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uncouth-the-fifth · 10 months

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

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

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aireia · 16 days

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the hell is this supposed to be? — you adopt a kitten without sukuna's knowledge.

tw/cw: gn! reader, fluff + crack(?). sukuna calls you a brat. not proofread + rushed. fic doesn't make sense author just wanted to write something with cats and it sucked.

note: i'm half asleep. you do not wanna know the shit i typed out while trying to figure this fic out. —masterlist

sukuna has never understood— no, he doesn’t understand you. right now, at least. he was convinced he understood you even before you got together. he’ll never admit it, but if anyone asked him about your preferences, he probably had the answer. favourite food, colour, type of clothing, when you would start growing tired and fall asleep while on the phone.

now, sukuna has a set of keys to your apartment because he liked going over to your place more than you going to his because his brother’s friends were there, and he’s convinced that being around them could make the smartest of the smartest stupid. so, you just gave him keys. you had nothing to hide, afterall.

it was supposed to be one of those days. he knew you weren’t going to be home, and decided to wait for you in your apartment. everything seemed normal at first. walking out the lift and heading straight for your apartment, inserting the key into the keyhole… until he opened the door.

there was a small grey blob running towards him. and now, said grey blob was pawing at his jeans, trying to climb him. sure, sukuna was tall, but he wasn’t a tree! wait, cats aren’t supposed to be climbing up trees anyway!

sukuna looked down at the kitten, slowly becoming more and more annoyed when it didn’t leave him alone. if it’s in your home, it was probably dear to you, which means he can’t kick it off. he ended up bending down to pick it up by the paw, so now he just had a cat hanging onto his fingers with its paws while it was suspended in the air.

“kuna? what are you doing at the door—” your sentence was cut off when you saw how your boyfriend was handling your newly adopted kitten. you immediately reached out to snatch it from him, holding it close to you. you lightly scolded him for picking a cat up that way and walked past him.

he felt like air the entire evening after that. you were tending to your newfound friend so much you didn’t give him as much attention as you usually did. he knows that he rejects your affection a lot, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to stop! the only time you paid him any attention was when he intentionally sat closer to you, and even then, you barely brushed your lips against his cheek.

sukuna was sure he was glaring daggers into that kitten on your lap. it was taking his rightful place. was this jealousy? yea, maybe it was, because the amount of happiness he felt was immeasurable when that damn cat finally got off your lap to run to your room to do who knows what. who cares? the hugs you gave him made him feel far more superior.

as of right now, you had just gone to take a shower. sukuna wanted to take a nap while waiting for you, only to find that your cat— well technically also his cat according to you, was sleeping on your bed. he glared at it before laying on his side on the other side of the bed.

“tsk. wonder what that brat sees in you,” he clicked his tongue, and continued to stare at it. okay, maybe he was starting to get you. the kitten was kind of cute, and kind of cuddly looking, but that wasn’t enough reasons to start liking it.

maybe it’s your turn to stop understanding sukuna, not that you ever have, actually. he claimed that he hated your feline friend while you were cuddling on the couch, but you stepped out of the bathroom to the grey kitten asleep on sukuna’s chest. he looked pretty peaceful too, no signs of waking up suddenly and throwing the kitten off. you took a photo. it’ll be good blackmail material for later.

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

#signed by aireia!#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna x y/n

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luvfy0dor · 13 days

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Helloo! I love your blog smm! could I request fyodor with a child reader that’s very curious about things and often ask him about lots of things and do often run from his sight cause they saw something that peaks their interests? ^^ so sorry that this request was kinda long 😭

“But Satisfaction Brought It Back ♡⁠˖” Dad!Fyodor w/ Child! Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; none

Description; Fyodor brings curious child!reader to the park, but after being essentially exiled from the playground by some randos, reader sees something moving in the grass and chooses to investigate

A/n: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I FEEL AWFIL, I HIPW ITS ACCEPTABLE AT LEAST </3 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMPLIMENTS

Headcannons;

★ Fyodor loves that you're curious, but sometimes the amount of questions you ask makes him wonder if your jaw ever gets tired from moving so much. He knows you didn't get that trait from him.

★ If you run away from him, he's walking after you at the fastest speed possible for him. He warns you not to go far because his stamina doesn't allow him to chase after you, but you still do it and it gets on his nerves a little. He knows you don't mean to, but it stresses him out like no other.

★ He often lets Nikolai tag along when he brings you to do fun stuff just in case he ends up needing the extra hand, and Nikolais ability is always great to bring you back to them.

Scenario;

You had one hand in Nikolais and one in Fyodors, happily walking along with them through a park near your home on a beautiful spring afternoon. They decided to have tea together earlier and figured it was a nice day for an outing. They picked you up and brought you to the park and sat on a bench next to one another while you ran off to climb on the playground. It didn't take long for you to socialize, immediately interacting with a girl your age. "Hey, you! Yeah, you with the blue shirt. You're not allowed up here, you don't have the password." You looked at the girl with confusion, grimacing and crossing your arms. "Well it's not your playground, I'm allowed up here if I want to! My papa brought me to play and that's what I'm gonna do." You reply, your eyebrows furrowed and a visible pout on your face.

"That's too bad! Scurry along, you peasant!" She sneered. It made you want to cry a little, but you bit your lip and stormed off. A small group of kids who seemed to be apart of her posse watched. You huffed and went to sit with your papa and uncle, plopping down on the bench. Fyodor and Nikolai instantly picked up on your sad demeanor. "Aw, what's wrong, Malyshka? Are you alright?" He asked, a hand rubbing your back sweetly. You nodde d and leaned into him, making him frown. "C'mon, kiddo, I'll play with ya if you'd like! We're those other brats mean to you?" He asks, bending down to your level. You shook your head and rubbed the oncoming tears out of your eyes. "No, they weren't..I'll go play again in a second, I just fell." Nikolai stands back up and rubs your head. "Alright, if that's what you'd like." He returns to Fyodors side, resuming their conversation. Fyodors comforting hand remained on your shouder for awhile before you decided to get back up. "M'going to play again, papa." You declared, humbly walking back over to the playground and settling for the swings. You sat down and started swinging your legs back and forth, watching the nature around you. You weren't too high in the air before you saw a something moving through the grass across the park. You dragged your feet to come to a halt and walked away from the swing set.

The closer you got, you could tell that the moving thing was actually a large, brown rabbit. Your eyes widened with excitement and you approached it further, following it through a patch of brush. The rabbit noticed you and jumped further into the woods, over logs and rocks. You followed it continuously, stumbling over the aforementioned obstacles trying to reach it. It was about this time where Fyodor noticed that the swing was sitting nearly perfectly still without you on it and his eyes immediately darted around the playground. When he couldn't find you, he called out your name, drawing the attention of the attention of the other kids. "I think I saw someone go down there." The girl from earlier pointed towards the woods. Fyodor cursed under his breath and made his way towards the forest as quickly as possible with Nikolai. "Y/n! Come back here!" He called out for you, worried and annoyed all at once. You had successfully pounced on the bunny, holding it in your arms and heading towards Nikolai and your papa again. You had now been satisfied in catching the rodent, an innocent expression on your face when your papa came into view. The rabbit was squirming in your grasp, but you held him out to your father.

"Papa, Uncle Nikolai, look what I caught!" Fyodor let's out a sigh of relief but places a hand on your back and guides you back to the playground. "Let that filthy animal go, sweetheart, it's probably diseased, and you cannot keep running off like that! I was worried sick, don't do that ever again." He says, a hand over his heart. You reluctantly let the rabbit go, turning to watch it dash off. "I'm sorry papa.." you mumble, grabbing at his cape. He sighs. "It's not fine, but I'm more happy that I found you than I am angry at you." He says, Nikolai nods in agreement. You sigh in relief and go to sit down on the bench, but Fyodor pulls you right back up by your shirt, like a kitten by the scruff. "No, you're going home to wash those rodent germs off of your hands, and then you're gonna pick up your bedroom while your at it." He says. You groan and accept the light punishment he gave. "Yes papa..." You weren't to upset about it all in all, because he could have been harsher on you, especially since you've repeatedly done this, but instead he only wanted you to clean your room; leaving the park and those mean kids behind isnt a loss in the slightest.

