create the philosopher’s stone (which was an item supposedly with the power to grant the user both of these things).
there is certainly much to delve into there, but that is for another post. for now i will focus my thoughts around the transmutation of metals into gold.
we have already heard many statements which focus on transformation, so this theme is already quite prevalent within our minds.
there has been less explicit mention of alchemy outside of daria’s statement (in reference to ink5oul) and the symbols on the OIAR logo. it was a very important element in the ARG (of undetermined canonical status, but likely to be relevant at the very least) which i am choosing to treat as if it is canonically relevant, if not entirely canon. for the sake of this post, though, i will just focus on what is in the podcast so far.
now, to go on a bit of a tangent:
the symbols within the OIAR logo are the symbols for salt and mercury, and the logo itself is the symbol for the philosopher’s stone turned upside down (inverted?).
salt and mercury are two of the three primes within alchemy, representing body and mind, respectively. salt is often seen in alchemy as a material that is found impure and then purified by human hands(themes of transformation). mercury, due to its common liquid state, was thought to be able to shift between life and death and represented the ability to transcend death (themes of immortality).
i am less certain on the significance of the symbol for the philosopher’s stone being inverted, but i doubt it was simply a meaningless design choice, especially when considering the significance of tma’s logo design. at this point in time, i would infer that it is possibly representative of a goal to reverse the effects of such a stone, like an anti-philosopher’s stone. however, i have a hard time deciphering a motive for such a thing. my only thought hinges on the accuracy of the theories about JMJ in which jonah, jon, and martin are (trapped) in the computer (possibly an immortal state, yet undesirable?) and also possibly being amalgamated together, unable to be separated (wishing to reverse this transformation). i will investigate this further.
-end tangent
i believe the transmutation of gold is also a significant idea here. gold itself is representative of perfection within alchemy, and is an incredibly significant element of the practice. i also think it is interesting to note that the sun and the heart are associated with gold as well in alchemy, particularly when considering how averse the OIAR seems to be in regards to staff exposure to the sun. their staff work the night shift despite having a job that has no business occurring outside of the regular business hours, LEAST of all the night shift. in the latest episode (6), sam speaks about how he misses the sun and doesn’t want to shut it out entirely, while alice tells him that “the sun is the enemy”.
aside from isolating their employees to make them more susceptible victims, this could be another motive for such hours.
in addition, the alchemical symbol for gold is a circle with a dot in the center, which looks similar to an eye. with what we know of the significance of eyes in tma and eyes being specifically mentioned when they are maimed or removed in statements thus far (redcanary, violinist, needles, and possibly the horror junkie), this seems like it could also be an important detail. (perhaps the sun is a watchful eye??/hj)
i still need to ruminate and investigate further on these ideas, but i wanted to get my initial thoughts down and out while in the moment.
#tmagp#the magnus pod#the magnus protocol#tmagp speculation#tmagp theory#tmagp spoilers#tma#the magnus archives
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Hi there!
So, I recently had been reading your Gawtin stuff and read the original and just thought what if it was reversed(but she still has Qui'oky) like he could be the one who found the almost dead human that seemed so thin and was covered on bruises, maybe she was a slave or she was captured who knows.
You don't have to do this if you don't want too! I hope you have a good day/night!!!
:D
What If...?
Pairings: Gawtin (female Yautja) x GN!Reader (Qui'oky makes an apperance)
Word Count: 2261
Summary: A Bad blood who was hiding out on Earth had captured a human reader for entertainment. Gawtin stumbled upon the camp when the Bad Blood is away and finds a human.
Author Note: I hope this is what you wanted! Thank you for being patient with me! My inbox is already getting full already. I'm gonna try to keep it open as I knock through them all... We'll see.
Masterlist
Ao3
The chain left no room for freedom. It pressed firmly against your skin. Welts and dark bruises rose under the thick, unbreakable band that encased your throat. No matter how many times you complained, it fell to deaf ears. If the creature had ears to beginning with. You whined and looked around the area. Not a sign of life in the vicinity.
Wherever the beast has gone didn’t offer you relief. Your hand ran along the chains linked together. They were attached to a stake deep in the ground. You’ve gnawed, twisted, and pulled at the metal but they’ve barely even groaned at the many attempts you’ve conducted.
Nothing worked to damage the metal.
This time, you hoped it would come back with something for you to eat. It had been three days since it returned with food.
With a groan, you stumbled to your feet and walked to the end of the chain. It was a short leash that didn’t offer a lot to move around with. Though, your fighting spirit had decreased each day you’ve been trapped at this horrible camp ground, you weren’t going to lie down and give up.
Skulls of human lined one area, seven in total. More were decorated the trees. Either a deterrent from you escaping or others to turn tail and run. Or else they’ll end up just like the pearly white skulls and bones that hung from branches. A warning you took carefully.
Especially after the first time the beast found you trying to escape.
Hours of digging through compacted dirt and root filled grounds still hadn’t reached to the end of the stake. You hadn’t heard the silent steps until a foot connected to your stomach. The strength behind it combined with the short leash had you fly through the air for a short period. Then, the chain caught you at the end and slammed you into the ground. The fact your neck hadn’t snapped from how hard the band dug into your skin was a miracle…
Or this beast didn’t want you dead just yet.
Was it just playing with its food? You shuttered and scanned the area again.
Nothing.
That didn’t ease the tension building inside of your chest. You stepped to the end of your leash and looked over at the items that are outreach.
Everything you needed to kill it, sitting over by where it likes to rest. Teasing you. Right there. Knives. Even a spear that you could launch into its chest and watch it die. It deserved with all the torture it made you endure since it captured you.
From the day cycles, you speculated it had been around two, maybe three months. Three fucking months of this bullshit. Barely enough food to keep you even afloat and alive. Water was a once a day thing. It knew you were needy for at least water. It gave you a bag of it for five minutes before ripping it away. Each time, you begged for a sip more.
It never gave you that relief.
You groaned and tugged at the collar ensnared around your throat when it sliced against old and knew cuts. They’ve never had a chance to fully heal as the sharp ends continuous pressed into your fragile skin.
The beast never cared or batted an eye at your cried and pleads to loosen it. Actually, it wasn’t originally this tight. As punishment and probably to shut you up, the creature took out a link on the collar and reclosed it. The entire time, you fought against it while it sat perched on your back. But, you’ve learned since day one that it could kill you with little effort.
A punishment that further diminished your chances of escape. Yet, with how much weight you’ve lost, the collar isn’t dangerously pressed to your arteries or the column of your throat anymore. Maybe two fingers could uncomfortably slip between your skin and the harsh metal.
As you stood there, your gaze fixed on the weapons so close yet so far away, you smacked your crack lips together. There was nothing you could do with what time the beast gave you to dig again. That was your only option to escape. To get this stupid collar off and snatch one of the many knives out on display.
None of the sticks around you were strong enough to even bend the metal without snapping, crumbling away. You huffed then sat down at the base of a tree and leaned against the bark. Pieces poked into your back but you didn’t care enough to move.
That became a reminder you were still alive.
After time, your mind grew numb from the lack of stimulation. You stared blanket at the pine needle covered floor and waited. That was all you do.
Something heavy landed in your lap and jolted from the desolate field of your brain. Your head snapped up to find the unfortunately familiar form of the strange dark brown form in front of you. It scoffed and marched away.
Your eyes drifted down to find the bag of water in your lap. Desperation clawed at your throat. You scrambled to untie the knot that kept it close and began to chug the liquid down. A couple of times, you had to break off and gasp for a single breath before going in for more. This was only a once a day thing.
This time, you were able to down the whole thing before it came back over and grabbed it back. It rolled its dark eyes and sneered down at you with its horrifying face.
Clicks sounded its throat. “If you gave me access to water everyday, I wouldn’t do that every time,” you snarked it and glared dangerously. It stiffened and bent at the waist to get into your face. You didn’t back down. Either to end it all or piss it off, you didn’t know what end goal you were wanting.
The horrible breath rolled over your face, nearly making you gag at the smell. Rotten death.
A massive hand ensnared your throat and easily lifted up your body from the ground. Your feet kicked out and struck its legs but didn’t cause any damage enough to get it to let go.
Instead, it seemed to encourage it as its hand tightened. A deadly snarled rolled off of its hidden tongue and straight into your face. As much as you should’ve been shaking in your boots, you kept complete eye contact with the beast and bared your own teeth at it. It darkened its facial features and shoved you flush with the tree behind you.
An sound of terror was cut off. The whites of your eyes evident. The only thing you could do was stare up at the creature as it leaned and opened up its four fangs.
Death was closing in fast.
A piercing scream scratched at your throat. You wormed around and did everything in your power to escape. It wasn’t enough.
In a blink of an eye, an arrow stuck its way through the head of the beast. Somehow, some way, you doubled your efforts at the troubling sight before you.
The beast stayed on its feet and held you firm to the tree. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, the grip it held on you began to fall away. Then, the beast collapsed at your feet and nearly dragged you down with it. You fell down to your knees and gawked at the dead humanoid figure before you. Another scream tearing at your vocal cords.
Familiar but not, clicks and grunts vocalized to your right. It dragged your attention and pulled you from your scrambled thoughts.
Olive green but half the size of the beast that was just killed before you stood at the edge of the camp. It had a metal, silver mask attached to the bottom of its face. You recognized the shape of the head. This thing was a smaller version of the beast at your knees. You inhaled sharply and picked up yourself from the ground to sprint away.
Heat pressed to your back at the first away from the half-sized beast. You frozen on the spot then slowly tipped up your head.
Though it was only the underside, you saw familiar features and knew instantly to run. This thing towered over you like a redwood to a pine tree. Your feet were acting faster then your brain could catch up. They took a good ten feet from the larger creature before you snapped back and landed roughly on your back. All the air in your lungs knocked, causing you to gasp with a cry.