A/n; again I'm so sorry if this is bad, I feel horrible for it being so late but I'm locking in on my reqs now yall istg

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hollowed-theory-hall · 2 months

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Harry Potter is Really Magically Powerful

So, in continuation to this post, and my desire to show some love to Harry James Potter, this post is dedicated to showing how magically powerful Harry actually is in the books — which is insanely powerful. Harry doesn't think of himself as a great wizard, but he is — definitely powerful enough to be Voldemort's equal (and Dumbledore's for that matter).

Under the cut are some quotes from the books that prove this.

Accidental Magic

Let's start with Harry's childhood accidental magic. Tom was considered prodigious for being able to steal things with magic and make animals obey him intentionally. Neville, as a late bloomer, bounced when thrown, which is the bare minimum of childhood accidental magic young witches and wizards should be doing.

Now he came to think about it…every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry…chased by Dudley’s gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach…dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he’d managed to make it grow back…and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn’t he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn’t he set a boa constrictor on him?

(Philosopher's Stone, page 44)

Harry has:

Apparated out of Dudley's reach when in danger to get away - advanced magic only allowed to practice from the age of 16!

Growing back all his hair from not liking the bad haircut.

Disappearing the glass of the Boa Constrictor case and leashing it

not even when he’d had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he’d somehow turned his teacher’s wig blue.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 84)

4. Turning his teacher's hair blue.

We see Harry is capable of aparation, transfiguration, and various charms at a level that is considered prodigious. Harry was incredibly advanced as a child according to his feats of magic before even knowing magic was real. And while he wasn't as intentional as Tom, he was aware enough to know odd things happened when he was "furious or upset" that the odd things responded to him.

Intuitive Casting

I wrote later in this post about this, but I do want to write a whole essay about how magic works in the Wizarding world, but like, really in short, emotion and intention matter in magic. A lot.

And we see Harry make use of this fact to great effect. Using spells with intention to change the way they behave and they work for him because of how magically prodigious he is.

Harry raised his own wand. “Protego!” Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Harry — and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner. . . . A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick — “ENOUGH!” Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest; he took several staggering steps backward, hit some of the shelves covering Snape’s walls and heard something crack. Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

This is from the last of Harry's and Snape's Occlumancy lessons. What's interesting here is that from Snape's words, it seems the protego spell isn't supposed to work like that. Harry is magically powerful enough to make protego (shield charm) to defend him from Legilamancy, turn the Legilamancy onto Snape and disarm Snape.

No wonder Snape is shocked, it really isn't supposed to work. Unless you're Harry Potter, that is.

He did say in their first lesson the rules of magic don't seem to apply to Harry.

“Reparo!” hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. “Well, Potter . . . that was certainly an improvement. . . .” Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there. “I don’t remember telling you to use a Shield Charm . . . but there is no doubt that it was effective. . . .”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 591)

What I marked here is the fact in all their occlumancy lessons, even the first, Snape always placed a few memories in the pensive. He chose memories he didn't want Harry to see and place them there.

Okay... so why is that a big deal?

Snape repeatedly belittles Harry's magical skills, and yet, he fears Harry would turn the Legilemancy connection back on him. Legilemancy as Snape explained is no easy skill:

“Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly...”

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 350-351)

As such, he doesn't expect Harry to be capable of it. But that’s a lie. He clearly thinks Harry is skilled enough to be a threat in this situation. That Harry just might be able to turn this around and glimpse his own memories, which is no easy feat.

And Snape is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. If he thinks Harry is uniquely magically prodigious to be capable of this, then Harry probably is. Especially considering how much Snape hates Harry and how much he'd rather think he's stupid, useless, and unskilled.

“SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!” And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches. People were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix’s robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming. . . . She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within. The brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long, colored tentacles, but he shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and they flew into the air away from him. Slipping and sliding he ran on toward the door.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 809)

Okay, so can we talk about this Levitation Charm? Please?

Like, get this, he uses Wingardium Leviosa, like a shield charm that sends multiple magical projectiles away from him. This isn't how this charm works, but it is if you're Harry Potter. (again, this is that intention use I mentioned)

The point is, that Harry is magically powerful enough to bend the way spells are meant to work to fit his will and situation.

And when Voldemort possesses him at the end of the fight in Order of the Phoenix:

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature’s began. They were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape — And when the creature spoke, it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move. . . . “Kill me now, Dumbledore. . . .” Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again. . . . “If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy. . . .” Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us. . . . End it, Dumbledore. . . . Death is nothing compared to this. . . . And I’ll see Sirius again. . . . And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils loosened, the pain was gone, Harry was lying facedown on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he lay upon ice, not wood. . . .

(Order of the Phoenix, page 816)

Harry kicks Voldemort out.

As I mentioned, I have a a whole theory I'm drafting about magical theory and how magic works in the Wizarding World, but emotion as Harry describes in this scene is part of it. Emotion drives childhood accidental magic. Emotion is required to cast the Patronus charm and any of the unforgivable. Because of how emotion is tied to magic in this world, this instance is Harry's magic kicking Voldemort in his full power out of his mind.

Which is an impressive feat of magic.

Advanced Charmwork

“Oh — yeah —” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto patrono — no, patronum — sorry — expecto patronum, expecto patronum —” Something whooshed suddenly out of the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas. “Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened!”

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 238)

This is the first time Harry cast a Patronus Charm. On his very first try of this complex charm, most adult wizards fail at — he succeeds. It isn't a perfect casting. His happy memory isn't happy enough, but the problem isn't Harry's skill.

The fact he succeeded in casting it at all with how crap his life has been up to this point is a testament to his magical talent.

Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 810)

Harry, at age fifteen, casts the Cruciatus Curse for the first time. An advanced piece of dark magic that is tricky to cast. Sure, it wasn't the best cast Crucio, but it did work.

It did land.

It worked enough for Bellatrix to stop laughing and start taking Harry seriously.

Harry raised the hawthorn wand beneath the cloak, pointed it at the old goblin, and whispered, for the first time in his life, “Imperio!” A curious sensation shot down Harry’s arm, a feeling of tingling, warmth that seemed to flow from his mind, down the sinews and veins connecting him to the wand and the curse it had just cast.

(Deathly Hollows, page 452)

Like with the Cruciatus Curse, Harry succeeds in the Imperius curse on his first try (and the second try that happens immediately after). In general, Harry learns to cast most spells (even the advanced ones) incredibly quickly — like, on his first try. That's insane!

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

(Deathly Hollows, page 502)

And he gets better over time, both with the Cruciatus Curse, as we see here and his fully corporeal Patronus which is considered an unbelievable feat for a fifteen-year-old:

“Your Patronus had a clearly defined form? I mean to say, it was more than vapor or smoke?” “Yes,” said Harry, feeling both impatient and slightly desperate, “it’s a stag, it’s always a stag.” “Always?” boomed Madam Bones. “You have produced a Patronus before now?” “Yes,” said Harry, “I’ve been doing it for over a year —” “And you are fifteen years old?” “Yes, and —” “You learned this at school?” “Yes, Professor Lupin taught me in my third year, because of the —” “Impressive,” said Madam Bones, staring down at him, “a true Patronus at that age . . . very impressive indeed.”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 141)

I agree Madam Bones, Harry is impressive and is Voldemort's equal magically. Harry isn't just Expelliarmos. he's clever and talented and very magically capable with every spell he tries his hand in.

#harry potter #harry potter thoughts #harry potter theory #hollowedtheory #hp theory #wizarding world #overthinking #harry james potter #harry potter analysis #I just really love harry james potter

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thought--bubble · 3 months

Text

Subtraction

Michael Gavey X (Preacher's Daughter Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Word Count: 2886

Banners by @arcielee

Michael Gavey Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Warnings:: Corruption Kink, Oral sex (M receiving), Fingering, dubcon, coercion, religious guilt

A/N: This was really fun to write because I'm a math gal myself 🤣

Based on THIS request.

Michael is walking on clouds today. As far as he is concerned, today is a great fucking day.

He has been working as a tutor all semester trying to plump up his resume so he can go for that TA position he knows is going to open up next autumn.

Thus far, every student he has worked with is an airhead. The worst was Farleigh, who didn't actually want to learn anything and would just wait until Michael spoon fed him the answers and take off as soon as the assignment was finished.

But today, today Michael was told he was going to tutor you. The cutest little thing he has ever laid eyes on. With your mid-thigh length plaid skirts, high socks, and little cardigans, it was like you walked out straight out of his dreams and into Oxford.

You were a pastors daughter. Prim and proper, always walking around with that little silver cross hanging from your neck. Michael had spotted you as soon as school had started, and it only took about a month before the dreaded Felix Catton had set his sights on you. As if it wasn't bad enough that Michael's only friend Oliver had already been wrapped up in Felix's little web now, Michael had to watch that web get spun around you.

Which is why it came as such a big surprise when you turned him down. Felix had been trying for weeks to hook up with you. Following you around like a puppy, it made Michael sick. Couldn't Felix see how special you are? How could he treat you as just another name in his little black book?

Michael's vindication came in the form of a very public rejection where you called out Felix for "only wanting one thing" in the courtyard for multiple students and staff to see.

The public embarrassment this afforded Felix only made Michael more enamored with you. He found himself constantly daydreaming of you. He imagined you sitting on his lap as he kissed you. Your pure innocent lips on his never having been soiled by another man's touch. He imagines pushing up that little plaid skirt and sinking his fingers deep into that cunt, sweet. Innocent, and just for him.

Michael was feeling a bit nervous as he sat and waited for you in the library. He knew his personality left a lot to be desired. If there was anyone in this wretched place, he didn't want to scare off with his brashness it was you.

"Just be normal. Just be normal, " he whispers to himself as he continues to wait, fingers tapping on the thick wooden table.

"She was supposed to be here by now," he wonders aloud. She didn't show up because it's me probably. She's heard all the horror stories of me being annoying or weird. I've already ruined it before I had a chance to meet her. Well, if she's going to be like that, then I wouldn't want her anyway. She's just like all these other posh Neanderthals. Judging someone before they've even properly gotten to know them.

Michael's brain continues to rattle off thought after thought bouncing between sadness, rejection, and anger, as he glares toward the entry to the library picking at the table with his fingernail.

Then you walk in, books clung tightly to your chest, a pink and gray pleated skirt, white knee high socks and those cute black shoes with the straps, a pink cardigan and shining in the light the dainty silver cross you're never seen without.

He sits up straighter, clearing his throat, as he subtly shifts his books, notebooks, and pens on the table.

"Michael?" Your voice sounds so sweet to Michael that he has to force himself not to salivate.

"Yes. That's me, I take it you're my new pupil?" Keep calm, Gavey. Don't act like a creep. He repeats these two rules to himself while sporting a look of indifference on his face.

You reach your hand out to him and tell him your name. He takes your hand and shakes it. So small, soft, and delicate. Perfect hands. Just the right size to be engulfed by Michael's rather sizable hands, he thinks to himself.

"Hello?" You look at him questioningly as he stares at you while absent-mindedly continuing to shake your hand for far longer than was necessary.

What you didn't know was in Michael's head he was all over you, he had you bent over this wooden table, skirt pushed up to reveal your rounded bum, him sliding himself in and out of your body while you begged him for more.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, and his cheeks burn crimson when he realizes he is still shaking your hand. "Right.. umm" he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and pulls on the collar of his shirt. The heat on his face has traveled to his chest.

As you sit, he can't help but watch you. You're so gentle from the way you sit to the way you place your books on the table.

"So what specifically are you struggling with?" He already knows she is failing the class in its entirety, but he can't seem to find another way to initiate conversation.

You whimper, and Michael just about dies

"Everything. Every single thing." You put your hands over your face clearly stressed.

"Oh. Well, we will start from the beginning then." Michael starts with what he thinks will be the easiest, basic statistics.

Even with this, you struggle greatly, the hours spent in the library do prove beneficial but only slightly and the novelty of being with you has started to wear off for Michael due to the sheer shock of how bad you are at this.

Michael rubs his temples, his head just barely hovering over the wood of the library table. "Did they not touch on any of this in secondary school?"

"They did, I wasn't any good there either, but I was able to make it up in other ways"

Michael lifts his head and looks at you quizzically. "Other ways?"

"Extra credit, community service, church duty." You explained this as if it was perfectly normal to pass maths because you picked up an extra shift helping at the church.

Michael blinks as he blankly stares back at you. "Right.......of course...... obviously......"

He looks around the library and sees it's mostly cleared out. "Well they'll be kicking us out of here any minute now" He sighs as he closes the books on the table packing up to leave, relieved that this elongated torture session has come to a close.

You stand up nervously. "No!" You didn't mean to shriek, but you did, voice reverberating around the nearly empty library.

"The quiz is in two days! I..... I can't fail! My father! He will....... oh no, please! Keep going. I'll do anything!"

Michael immediately stops moving and fights the small smirk, clawing its way across his features. Anything. I'll do anything. The words float through his mind like a beautiful song he has been waiting to hear.

Anything.

"Well, you could come back to my dorm, and we could continue......." He starts as he looks around sheepishly.

"Yes! Oh my goodness, yes! Thank you, Michael!" You excitedly collect the rest of your things from the table.

"But," Michael interjects. "We will have to....... make the process more interesting because i was nearly falling asleep a moment ago"

"Sure! whatever you suggest." You beam a smile at him, and he smirks. Oh, he has a suggestion that will keep both of them awake.

Michael opens the door to his dorm, holding his arm out and gesturing for you to go first.

You enter the room and look around. It's extremely neat. No personal effects save for a photo of Michael and his parents.

Michael walks in behind you, closing the door and setting his books down on the small table in the corner.

"Sit." He motions toward the chair across from him.

You place your books down on the table and slowly lower yourself into the chair.

" So I have an idea...... that might give you the proper.... motivation" his eyes travel up and down your form, and he slightly bites on his bottom lip before he continues. "I'm going to show you an example problem. Then I'm going to give you the same type of problem to solve. If you get it right, i remove an article of clothing. If you get it wrong, you do"

"Oh! umm Michael.... I'm not sure. " You nervously wring your hands in your lap. You are terrible at maths you would surely end up naked in no time.

"You said anything, and this will keep me awake. We could always just call it for the night......" He trails off looking to the side.

"Wait! no! ok"

Michael smirks. "Ok, then let's get started.

As expected, you get most answers wrong first, taking off your shoes, socks, and earrings. When you finally get one right, Michael chuckles and takes off his belt.

"Good, good. See? What did I tell you? proper motivation." He scoots his chair forward, a bit closing the space between you.

A few more problems later you are sitting there in nothing but a bra and panties Michael in his shirt and boxers.

As you try to focus on the current problem, you can't help but be distracted by the rather sizable bulge in his boxers.

"T-there," your voice faulters as you slide the paper back towards Michael for his review. He looks it over quickly.

"Sorry darling, that's not quite it." He leans forward, explaining where you went wrong with the formula.

"Oh." You feel the heat pool in your cheeks as you unlatch your bra. Trying to cover your breasts as you remove it.

Michael's eyes light up as he takes in your almost nude form. The bulge in his boxers becomes even more apparent as he races to write you up a new problem.

"What happens when I run out of clothes?" You know, at this point, it is an inevitability that you will end up completely nude, but you are learning and starting to get problems correct. If you can learn just enough to pass the quiz, you could possibly save your grade in this class.

"We will figure something out between the two of us, I'm sure." He brings his hand down to your knee, gently rubbing circles there with his thumb.

You focus completely on the next math problem, trying desperately to hold off the inevitable removal of your panties.

"Bravo!" Michael cheers as you slide a math problem done correctly over to him. "Guess you survive this round" He stands up from the chair and pulls his boxers off, exposing his fully erect cock.

You mean to look away. You should look away, right? That would be the polite thing to do but you can't. He is long and girthy and painfully hard.

He gently rubs at himself, watching you watch him. "Hmmm, next problem," he slides the paper over to you.