The collar sliced a deeper cut into your throat. Thick, liquid of crimson dribbled down from the newly added wound in your stupor. You cried at the wound and sat up while attempting to feel at the cut.
You weren’t given much time to collect yourself when a heavy shadow fell over your battled form. Your eyes snapped up within a second to find the same frame of the massive beast. A whimper surged pass your lips. You scrambled backwards but this was the end of your leash. There was no escape. You were to meet your end.
Metal bit into the back of your fragile neck. Your chest heaved with each inhale and exhale, consuming all the air around you. But the beast didn’t move.
Off to your right, the miniature creature bounced over to the tower creature and stood at its side. By the looks of it, the olive-green figure was a young version of these creatures.
Young and full of life, it wavered side to side. But the larger one gave a single snarl that instantly had it tensing up. The little one bowed its head with submission and stood like a statue now.
Their attention returned your trembling form. The dark, dirty mint colored creature took a single step forward and crowded into your space more than before. You sobbed harder and struggled more against your bindings, but they barely even croaked under the strain. It crouched down and grasped the base of your collar. Your hand shot out and ensnared its wrist, but your fingers didn’t even touch the other tips.
It tugged you towards itself. A scream ripping from your lungs as you kicked and squirmed. The thing didn’t struggled. Its other hand was brought forward and grabbed at your collar.
A click sounded. You fell to the ground.
Fresh air brushed against blood and sweat slicked skin of your neck. Instantly, your hand reached up and brushed the dark bruises and cuts that lined your throat. Pain surged forward at the touch. But the collar was gone.
Your jaw slackened while gazing upon the figure leaning far into your space. Half of the fear that filled your veins washed away. Was this a trick? Or trading one monster for another? Unknowns you had no clue on which one was worse. The only thing you could do for the moment was watch and wait for the thing to either move on or act.
An attack never came.
The beast reached out with mindful movements and ran rough fingertips along the wound that incircles your throat. You believed it could feel the thundering beat of your heart like a bird’s wings in takeoff.
There was a moment of stillness t that caused your heart rate to skyrocket even higher. Then, the fingers fell away. Its elbow rested on its thunderous thigh while it peered down at you with eyes that never blinked.
“Thank you,” you whispered in the quiet night air to your savior. You prayed it could understand your words and take the appreciation so it did not end you here and now.
“You are free.” Words tumbled from the creature’s alien mouth. In such a state of shock of ready, you couldn’t react much more than blinking in silence.
It stayed sat on its haunches while looking at you expectingly. When you did not move, it spoke again. “You are free.” Repeated.
Behind it, the younger creature stepped closer and peered over its bigger companions shoulder. Its eyes a cyan but dark with the little light, not even from the moon. It chittered. The one before you grunted sharply. The small figure backed off with a roll of its eyes. Was this a parent and child combo? Their behavior to one another resembled it.
The lumbering giant grunted again. A scaly palm was offered to you in the low light. “Take.” You find its eyes again. They were dark but you saw the purple that colored them.
In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by what had to be miles upon miles of forest, your chances of survival were slim to none. A fact well known and prominent in your mind.
Yet, while you gaze upon this figure and possibly child, you didn’t know where that life would lead you. Though, you know it was better chances than what the forest would offer. Your eyes flickered down to its massive palm once before coming to a decision.
Your hand fell into its own, easily engulfed. The creature gave a short grunt and pulled you to your wobbly legs. A nodded was given to you and the child. Then, it turned on its heel and began to carve path through the forest. The smaller one gave you a look that you didn’t understand and bounced after its possibly parent.
Last in line, you stumbled after the duo.
#yautja#predator#yautja x reader#yautja x you#alien vs predator#predator x reader#yautja x human#predator x you#predator x human#x reader#love gawtin#Gawtin#Qui'oky
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i want mingyu to tie my hands and blindfold me with the ribbons from his chanel purchases
“how’s that, babygirl? too tight?”
you shake your head in the direction you think your boyfriend is standing and tug at the makeshift restraints to test them out. “feels good. can you touch me now?”
“patience, love,” mingyu chides. you can hear the amusement in his voice. “i’m not done yet. sit still.”
you’re confused by that— you’re already tied up and blindfolded, you don’t know what else is left to do. then you hear the shutter of a camera lens and it all makes sense. you set your lips in a pout.
“can’t that wait?” you whine. “wanna feel you.”
mingyu scoffs. “don’t be a brat. whose birthday is it?”
you slump back into the pillows. “yours. sorry.”
“pretty baby’s so worked up already, huh?” you nod. “don’t worry, just a few more. wanna capture the before and after.”
you let him take as many pictures as he wants— not that you have any other option, sitting quietly on the bed as he works.
you’d been the one to get him a new film camera for his birthday. rookie mistake.
every time the flash goes off, for just a fraction of a second, you can make out his silhouette behind the thin fabric of your blindfold. it’s torture, seeing him but not seeing him.
already, you feel desperate. you’ve never been deprived of touch and sight at the same time before and it has you reeling.