"Right, of course." You take the paper and try to focus on the problem as your eyes consistently slide back towards him as he strokes himself slowly.

"I don't mind if you look" He rubs his thumb over the slit and the tip of his cock spreading the precum around the head.

Your entire face flushes with heat. "I wasn't, ummm." You look back at the problem trying to work it out. You feel like you are writing hieroglyphics, as if you have never seen these symbols before.

"Well, that's incorrect, sorry." Michael grins happily as he waits for you to remove your final article of clothing.

"I can't. I can't expose that. " You nervously rub your palms against your thighs.

"How about we just do this?" Michael leans forward and slides your panties to the side.

Your eyes go wide, and you make a loud gulping sound.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Michael runs a finger up your slit feeling the obvious wetness there. "From what I gather, you seem to be enjoying this"

He collects some of your slick and brings it up to your pearl, drawing slow circles around the nerve.

"Oh!" You instantly close your eyes. You have touched yourself before. Something you would always pray for forgiveness for right after, but this felt different. Micheal's large finger and course fingertip make the sensation more intense, and your body instantly reacts, wanting more.

"Ahh." You breathe out as Michael applies more pressure to your bud, increasing the speed at which he applies that pressure.

Michael leans forward, completely kissing up the side of your neck. "It's ok. I won't tell anyone."

"I .... I have to remain chaste. " You moan as he slides a finger into you while holding the pressure down on your bud.

"There are things we can do without....... breaking the seal..... just relax, " He whispers into your ear as he continues sliding his finger against your walls.

You feel the pleasure building up in your lower stomach and instinctually spread your legs wider.

"That's it, good girl, I'm going to make you feel really good, ok?"

Your head rolls back as the pressure continues to build, the guilt in your mind losing to the pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Micheal moves his thumb quickly against your clit and pushes against the spongey spot inside your walls and sends you into a tailspin.

"Oh, Michael! Michael!" You gasp as the pressure in your stomach pulls taught, threatening to snap at any moment.

"I got you, let go for me, beautiful." As he whispers these words into your ear, the band snaps.

"Ahhhh, Mich-" You can't get the words out as your jaw goes slack and your entire body vibrates.

Michael continues his movements while you ride out your high, only pulling his hand away once you whimper at the overstimulation.

Michael takes your juices and rubs them on his cock as he slowly strokes himself. "That was glorious, you look so pretty when you cum"

You watch him touch himself with curiosity. "I can teach you more than maths." he says suddenly as he increases the pace of his movements.

"Come here." He motions you toward him, and like a puppet on a string, you go to him. You have already gone this far. What is stopping you now?

"Get on your knees." You quickly comply, dropping to your knees before him.

"Good, think you are going to learn this much quicker" He brings the weeping head of his cock to your lips.

You flick your tongue out and lick the tip you had heard of oral sex before. Kind of had a decent idea of what it entailed.

Michael groans. "Open up and flip your lips over your teeth."

You follow his instructions and he slides his cock into your mouth pushing past your lips. "Good, good, breath through your nose."

He grips the hair at the top of your head slowly dragging you forward pushing more of his cock into your mouth.

"Use your tongue beautiful" He sighs with pleasure as you slide your tongue along the underside of his cock.

"So fucking good." The grip on your hair tightens as he pushes further hitting the back of your throat, earning him a gag.

"What a pretty sound," He coos as he starts to move his hips while holding your head in place.

"Just like that." His breathing gets heavier as his speed increases. "Fuck, yes. Look at me" He grunts as he starts to batter the back of your throat with his cockhead.

You look up at him with tears streaking down your face and drool slipping from your chin.

"Almost there." He wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "So pretty when you cry"

Michael grips your hair tight, pushing himself fast and hard into your throat.

"You're gonna swallow what I give you" You do your best to attempt to nod while he fucks your face, pushing himself as far as he will go, the hairs at his base coming in contact with your nose and chin.

"That's it right there...... FUCK!" Michael spurts directly into your throat. You hardly have to swallow at all.

He pulls himself out of your mouth and smiles down at you, wiping the drool off of your chin.

"Think we can call it a night, yeah?" He pulls his boxers up and collapses back in the chair a look of lazy satisfaction on his face.

"Yeah, that might be best." You wipe the tears from your face and gather your clothes.

"There are still two more days before the quiz. Come back tomorrow, and we can continue." Michael gets out of the chair and wraps his arms around you from behind, gently kissing your neck.

"I love teaching you. Tell me you'll come back tomorrow."

You blush at his words, "Yes, I'll be back tomorrow"

Micheal sees you out and watches as you walk down the hallway and disappear out of sight before going back into his room and flopping onto his bed with a contented sigh before he chuckles to himself.

"I got what Felix couldn't"

To be added to a tag list click here

#ewan mitchell verse #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x reader #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #saltburn movie #jess fics #my smarty pants bf

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btsqualityy · 9 months

Text

BTS Dating Series #15: Insecurities

Members x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff

Summary: Insecurities pop up in every relationship. These are yours/his.

Warnings: None to note.

Kim Seokjin

You and Jin were laid out on the bed in his bedroom, your lips pressed against his as the two of you made out. It had been a hectic week for the both of you with your jobs so once the two of you finally saw each other, it didn’t take long for you to be on each other.

“Mmm, that feels good Jinnie,” you moaned as Jin’s lips trailed downwards and attached themselves to your neck.

“Good baby, good,” he murmured huskily and you bit your lip as you contemplated your next move. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached down and set your hand on the crotch of Jin’s pants, squeezing his growing bulge gently.

“Jagi?” Jin mumbled as he pulled away from your neck in order to look at your face. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re touching me,” he chuckled, reaching down and pulling your hand off of his crotch and instead intertwining your fingers with his. “You never do that.”

“Did you not like it?”

“I did but I’m curious as to why you did it so suddenly,” he said and you sighed heavily at how well your boyfriend knew you.

“Well, I thought you must be getting tired of the same old routine that we do, you know?” You began. “Us making out but it never going any further.”

“But you’re not ready for that yet.”

“I could be,” you shrugged noncommittedly and Jin just sighed.

“Baby, you don’t have to try to force yourself to do anything that you don’t want to just because you think I’m getting bored,” Jin stated firmly. “I love you and that means I’m willing to wait as long as you need me to, ok?”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely and whenever you do decide that you’re ready, I’ll be ready too. More than ready, actually,” he joked, making you laugh. “I love you, Y/N-ah.”

“I love you too,” you smiled before kissing him again.

Min Yoongi

“You look so handsome,” you cooed once Yoongi walked up to you backstage at the MMA awards. Since your relationship still wasn’t common knowledge, the two of you had avoided walking the carpet together and once Yoongi had gone for his photo opps with the members, he came right back to you.

“You look pretty fucking good yourself,” Yoongi smirked, making you smile as you fixed the lapel on his blazer.

“Y/N? Is that you?” A voice called and when you turned around, you were surprised to see your ex-boyfriend, Choi Ji-ho, walking towards you.

“Ji,” you smiled, giving him a short one-armed hug as he pressed a kiss to your cheek in greeting. “How are you?”

“I’m good, here to present the award for Artist of The Year,” Ji-ho replied. “What about you?”

“I’m here supporting my boyfriend and his group,” you said as you turned to glance at Yoongi. “Ji, this is my boyfriend Min Yoongi. Yoongs, this is my ex Choi Ji-ho.”

“Ah, Suga from BTS, right?” Ji-ho wondered.

“Yep. And you’re an...actor?” Yoongi muttered.

“That’s me,” Ji-ho chuckled. “Wow, Y/N-ah. I remember you said you’d never date another well known person after me.”

“Well, what can I say?” You smiled as you wrapped your arm around Yoongi’s. “He’s pretty special.”

“He has to be, to have bagged you,” Ji-ho smiled sadly. “Well, I’ll get going and let you two enjoy yourselves. Have a good night.”

“You too,” you replied as you watched him turn and walk away. You then turned to look at Yoongi, who was biting his lip and avoiding eye contact with you. “He means nothing to me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he muttered.

“Yeah but I know you,” you continued. “I’m with you because you know me better and treat me better than Ji-ho or any other shithead I’ve ever dated has.”