“fuck, you’re so wet,” mingyu breathes. “completely ruined your panties, baby.”
you jolt at the feeling of his fingers running over the soaked material. you hadn’t heard him set down the camera, hadn’t heard the footsteps of him approaching the bed or felt his presence next to you. just how far gone were you?
the sound of him sucking the same fingers into his mouth makes you whimper. mingyu just laughs.
“let’s get these off of you, yeah?”
“please…”
the mattress dips with mingyu’s weight as he climbs onto it. you hold your breath in anticipation but still let out a little yelp when you feel his canines brush against your hip instead of his fingers.
“gotta keep you on your toes,” he whispers, proceeding to pull your underwear off with his teeth.
“you’re insufferable.”
“is that any way to talk to the birthday boy?” mingyu asks, muffled by your thong in his mouth.
“kim mingyu, love of my life…” he hums pleasantly, expectantly. “you’re insufferable.”
the jab earns you a slap on your pussy but it’s worth it, and you smile victoriously for all of a second before mingyu’s shoving the underwear in your mouth. you moan around his fingers and the fabric, gagging a bit as he pushes in deeper.
he had been right, you are soaked. the taste of your own arousal on your tongue makes you want to press your thighs together to get some relief but your boyfriend is sitting right in between them, stopping you from doing just that.
“as much as i can tell you’re enjoying that, i need you to be able to talk so you can communicate with me while i fuck you. but you have to be good for me. are you going to be good?” you nod obediently. when he takes the panties back out of your mouth, you’re silent. “that’s better.”
he rewards you with a kiss, short but sweet. just enough for you to both be able to taste you on each other’s lips.
when he pulls away, you try and chase him, stopped short by the ribbons tied around your wrists. mingyu chuckles fondly at you and swoops down for another kiss. just because.
“ready, baby?”
“so ready.”
“what’s your color?”
“green.”
“that’s my girl.”
you’re picturing the face he’s making as he pushes into you. eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, eyes trained on where your bodies connect… it’s almost enough to make you beg him to rip the blindfold off. almost.
instead, you focus on the feeling.
you’re doing things in reverse tonight, birthday boy’s wishes. he wanted to fuck you first and then eat you out while you’re still dripping with his cum. it feels like more of a present for you than for him but you’re not one look a gift horse in the mouth— or however the saying goes. you’re not going to argue with a good thing.
it takes him longer than usual to bottom out, even with how wet you are, because he hasn’t made you cum beforehand like he usually does. the stretch has pain and pleasure bleeding together, neither more powerful than the other. the sensations are heightened by your lack of sight and ability to use your hands. it’s all a little overwhelming but it feels way too fucking good to even think about stopping.
“color, baby?”
“green,” you gasp. “i’m green. just give me an extra second.”
“of course. take all the time you need.”
mingyu cradles you as you wait it out together, taking deep breaths to steel himself every time your cunt spasms around him unintentionally.
you’re not sure how much time passes before he shifts up onto his elbows, mumbling something to himself. “here, let me…” he trails off and you don’t totally get what he means until you feel his thumb circling your clit.
the pressure is feather light, just enough to have you getting even wetter so that the glide is easier and feels good for both of you.
“fuck, gyu,” you moan, arching your back until your chest is pressed to his. “move now, please.”
“already lost the ability to form full sentences, pretty baby?”
“your fault,” you choke out, “big stupid dick.”
he laughs at that and threads his fingers through yours, giving you something to squeeze, something to anchor yourself to.
“we should do this more often,” mingyu says as he starts to rock his hips into yours.
“what, tie me up?” you ask.
“no, celebrate my birthday.”
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𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑫𝑬
** gif by the amazing @inklore who made this for me, love u bby thank you so much!!!
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
genre: smut, hurt/comfort
word count: 3.5k
summary: a retelling of the third episode but with you in it. Starts with Ellie reading Bill's letter.
warnings: spoilers for episode three, oral (giving), shower sex, piv, lots of emotions, hugging joel because he needs it, soft!joel
a/n: i'm still fucking crying tbh
“August 29, 2023,”
“If you find this please do not come into the bedroom. We left the window open so the house wouldn't smell. It will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this Joel. Because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps hehehehehehe Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway, I never liked you. But still, it's like we're friends. Almost. And I respect you. So I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here, we have a job to do. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep—”
Ellie’s voice trails off, making you look up from the corner of the wall your eyes were digging a hole in. She presses her lips together, eyes moving away from the heartbreaking letter. Joel’s eyes snap up, and without saying a word he snatches the letter from her hands and reads it for himself. You have the urge to come close and peer at the words as well, but you don’t dare. You zero in on his expression; the crease between his brows deepens, the corner of his lips pulling down. He swallows.
“Stay here,” he croaks, heading to the door.
It slams shut. Leaving you and Ellie inside, you turn to her, “What did it say?” you ask despite having a solid guess of what the answer might be.
Ellie doesn’t look up. Her stance is relaxed but the tension tolling over her shoulders is visible. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and answers, “Tess,” she says. “Bill was telling Joel to keep her safe,”
“Oh shit,” you whisper instinctively. Ellie nods.