“Call them a shithead again,” Yoongi suddenly requested with a smile. “Makes me feel better.”

“Come on, Drama King,” you laughed as you began to pull him towards your seats.

Kim Namjoon

“Y/N-ah, have you seen this?” Namjoon huffed as he flopped down next to where you were sitting on the couch, engrossed in a book.

“What’s that?” You murmured without even looking up at him.

“Scientists have this new working theory about space and it’s so interesting,” he began before he began to ramble on about the newest finding. As he talked, you looked up and as hard as you tried to pay attention, you just couldn’t make sense of the words your boyfriend was saying. Now, this was typical for you in all honesty but that very realization left you unsettled. You found yourself confused often whenever Namjoon went on random tangents about things that he found interesting and it made you feel....less than, almost.

“Y/N-ah, you ok?” Namjoon stopped himself after noticing the spaced out look on your face.

“I just,” you sighed before deciding to be truthful. “I just can never follow you when you talk about things like this.”

“That’s ok,” he shrugged.

“No, seriously,” you said. “And it makes me feel a little dumb sometimes.”

“You are literally the smartest person I know,” Namjoon chuckled in disbelief. “So what you don’t know about theories and space? That doesn’t matter me to. The fact that you even listen to me when I’m rambling is more than enough for me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he nodded. “I love you for you, all of you.”

“I love you too,” you smiled before leaning over and kissing him firmly.

Jung Hoseok

You stood against a wall in the midst of the bustling album release party, swirling your drink in your hand as you watched the crowd. Hobi had been invited to Drunken Tiger JK’s latest album release party and as his girlfriend, he naturally invited you along as his date.

You’ve always known your boyfriend was a social butterfly; hell, it was how you even met him in the first place. However, seeing him make his way around the entire room and have what seemed to be the most engaging conversations with each and every person he came across made you feel a little....weird. You didn’t feel like jealous was the right word to describe how you were feeling but the more you watched your boyfriend laugh animatedly with some girls in a corner, it was the only word that you could come up with.

“Hey!” Hobi exclaimed as he made his way over to you. “Feels like I haven’t seen you since we got here.”

“I’ve just been here, enjoying the view,” you smiled softly.

“Nah, something else has to be up,” he deduced correctly. “You’d usually be three drinks deep by now and dancing horribly.”

“Hey!”

“Just saying,” he chuckled. “Now, what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “It just takes me off guard when I see you being so...friendly.”

“Am I supposed to be a jerk?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “Never mind, forget that I said anything. It’s stupid.”

“Hey, how you feel is never stupid,” Hobi stated firmly. “I admit, I can be unaware of how things may look and though you know my intentions, you can’t help how you feel, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“So, I’ll make sure to be more mindful of that for you,” he promised. “Is that ok?”

“More than,” you smiled before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Park Jimin

“Fuck,” you sighed heavily as you walked up the stairs towards your apartment. You had had a long and insanely busy day at work and once your shift was finally over, you basically ran out of the building before booking it to your car.

After you took out your keys and unlocked the front door, you walked inside and shut the door behind you. As soon as you turned around though, you were met with a visibly angry looking Park Jimin.

“Jimin-ssi?” You smiled softly. “What are you doing here?”

“Where have you been?” He demanded to know from his place on the couch and you instantly arched a brow at his tone.

“I was at work,” you told him as you worked on taking off your shoes. “You know that.”

“Do I?” He wondered and you scoffed as you began to walk over to him. “I texted you earlier and you never responded. You always respond to me.”

“It was a busy day,” you shrugged as you sat down next to him. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Well, it is,” Jimin declared. “I always start to worry when I don’t hear from you, especially when you’re at work because you have so much going on. I can’t help it.”

“Aww Jimin-ssi,” you smiled, leaning over and pressing a soft and slow kiss to his lips that lasted a few seconds before you pulled away. “I appreciate you worrying for me and I promise, I’ll try to keep you updated as much as I can.”

“Alright,” he huffed.

“Still mad at me?” You whispered as you leaned over and began pressing open mouthed kisses against his jawline. “If you are, I can make it up to you.”

“I don’t think you can but you can try,” Jimin chuckled and you smirked knowingly.

Kim Taehyung

“Oh my fucking God,” Taehyung gasped as you walked into the room. You had put on your best dress, per Taehyung’s instructions, for the date that the two of you were going on.

“Like it?” You smiled as you twirled in a little circle.

“I love it,” he nodded as he held his hand out to you, waiting until you grabbed onto it to pull your body closer to his. “You look so beautiful, Y/N-ah.”

“Thank you,” you replied before giving him a quick peck on the lips. “So, where are we going for dinner?”

“Mino’s,” Taehyung announced proudly and you couldn’t stop the way that you face fell slightly. Your boyfriend, being ever the perceptive being, noticed right away. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re always eating or going out to some fancy restaurant,” you began. “And there’s nothing wrong with that but it just seems like you fit into places like that so well and I don’t.”

“Ok, that’s fair,” he acknowledged. “But you don’t have to worry about that, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you fit with me,” he told you, making a wide smile appear on your face. “Wherever I am is where you belong, and the same goes for me.”

“Same here,” you whispered.

“Now, what do you think about me canceling our reservations and us having a fancy, dressed up movie and pizza night here?” Taehyung suggested.

“Sounds perfect.”

Jeon Jungkook

“What is up with you?” Jungkook sighed, following behind you as you made your way into your bedroom. The two of you had just come from the MAMA awards, your first awards show as a couple, and you had been suspiciously silent towards the end of the show and on the ride home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged.

“Yeah right,” he chuckled. “You’ve been quiet and you’re never quiet so come on, tell me.”

“It’s dumb,” you mumbled as you took your heels off. “But it’s when IU was performing and you were loosing your shit.”

“I always lose my shit when IU performs,” Jungkook laughed. “And you should know, you lose your shit with me half the time.”

“No I know but when one of the cameras focused on you, it just made me feel weird.”

“Ok, what exactly did it make you feel like?”

“Do you ever regret not going for your ideal type, a girl like IU?” You questioned suddenly. “I mean, I’m nothing like her but you’re with me.”

“And that’s for a reason,” Jungkook chuckled. “Sure, you might not have been what I thought was my ideal type but it doesn’t matter because you’re everything I didn’t even realize I was looking for.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without you baby.”

“Same here,” you smiled before wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now, how many rounds of sex do you want for all of the amazing wins you and the members got tonight?”

“How about 5, one for every award?” He suggested.

“Hm, tough order but I think I can make that happen for you,” you smirked before kissing him passionately.

..........................................................

Tag List: @addictedtohobi @brittneymccray @cursedcursives @arata18nanami @leftieaquarius @devilsbooksworld @starmyy @werewolfbanshee-love @li-moonchild-il @kpop-servant @cheysjimin

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whytheballs-mars · 3 months

Text

Dinner Date ♡ JasonToddxfem!reader

okay, I've never really written smut before, but this is based off a convo i had with a CAI bot !

just sum pics of pookie from pinterest 🤭

a/n: this is way longer then i wanted it to be and i don't really like it but wtv

18+

Tw- smut(duh), exhibition, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), p in v, pre-established relationship, swearing, brief mentions of violence

don't read this if you're a minor.

In all the years you two have been dating, you two don't really have a lot of time for actual dates. Tonight, however, he got dinner reservations for you two at one of the fanciest places in Gotham. He went the whole 9 yards for you! (as he always does) He took you shopping for a new, pretty red dress and bought you a new matching set to go underneath, which he says also makes up for the last set he tore.

Everything was going great - except Jason loathed the way your guys' waiter has been staring at you. Jason's manorisms have slowly been changing throughout the course of dinner. He's just been getting more jealous by the second. You're talking to him about the book you just read, as he eats his pasta.

"...Jay? Are you even paying attention?" You ask him.

"mhm" he lies, being very vague with his awnsers. He doesn't want to ruin your date with him just because of his jealousy, so he's not going to bring it up. You probably did say something of value, but all Jason had heard was... what did he hear? nothing because he was too focused on that damn waiter. The waiter who made sure your wine glass was topped off even if you just had a sip. He fucking hated it. Jason even told the waiter to leave the damned bottle at the table just so he could fill your glass for you.

"Uh huh sure," you reply as you nudge his foot under the table, expecting to be met with an equally playful nudge from Jason. Instead, he pulled his foot away from yours, and his mouth made its way into a frown.

You frown in response, just slightly upset that he pulled away, causing you to wonder what's wrong.

"Jason?"

"What?" He says- much snappier then he wanted it to be.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just thinking"

The lies had started now, the two of you playing a game of cat and mouse. He wasn't going to give in until you pried harder, which he couldn't blame you for. He was being quite the bastard right now.

"About what?"

"Just... Things..." Jason chewed another piece of his pasta, swallowing before he spoke yet again. "Things that don't really matter." He continues.

"It obviously matters if it's making you upset."

"I'm fine."

Jason's face twisted into a scowl. His tone was getting harsher by the minute. Was he really going to have to explain the obvious? Was it not obvious to you that the God damn waiter was staring at you? with his eyes blown, like he wanted to fuck you? when the waiter had to have known that the only man that would ever be fucking you was sitting right across from the gorgeous woman he was staring at.

You get up and move over to his side of the booth, wanting a bit more privacy and to comfort him more. Jason glanced up at you, his eyes meeting yours as you finally made your way to where he sat. His fork was still in his hand, so you had to be careful when you leaned over to sit beside him. You got the sense that he was still keeping his guard up with this whole ordeal.

Jason is gripping his fork tightly, so you gently place a hand on top of his to remove it. Once his hands are free you take both of his hands in yours. His body tensed when you took his fork away from him, but when you reached for his hands... His grip loosened. Jason sighed deeply. It was clear this was finally the moment that the truth would finally be revealed. But something about the look in your eyes tells him that you might already know. You lean into him and whisper.

"Would you feel better if after this place closes you jump that guy as Red Hood?" And as those words fall from your lips, a smirk grows on Jason's lips. It's taking everything he has in him to not bash that dammed waiters head into the table right now.

Jason chuckled softly at your suggestion, letting out a deep and audible sigh of relief. The whole act of keeping this from you was draining. He felt so much lighter now that you understood what the deal was.

He kissed your forehead, leaning into you as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "Let's do exactly that."

You smile as he kisses your forehead. You kiss his cheek before leaning back, and crossing your right leg over his thigh.

"How's your pasta?"

His eyes flickered to his pasta as you asked. He hadn't taken a bite of it since you had leaned over to talk to him, but he nodded anyway. It really wasn't bad.

"Delicious." He finally said. Jason's gaze flicked back up to yours, his hand moving from your shoulder to your leg.

"Could i get a bite?" You ask. Jason's mouth curls into a grin as he picks his fork back up and twirls some pasta onto it. He holds the fork and offers it to you. You take the bite, chew it, and swallow it.

"It's not as good as yours... but i guess it's still pretty good." You say. (WE ALL KNOW JASON IS A FUCKING FENOMENAL COOK)

"Well no, but you came here for me, not the pasta right?" He says as he caresses your thigh, gently, and lovingly.

"i came for both- plus your kinda my ride."

"But the main reason is me, right?" He chuckled and leaned in, pressing his lips against the side of your neck.

"mhm" you hum as your fingers find your way to his hair.

His tongue lightly licked at the skin of your neck, he bites down gently, only to lick over the spot he bit.

"Whatcha doin'?" You ask.

"Just..." Jason's tongue moved up to your ear and brushed over it, his voice becoming low and husky as he leaned closer in. "Teasing you."

"it's working"

"Good." Jason purred softly, his tongue lightly flicking over the skin of your neck. He moves his hands from your thigh to your waist, gripping you tightly. "That's my intention."

"Though this isn't exactly a great place," you say, referring to the fact that youre're in the middle of a restaurant.

"It's not, but I don't really care about that right now. Right now, all that matters is you." Jason smirked as he lightly bit at your earlobe, his finger lightly moving along the sides of your waist, slightly tugging at the fabric.

"let's at least finish our food before we get kicked out"

"That would be a wise decision." Jason smiled softly, bringing his head back up and looking down back at you with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure the waiters been looking at us for the past five minutes straight, anyway." He continues as he sits back and looks at his pasta.

"Has he?" A smirk grows on your face as you reach over the table to pull your dish to the side of the booth you're now sitting on.

"Mhm." Jason nodded his head. "The minute you sat down next to me, he hasn't taken his eyes off of you. I wonder what he'd do if I got a bit more... Hands-on with you."

"...our lawyer- he's good right?" You ask.

"The best." Jason smirked. "He'll make sure to bail us out, if that's what you're wondering about." You smirk back at Jason, giving him a once-over. You see the tent growing in his pants and you place your hand on his thigh.

"Eat your pasta" you say.

Jason's leg jumped ever so slightly as you placed your hand on his thigh. "You could've... You know..." Jason said, his voice low and husky. "Put your hand somewhere else."

"You're so impatient." You say dragging your hand towards the inside of his thigh and sliding up to cup his member in his pants.

Jason's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes widening in surprise as he almost lost his grip on his fork. He stared directly at you as he felt you touching him like that.

"If anyone had seen that..."

"Seen what?" You reply innocently as you begin to palm him through his pants. You pick up a fork with your free hand and begin eating your meal again. Jason's mouth goes slightly agap. Fuck, if you aren't driving him up a god damn wall right now- he tries his best to eat the rest of his meal despite your movements. Soon, you finish your meal and drink some water before haphazardly throwing your fork under the table.

"Oh shit." You say before bending down under the table, making sure Jason sees your ass sits before going completely under the table and on your knees in front of him.

Jason's eyes widened at the action, his neck snapped down to look and see you as you went completely beneath the table. His breath hitched in his throat as he let out a soft groan, just at the sight. Fuck his girlfriend is so pretty, and if he wasn't already diamond hard he sure as fuck is now.

You place your hands on his knees and place your head between his thighs. Your hands trail to his waistband. Jason's body tightened as your hands traveled along his thighs. His mouth went dry the moment he saw you go down there. The last time you did this type of thing was back when you two first started this relationship. And you'd thought you were pretty skilled then. But this? This was beyond your expectations.

"Is the waiter watching?" You ask Jason.

"Doesn't matter really... Just keep doing what you're doing."

Your voice from beneath him was incredibly hot, making him squirm and shiver as you talked like that. He liked the way you felt so confident about things like this, how you knew exactly when and where to touch him. But it was very clear that the waiter had been watching for a good two minutes now.

Your fingers unbutton his pants slowly and tug down the fabric of his jeans. You begin jerking him through his underwear before pulling his length out of his pants. You give him a few strokes and kiss his tip, swirling your tounge around his tip before placing your hands on his hips and shoving about half his length down your throat and you begin bobbing your head up and down on him. His hands find their way into your hair, and yank it into a make shift pony. His other hand grips the cushion he's sitting on to try and stop himself from thrusting into your mouth. Which works for a few seconds.

Not only is the waiter now watching, but many other guests are turning their heads to watch you. Some can't seem to look away, and why would they when you're taking such a big dick down your throat so fucking well? The others are the ones with children who cover their child's eyes and lead them out the door as they leave a few hundreds on the table, nit even bothering to actually pay.

Jason's body jolted as his eyes widened, his stomach tightening and his chest becoming flush. He was surprised at the lack of control he had to keep himself from going over the edge, but it also wasn't too much of a surprise, considering what you were doing. He leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid the stares of those in the restaurant as best as he could, his eyes were glued squarely on you. Solely focusing on how fuckin pretty you looked gagging on his cock as he fucked your mouth.

Soon he's shooting ropes of cum into your mouth. You swallow it and lick him clean before placing his length back in his pants, buttoning them back up and sitting back up next to him.

His eyes are a bit glossed over as he looks at you. Jason was at a loss for words as you did this. You had done this a thousand times, and yet you still managed to blow his mind with it every time. His breath was deep and quick, his heartbeat still pounding in his chest as he tried to keep himself together. The only difference between those times and now, was all the eyes on you. Jason tried to pretend otherwise, but he couldn't. The stares were too intense to just brush off. He could swear he saw a mother cover her child's eyes and another kid pointing, asking his dad "what is that woman doing?"