“My thoughts exactly,”
You drop your bag, the sudden relief of it being gone making you feel lighter than ever. You know he’ll be mad if you try to talk about it. But you also don’t have it in you to leave him to wallow in his own self-pity. Joel is a protector. And from what you’ve heard, Bill was also one. Protector to protector. The message was abundantly clear and Joel had failed again and again. You hate to word it like that, but you know that’s what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about Sarah, about Tess. About Tommy who might be already dead. Now, he has to deal with you and Ellie. You, he found in Boston with Tess, covered in bruises and cuts, ration cards stolen and beaten to a pulp.
You turn to Ellie one last time, she’s already staring at you, it’s slightly unnerving. “Wait here, don’t touch anything that might kill you. Stock up,”
“Aye Aye Captain.”
And you leave.
The sun is shining, not a single cloud in the sky. Your eyes lock onto Joel as soon as you step over the threshold; his back turned, letter in hand, shoulders slumped. He looks around the neighborhood, then back down to the letter. He repeats the motion a couple of times as if he can’t believe what’s happening around him. You follow the path his eyes draw, looking around and back at him. You wonder if this neighborhood is similar to the one he used to live in.
“Hey,” you finally call out, your voice sounding scratchy. Joel flinches, he crumples the piece of paper and stuffs it in his pocket. “Are you okay?”
“We need to get out of here,” he answers, fingers tightening around the key, he heads to the garage. You follow.
When the two of you are inside, you see his resolve finally starting to crack. He pops the hood open, looks inside, and slams it shut. Pressing his palms into the smooth surface, his head falls, body shaking with his every breath. Your steps are silent as you approach him, your eyes trail over the roundness of his shoulders, the dip of his shirt.
You bite down the inside of your cheek, not stopping until you feel a sharp sting. Holding your breath, you place a hand over his shoulder, gently squeezing.
He flinches, it’s the most minimal reaction, something you only felt because you were physically touching him. “Is this okay?” you ask.
Joel nods, his swallow audible. “Yeah, it’s fine,”
“Can I hug you?”
He tenses under your fingertips. You don’t make a move until you feel the small nod he makes. “Sure,” his voice cracks. “If you want to,”
Some part of you wants to ask ‘do you?’ but of course, you don’t. Of all the months you’ve known him, he’s never once verbally asked anyone for anything. If you give it, he’ll take it. Your hand smooths a path down his arm, the other rounding his waist. You take a deep breath as you press your forehead between his shoulder blades, you feel the steadiness of his heartbeat.
Joel is still tense but less than before. Your fingers curl around his wrist, and your other hand lays right above his heart, nails softly biting into the fabric of his shirt.
Much to your surprise, his hand covers your own, thick fingers lacing into yours. It gives you courage. It gives you hope. You press further into him, hug him with your entire body hoping that the warmth you provide is enough to soothe him, even for a second.
“Sorry,” he grunts out, squeezing your hand, he brings it to his lips. His mustache tickles your skin, and he eases his lips into you, something between a kiss and a press of skin. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so angry all the time, there’s a weight on my chest that never leaves. You understand?” you nod and he continues. “I’m not like Bill. Not in the way he thought that I was. I’ve always been afraid—Even after…”
You feel him shaking his head, and your grip around him tightens. You do understand. You’ve felt it too, but he made it easier, help you lift that weight despite not being a man of many words, his presence gave you strength.
You want to stay like this forever. Holding him, feeling him. He’s incredibly warm.
“I’m not strong enough,” he lastly says, whispering your name right after. “I can’t keep you or Ellie safe,”
You feel the brush of lips over your knuckles. He allows you to cradle his scruffy cheek. It feels like a dream almost, which makes you acutely aware of how much he must be hurting right now. Your heart breaks.
“You are,” you whisper, fingers moving along his beard. “We’re going to stock up, find Tommy, and get Ellie to the fireflies. Then we’re done. Maybe we can even come back here,”
He scoffs, “How are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Hopeful,”
“It’s because I have you.”
You know he’s confused. You can feel it simmering under his skin, face heating up under your hand. He’s confused as to how something positive could be spurred from his existence. But it’s the truth. And he needs to hear it. He needs to know that it’s not only grief, and sadness, that follow his every footstep like a shadow. His strength gives those around him a chance to grow, a chance to be more human. Allowing them to live and relax while he carries the burden.
His methods might be brutal, and the words he says might cut deeper than a knife ever could, but it comes from a place of a twisted sense of love.
“We should head back inside,” he murmurs and pulls at your hand. “I’ll make the truck battery and we grab what we can while it charges,”
“Okay,” you take a step back, already feeling the ache of not feeling him against your person. “I’ll go check on Ellie.”
Joel doesn’t say a word, nor looks at you, he only nods.
You still can’t fucking believe it.
Hot fucking water.
You’re impatiently sitting in one of the guest bedrooms, Ellie is downstairs, already taken her shower and Joel is still inside, a soft slow of steam slithering its way out of the cracks of the door.