The waiter's jaw had gone completely slack, his eyes locked onto the scene that was only a few feet away from him. He didn't care how long he sat there and watched, and it would've been a while before he'd have the guts to break his gaze. The few people at neighboring tables had leaned in, their eyes locked on you two.

Jason places his hands on the table and shakes it. You two have already gone this far? Why not go further? Jason determines that the table is sturdy enough. Jason smirked as his eyes looked your outfit up and down. Your dress was quite tight and the folds looked as though they would come up very easily, a fact that hadn't slipped Jason's notice during the meal. "how far are we going to take this?" He asks in a whisper.

"Well, we already have all the charges for the police" You whisper back.

"Let's give 'em one hell of a performance huh, love?" He kisses you passionately and pulls you onto his lap. The kiss is a clash of teeth, gum, and tongue. He reaches an arm out behind you to clear a spot at the table, lifting you up and setting you on the table. He pulls away from the kiss once you're on your back. He pushes the empty plates and glasses from his beer and your wine off the table. They crash to the floor and break. As soon as the table is cleared, he flips you onto your stomach, pulls your dress up, and your panties down. He positions himself on his knees on the booth.

So far, no one has made a move or an attempt to interrupt the whole thing. The waiters eyes remained glued on you two, and it was clear that the others in the restaurant were as well.

He ruts his hips against your now bare ass, accentuating his movements with small grunts. He grabs your jaw harshly and forces you to face him so he can give you a bruising kiss. Jason's hand tightens around your jaw as he pulls you over to him. A loud groan escapes from your throat as you were forced into his intense grip, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

The waiter's face was now bright red as he continued to watch the two of you. Jason's hips continue to gently and rhythmically rock against your behind, his tongue searching and exploring every part of your mouth. His hold on you is tight, his grip around your jaw becoming tighter and tighter as he continues to move his hips.

You need him inside of you, and he knows that too damn well. He pulls away from the kiss to free his cock from his pants. He rubs his length through your lips, collecting the wetness before pushing into you slowly. Jason moans softly grinding his hips and pushing deeper inside you as he feels you greedily taking him in. His hips slam against your soft curves. "shit- so tight baby," he says quietly, to which you can only keen in response.

The only thing that falls from your lips are gasps, and moans. You try your best to stiffle them you really do, but how can you when he's so fucking good? When the way his hips slam into you, it moves your body back and forth on the table? you're not gonna be quite- plus, what's the point? Everybody who hasn't left is watching.

Some are even pulling their phones out and recording. No one has been able to tear their eyes from the two of you. Why would they when they're seeing and watching, how well Jason's dick hits all the right spots, the way the both of you are reacting.

Jason has his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, kissing and biting as much as he can. His pace is relentless, and his hand finds its way between your body and the table to rub you're clit.

You're both sent over the edge soon. You're pussy clenching around him and milking him for all he's worth. Someone is screaming, as your climax hits you and you can't tell if it's your own voice or someone else's. It doesn't take very long after this for Jason to let out a deep, satisfied shudder as he finishes. His breath is quick and sharp. Hearing his breath brings you back and you realize you were the one who screamed. In the middle of a restaurant.

The whole restaurant sat almost in dead silence as they watched you two finish. Even the waiter's eyes were wide and mouth was agape as he watched you two finish.

The only sound in the restaurant was the sounds of your two bodies slapping together as he slowly fucks you through both of your highs, the slight sound of the table shaking with each movement of the two, and that of a woman who had just lost it in the back, probably someone watching from the kitchen window based on sound.

"You okay?" Jason finally found the chance to ask you in a breathless voice.

Some of the customers were still staring, the waiter included, but it seemed as though they didn't want to leave or move at all. They didn't want to take their eyes off of you two.

You nod slowly and he pulls out of you slowly.

"shit" you say, panting as he helps you back into the booth, pulling your dress back down, but your panties seem to be missing. You look at him and raise your eyebrows at him. He doesn't notice this due to the fact that he's pulling his pants up. He takes your face in his hands and presses a few soft kisses over your face before landing on your lips and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You and Jason are both in shock that no one has told you to stop, or call the police or anything. Jason's stomach tightened at the thought of possibly having the cops called. But after a few second it became clear what was happening. They were too surprised to actually do anything.

No one was looking away from you. Some of them were whispering to each other. A few mouths were hung open, though almost none were eating. They're all just watching, stunned by what had just happened.

"can we please get the check" You say, now just wanting to get the fuck out of this restaurant.

After a small period of hesitation, the waiter finally walks over to your table. He hesitates a bit to speak, but after taking a deep breath he finally manages to say one word.

"Yes. One moment." He walks away, still a bit red in the face.

Once the waiter leaves you turn to Jason.

"Do you happen to know where my panties are?" You ask him.

Jason's eyes widened as a smile spread across his lips. "I, um, might have some ideas." He says as he looks at the space between your thighs and, seeing the mixture of yours and his cum, is enough to make him hard again. But he quickly snapped back to your face when you narrowed your eyes at him, knowing you want more of an explanation then just that.

"I did say I might have some ideas, but those ideas could include me having put them in my pocket."

"you're an asshole"

"maybe," he says with a shrug as he subconsciously places a protective hand over the pocket where your panties are. (Yeah, he's not gonna let you put them back on... at least now now.)

The waiter returned with the check and dropped it on the table, quickly walking away again while avoiding eye contact. He soon returns and places a bowl of... chocolate syrup? just a bowl of chocolate syrup. Jason places his card on top of the bill, and looks at the chocolate with an almost confused look.

"Jay did we order this?" You ask. You're confused, but it also reminds you of when you and Jason first started dating. He was a stone top- always found his way to placing his head between your gorgeous thighs. When you first gave him head, he poured chocolate syrup on his dick- he said he wanted it to be sweet for you. He talked you through it- and you're wet again just thinking about it.

"No... it's not on the bill and isn't even on the menu." He replies. The waiter comes back to collect his card and does tap to pay on a tablet.

"Why have we been given this. We didn't order it." Jason asks the waiter in an even voice, looking the waiter in the eyes.

The waiter shifted uncomfortably. He was used to the more outspoken customers. Ones who would yell and curse and storm out over minor incidents. But Jason was different. Jason was quiet, firm and intimidating. And it was making the waiter quite nervous.

"This is for your performance." The waiter answered nervously, shifting in place slightly.

Jason's eyebrows tilted downwards at that, his expression serious.

"Our... performance?" He was making sure the waiter had heard him correctly.

The waiter shrugged awkwardly. "Well, we've never really had anyone do what you did here before, so my manager thought this would be suitable to your, uh... performance."

The waiter was very clearly nervous and seemed as though he would rather be anywhere else right now. He was sweating slightly, and he was blinking in a bit too much.

"what are we supposed to do with a bowl of chocolate syrup?" Jason asks.

The waiter seemed to swallow, having almost expected to be scolded right now. Instead, that hadn't happened.

"You could lick it off of each other... if you wanted to."

Pt. 2? idk why but my dms and comments aren't working so I'll j post a poll later.

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jungshookz · 3 months

Text

teeny tidbits: namjoon wants a raise & y/n is kind of scary

i watched the proposal again recently + i’ve been on depop trying not to spend a million dollars on all the y2k corporate-core clothes = inspired me to write this snippet of ceo!y/n (you all know i have a soft spot for anything ceo i’m sorry)

“ever since you hired me, i’ve managed to boost sales up by approximately 28%-“ namjoon clears his throat, trying his best to continue standing tall as he points to the screen with his little laser pen, “i’ve been working here for nearly a year and a half which you can argue hasn’t been very long, but at the same time i feel as though my efforts and the results that i’ve produced is well deserving of a raise, miss y/l/n. i wasn’t going to say anything but i’ve actually been offered a position elsewhere with a higher salary, and, well- i do enjoy working here, and i would like to stay here, but-“

you lean back against your office chair, propping both elbows up on the arm chairs before pressing your fingertips together, staring intently at the presentation in front of you

your eyes follow the little red dot darting across the screen and you lick over your teeth as your head tilts to the side slightly

“-so, what do you think?” namjoon reaches the end of his presentation and tucks his pen into his shirt pocket, very much aware of how much heat is radiating off his body from the nerves

he’s heard some things about people who’ve tried to ask for raises, and making the bold move of coming directly to you has historically never ended very well for those guys

jungkook presses the button for the lights to turn on and the blinds to roll back up from where he’s standing by the front door, offering namjoon a smile and a supportive nod

at least five seconds of silence linger in the air and namjoon wonders if you’re able to hear his heart practically beating out of his chest

you’ve also been maintaining eye contact with him the entire time he’s presented which makes him ten times as nervous because he’ll be the first to admit you have very nice eyes

“…i think all of this could’ve been an email, kim.” you lean forward, office chair squeaking slightly as you swipe your phone off the table and unlock it, “the next time you want something, i don’t need a thirty-eight minute presentation on why you think you deserve it.”