You sitting there and waiting for Joel to get out isn’t probably the most efficient thing to do but you can’t help it, you feel giddy. Your leg bobs up and down as you wait. The mere thought of having warm water rolling down your tattered skin makes your heart leap to your throat—
The running water stops and your eyes fly to the door. A couple of minutes later it opens. A wet, clothed, Joel makes his way through the steam. It looks mystical, almost.
He stops when he sees you.
“What are you doin’ here?”
“Waiting to use the shower,” you grin, not shying away from openly raking your eyes up and down his body. “Looking good, Miller,”
He rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, your pussy bottoms out at the way his biceps bulge from underneath the flannel. “Well, I’m done now. Have fun,”
Joel moves towards the door and you jump up barely in time to catch his wrist. He raises an eyebrow, eyes dropping to meet yours. His skin is still damp, if you were a cat you’d be purring by now.
“Sit down,” you choke out. “I—fuck—This is hard. I want to—”
“Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to come up with words,” he teases and you look at him completely flabbergasted. Joel Miller actually sounds amused. It’s a goddamn miracle. He twists his hand so it’s him holding you instead, locking the door, he moves towards the bed, urging you to follow him as if this was his idea from the get-go.
“What do you want?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re standing between his spread-out legs, a chill runs up your spine. He reaches out and touches your chin. “Tell me,”
Instead of telling, you slowly sink down to your knees, fingers moving to unbutton his jeans. He spreads his legs wider as you tug them down, you trail your fingers up his thighs, feeling the soft hairs tickling the pads of your fingers. Joel’s breath hitches, muscles tensing under your touch. He’s semi-hard when you take him into your mouth. His hips buck up as you swallow, swirling your tongue around the head.
He grows harder with every lick. Your chin strains as you attempt to swallow him whole. You manage to take only half of him, your eyes squeezing shut at the pressure. Pulling up, you gasp for air. You kiss the side and flatten your tongue against it. Joel cradles your head, thumbs drawing slow circles, he guides you back down to his cock, pushing you further down.
“That’s it,” he breathes out heavily. “Just a bit more, always so fuckin’ good to me,”
He forces your gaze up, and his cock twitches above your tongue. You whimper at the way he caresses your skin, so tender, so gentle. “You are too good to me,” he repeats his words from before. “I want you to know that. I ain’t the best with words but…yeah. I’ll try to make right by you,”
If it wasn’t for his cock in your mouth, you would’ve smiled. Your heart feels so full that it overflows, the muscles of your stomach taut as you sink down, taking him until you feel the soft curls against the base of your nose. Joel holds you there, flush against his pelvis, heavily breathing as you swallow around him again and again. Spit trails down the corner of your lips, nostrils flaring as it gets harder to breathe.
When he releases you, you pull away with a pop, your lungs burning at the sudden influx of oxygen. You wrap your fingers around the shaft and start stroking him, he moans loudly, hips thrusting into your hand.
“I want you to cum down my throat, Joel,” you purr. “Use me,”
And he does.
The more desperate he becomes, the more stifled his groans get. He thrusts into your mouth, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. Joel fucks deeper into your mouth, balls heavy on your chin as his thrusts become shallow. Your eyes roll back, your consciousness teetering on the edge of blacking out completely.
With a moment of desperation, you cup your mound, rubbing at your clothed clit. The friction isn’t nearly enough and you let out a moan around his length, the reverberations making his hips stutter.
Joel spills down your throat with a grunt, he presses his molars together, rolling his hips into your mouth. You swallow greedily. He tastes bitter, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting yourself on your knees to push him deeper down. He hisses, cock pulsing between your lips.
“Jesus Christ,” he slurs, head falling back. “Jesus fuckin’ christ,”
He pulls you off with a sharp tug, looking down at you between heavy lids. “You good darlin’?”
You slowly nod, lips parting with a soft sigh. Your mind is in a deep haze of lust, your body aching to be touched, to be filled. You want to say something, anything, but you’re lost for words.
“Shit, alright come on— Up,” he grabs you by the arm, helping you to stand on your feet. You shoot him a confused look, which he answers promptly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Is it alright if I help?”
It takes you a moment to understand the question and answer, “S-Sure.”
You stand in the bathroom naked with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Joel wraps his arms around you slowly, still hesitant to touch you. He rests his chin above your shoulder, his torso bare, you sigh blissfully at the skin-on-skin contact.
“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, moving his hand down your stomach. “I thought you were excited,”
“I am,” you shudder when he drags his nose up the column of your neck, his lips following the path back down.
“Do you want me to go?”
You shake your head, “No.”
He murmurs an ‘okay’ into your skin and gently nudges you forward so you get in. The tiles are cool and slippery. It feels absurd being in such a homey-feeling bathroom after so long. It smells like lavender.
You stand there, too stunned to move until Joel joins you. He stands behind you, leaning over, naked body pressing into yours, he turns on the faucet, playing with the degree of the water until it pours warm over your skin.
“How’s that?” he mutters.
“Good,” a giggle falls from your lips. “It feels so fucking good. Unbelievable,”
Joel starts washing your body, the touch of his hands has fear behind them. A fear that you might vanish at any second. His fingers trail over every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley. You close your eyes, relishing in the sensation of having him this close. He washes your hair, taking his time, massaging your scalp. He moves down to your back, running his hands over your spine, kneading out the tension from your muscles.
His hands move to your front, lingering over your breasts, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, leaving no spot untouched. The water cascades over your bodies, swallowing you and hiding you both from the tainted world outside. Wet lips trail the slope of your shoulders, fingers slipping between your folds. He drags them between your slit, circles your aching clit, and repeats. Your head falls over his shoulder, your soft moans drowned by the sound of water.
Joel holds your chin and turns you until you’re facing him, he closes the distance, molding his lips into yours. His wet tongue follows the seam of your lips and you open up for him, he moves his tongue over yours, licking the inside of your mouth. He swallows your moans and whines as you start to grind down against his palm.
His tongue presses deeper, and your legs tremble. He grinds the heel of his palm into the sensitive bundle of nerves, groaning into your mouth when slick gushes into his hand. His cock lays above the curve of your ass, hot and hard.
He grinds into you, his cock pressing insistently between your cheeks. His hands grab your hips, pulling you closer to him, and his mouth moves across your shoulder and neck. His lips find your ear.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath heavy and hot against your neck.
“It is. I want to feel you Joel, every inch of you,”
His hands reach up, cupping your breasts, massaging gently. His thumbs circle your nipples and they harden beneath his touch, your breath catching in your throat. You roll back into him, your body craving more of his touch— of him.
Joel’s hands move down your body, his fingers tracing every inch. “Turn around for me,”
You move without hesitation. He takes a step back, letting his hands trail over you. You take a step forward, closing the gap between you and he takes you in his arms, his mouth finding yours. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan into his mouth, lost in him.
You allow your own hands to explore his body as well. He’s firm, arms strong and thick, hips narrowing as your fingers trace a path down within the water droplets that cling to his skin.
Affectionately, you caress his stomach. You gently press the pads of your fingers into the soft flesh, loving the way his chest heaves.
The water continues to pour down, creating a soothing background noise. He pushes his cock between your legs, moving through the slickness and sending sparks of pleasure through your body.
You move together, bodies entwined and breaths mingling. He lets out a low moan as you press your hips against his. His hands move to your back, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. He pulls you closer, his lips claiming yours again and again and again— He moans as he fucks your thighs. The bulbous head of his cock catching against your clit, the corners of your vision fade to black. Your head buzzes.
Joel continues to roll and grind, cock slipping between your legs with ease. During it, he slips into you, stretching you enough that the pain easily bleeds into the pleasure. He holds you, cock twitching as your flutter around him. You’re dripping and making a mess of him, he feels it. You know that he does by the way he bites into your skin, his growl vibrating across your body.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he says, licking the water off your skin. “Feels so good inside—Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough,”
“S-Shit Joel,”
Your breath hitches in your throat, your hips meeting his with each thrust. He holds your gaze, fucking himself deeper, harder into you. Pleasure licks the bottom of your spine, heat rolling in your stomach. The water washes away the sweat but you still burn. Joel’s hand moves up to the back of your neck, his hand big enough to press his fingers into both sides of your throat.
You nearly go limp at his hold, knees bucking at the pressure. But you trust him, and you aren’t at all surprised when he keeps you up, pounding into you as his lips slither down your neck.
He moves his hand lower, skimming down your stomach and cupping your sex. His thumb circles your clit, and you gasp as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.
You’re teetering on the edge, ready to come undone, when Joel suddenly pulls out. His fingers don’t stop, pinching your clit. You cry out his name as your orgasm rips through you, he holds you close as your body jolts. Your body is left confused, empty, yet still clenching as if Joel’s cock is still inside.
It’s so intense that tears roll down your cheeks, pleasure ripples over your skin, unfiltered whimpers falling from your lips. Your gaze drops to his cock, your eagerness to please loud in your mind. You notice that he’d already came, seed mixing with the water.
“I got you don’t worry,” he mutters, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re alright, you’re with me,”
You blink up, eyes finding Joel’s. A lazy smile spreads across your face, the water beating over your skin now cold. “Was that good?” you ask, kissing the bald spot on his chin.
“You know it was,” when you give him a knowing look, he sighs. “It was good, thank you, darlin’”
“I’m glad to hear that,” you grin, hands moving up his arms. “Now let’s get cleaned up one last time and get the hell out of here.”
#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#tlou fanfic#hbo the last of us#the last of us hbo#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader
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I loved the Paris special and all the hype leading up to it and after it and I just love how it went. I was so afraid it would disappoint my expectations, do something basic and trite but no, it went for something and I loved it.
Like for the most part the art, discussions and fics I saw previous to the airing were kinda goofy. We heard 'evil Marinette and Adrien' and constructed two evil little guys to swing around while we waited. They were bratty and overly dark and unapologetically cruel and conniving. Of course people did explore the possible reasons for them being different but we didn't know what the reverse world was like, where it broke off from our canon so we could only make guesses. People concluded they either did it for the heck of it, or that it was a lashing out against their circumstances. Whether the behavior followed them into being civilians, especially before all the designs were released, we didn't know and we made beautiful noise based on assumptions.
Then we got the episode.
The two kids weren't evil for the heck of it. They were tricked by someone greater, similarly how Master Fu told our Marinette and Adrien to use their power for the greater good, to better the world, the Supreme told them to use it for the greater evil, with some sort of reward in return for accomplishing this goal. It pit them against each other. They couldn't wholly work apart, neither were strong enough to do that, but they were never entirely together because if they worked together, they would simply turn against the Supreme. By telling them that only one of them could get what they wanted, the Supreme became a far cleverer and eviler villain than whatever Gabriel became by the end.
Bad Marinette and Adrien became trapped in the cycle of abuse they likely faced in their civilian lives. Marinette lived under the thumb of Chloe and her worse world and instead of being empowered as Toxinelle, she was trapped in a cycle of failure as it slowly killed her for ever wanting a chance at something better. She has the same capability as our Marinette to be good and to be resilient but the power of one toxic voice is demonstrated in her fall. At the midpoint of the special she knows that how fucked she is and how its entirely by the Supremes' design but she can't do a single thing about it other then finish what they came to do. It takes the hope Ladybug installs in her for her to overcome the manipulations of the Supreme. Bad Marinette loses the chance to get back what she wanted in the first place, whether that be freedom from Chloe or something in her home life but she accepts that she can improve things in a different way. Find Alya, join the resistance, carve out something new for herself. The lack of mention of her father makes you wonder and the bitterness about her mother is another open question. Is her Sabine mean or did something else happen to strain their relationship?
Adrien similarly became trapped in his grief and instead of Griffe Noire being a release from it, he toyed with his life in desperation to get his mother back, like our Gabriel did towards the end. I don't think Good Gabriel was a terrible father like our Gabriel but he was misguided. I think he likely didn't want to address Emily's death because by the looks of the opening, it was quite emotionally distressing and having to face that would mean admitting some terrible things (like that his actions resulted in her death, and that Adrien's 'birth' was the catalyst that had her killed). So he stayed silent and allowed Adrien's resentment to build. This Adrien is also still home schooled. I think again that Good Gabriel does this because he thinks allowing Adrien out into the world would put him in dangers way, since the Supreme obviously hasn't reclaimed the miraculous yet. But again he doesn't explain why, evidenced by Adrien working for the man responsible for his mother's demise. Adrien doesn't know, he thinks his father is pretending like nothings wrong and keeping him cut off from the world. Its likely that the one day Adrien runs away to school, the Supreme finds him and gives him the miraculous before he's whisked away again. Proving Gabriel right, but he doesn't know it.
The Supreme is also just fucking with Gabriel. He knows Gabriel's identity so he's using his son to fuck with him further. He kills his wife and then turns his son against him. His son who is now doomed to die if he doesn't retrieve the butterfly miraculous.
Both character's now reflect paths our versions could have gone down. Yes the world isn't run by the Supreme but miraculous has taken time to show the other ways the city can be terrible. Their Mayor's corrupt controlled by the whims of his daughter and investors, a greedy business man holds a monopoly on artists and the cities biggest fashion designer works with the smartest business woman in town to make rings to spy on everyone, who is literally a super villain with no known motive. Things are pretty shit and it’s not like the show isn't directly pointing to these things as terrible.
Ladybug and Chat Noir see this steaming pile of shit and decide to save it anyway, overcoming their personal challenges along the way. Like why not overthrow the mayor, why not take down those who don't need to be akumatised to be evil? It’s proof of their inherent goodness, even with everything they'd been through prior to origins that they don't do this. Versions of them are only compelled to be evil because someone different gets in their ear, someone promises them better "if they paid only a small price". Neither want to do it, but its all they have left after choosing that path instead of the other. We know that this darkness is in our versions as well. Adrinoir asks why not use the wish to solve everything? He could have his mother back, his father would revert from this cold mess to his distant but loving father. He acts out, plays a different character and doesn't think when he should. Maribug is constantly tearing herself apart trying to balance things and ends up abusing her power occasionally (especially in the earlier part of the show). She sometimes acts selfishly and is misguided. These aren't two entirely different sets of people, but the same set if the wrong traits are amplified.
And omg I love this show.
Instead of going, look at these two evil guys, doing evil things for no reason we get these morally complex renditions of our favorite characters. There's nothing wrong with the previous interpretation but it says little about our own characters in turn and only offers a chance for some hijinks and fun before the episode ends. (I wish they'd been dating and revealed like all our hearts dreamed but if that would have been true they'd have been too powerful and defeated Better fly in like five seconds so they could get back to making out - this lovesquare is even less functioning now)
Anyways be cool, watch miraculous
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#ml paris special#toxinelle#griffe noire#claw noir#shadybug#sizzle rambles
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