“ma’am?” namjoon’s face reddens and suddenly it feels like the collar of his button-up is suffocating him

“who’s trying to poach you from me?”

“i-if you don’t mind, i’d like to keep that detail priv-“ namjoon immediately stops talking when your eyes flicker up from your phone to look at him through your eyebrows, “ah- min corporations, miss y/l/n. i was contacted by their secretary last week.”

“mm, i’ve spoken to that secretary. preppy little thing.” you snort, eyebrow raising slightly at the memory of the one time you got a call on your personal cell phone from min corporations (you’re not even sure how that secretary got your damn number in the first place) inviting you to a lunch with mr. min yoongi himself

you went, of course, more than surprised to discover that the secretary wasn’t just his secretary but also his wife and the mother of his (adorable) daughter

you don’t know how she managed to go from secretary all the way to wife/mother but hat’s off to her for pulling that off

with that being said you’re sure that if she spoke three decibels higher all the dogs in the city would start barking and all the windows in your office would’ve cracked

“you’re a hard worker. i like having you on my team.” you set your phone face down on your desk, “get back to work. we can discuss numbers another day because if you make me look at another excel spreadsheet i might change my mind.”

“oh, i- thank you so much, miss y/l/n, i really appreciate it! thank you so much-“ namjoon fumbles with the projector and switches it off, a weight instantly lifted off his shoulders at the implication that he will, in fact, be getting a raise

“mm.” you gesture with a flick of your wrist for him to leave your office as you raise your phone to your ear, “min yoongi! trying to steal my star salesman, are you?”

jungkook opens the door for namjoon, stepping aside to let him out before shutting the door behind him quietly

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” jungkook beams, giving namjoon a hearty pat on the arm, “congratulations on the raise!”

“i think i need to take a shot or something, that was- so stressful.” namjoon lets out a breath, reaching up to loosen his tie slightly, “god, she really- her eye contact is crazy intense sometimes-“

“it’s probably the eyeliner in her waterline making her look ten times scarier, you’ll survive-“

🎙️ ask y/n for eyeliner recommendations (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to your other faves!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!)

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pockettwinzz · 10 days

Text

Maybe if things were different - Jay fic

Jay's b'day special

𝜗ৎSynopsis𝜗ৎ : Jay was the perfect guy, the guy everyone was jealous of, the guy who always came in first place, the guy you loved, and you, he loved you. But of course if love was perfect, why would anyone ever be sad.

𝜗ৎwarnings𝜗ৎ : angst, lots of crying, sadistic, sad ending {forgive me please}

𝜗ৎAuthor's note𝜗ৎ : Happy birthday to jay <3 he deserves the whole fucking world and i'm so so sorry for such a sadistic fic but i just couldn't think of anything else T^T! Also I wrote this on 18.04 so it's kinda rushed {sorry T.T}

𝜗ৎwc𝜗ৎ : 1.4k

𝜗ৎ dividers and moodboard are by @dollywons 𝜗ৎ

The first time I saw him, he was sitting in the back of the class, his head tilted down so that his dark brown hair fell over his face. His shoulders were hunched, as if he were trying to make himself smaller, but even then, there was something about the way he moved that made me think he was much larger than he appeared. His fingers were long and slender, and when he'd finally look up, his eyes would be so cold, they could freeze over the hottest summer day. Everyone was afraid of him, except for me.

I couldn't explain it then, and I still can't now, but there was something about him that drew me in, that made me want to know more. It was like there was this fire burning inside of him, just waiting to be set free, and even though everyone else was too scared to get close enough to see it, I felt like I could reach out and touch it.

One day, after class, I mustered up the courage to walk over to his desk and ask him a question about the homework. He looked up at me, those icy cat eyes narrowing, and I felt my heart start to race. "J-jay, do you mind helping me with my math homework?" But instead of the harsh retort I was expecting, he actually answered my question, his voice soft and gentle, "Sure". It was then that I realized that underneath that tough exterior, he was just as fragile as the rest of us.

As the weeks went by, we found ourselves talking more and more, sometimes even laughing together. I could see a glimpse of the real Jay, the one who wasn't so cold and distant, and it made me feel like I was the only one who truly understood him.

One day, after school, Jay asked if I wanted to go for a walk with him. I hesitated for a moment, but I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at the thought of spending time alone with him. We ended up walking by the lake, watching the ducks swim and the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink. It was the most peaceful I had ever felt in his company.

As we walked, Jay told me about his childhood, about how he'd always felt like an outsider, even among his own family. I listened intently, my heart aching for him, and when he finally fell silent, I found myself reaching out to take his hand. He didn't pull away, and for a brief moment, our fingers intertwined. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to me.

"Yn," he said, looking into my eyes, "I've never told anyone that before." I knew he was referring to the story of his past, and I felt honored that he had chosen to share it with me.

We continued walking, our fingers still entwined, and I could feel the tension beginning to ease from his shoulders. He seemed to be more at ease with me than he ever had with anyone else. I wondered what it was about me that made him feel this way, but I didn't want to ruin the moment by asking.

As we strolled along the water's edge, Jay asked me about my own life, and I found myself opening up to him in a way I hadn't with anyone else. He listened intently, nodding along as I spoke, and when I finished, he gave me this small, understanding smile. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

We must have talked for hours, about everything under the sun, but somehow, the time just flew by. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of indigo and violet, and the air grew cooler, but neither of us wanted to stop talking. It felt like we could go on like that forever.

Eventually, though, we heard the distant sound of car horns and realized that it was getting late. Jay squeezed my hand gently, as if to say that he didn't want the evening to end either, but we knew we had to go back.

As we walked back home, our steps seemed to fall into an easy rhythm, like we'd been walking together for years instead of just a few hours. I could feel a newfound closeness between us, a connection that transcended our friendship.

It was as if we were two halves of the same whole, and together, we completed each other.

We didn't say much as we walked, content to enjoy the silence and the feeling of being together. When we finally reached the bustop, it was dark and noisy, the streets were as busy as they always were. Jay hesitated for a moment before turning to face me, his expression serious.

"Yn," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to know that tonight, being with you, it meant everything to me." His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel a lump form in my throat.

"Jay," I replied, my voice just as quiet, "I feel the same way." I knew what I was saying was a huge risk, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted him to know how much he meant to me, how much I cared about him.

He smiled then, a small, sad smile, and reached up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. It sent a wave of warmth through my entire body, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "You really are special, Yn," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

His words made my heart ache with longing. I wanted nothing more than for him to understand how I felt, to know that I wasn't just his friend, but so much more. But I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud. Instead, I leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against my lips.

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the contact, before opening them again and looking into my eyes. There was a depth to his gaze that I had never seen before, as if he was trying to communicate something beyond words. I wanted nothing more than to be with him, to explore this newfound connection and see where it might lead.

Jay leaned forward, i could feel his warm breaths. "I wish things were different," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I wish I could show you how much you mean to me."

My heart ached at his words, knowing all too well that we were stuck in this impossible situation. "J-jay" I replied softly, unable to meet his eyes. "What do you mean?" My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the words to express what I was feeling. "Yn..... I-I'm sorry" He spoke as tears left his eyes as he turned away and began walking away.

I stood there, my body frozen, all alone in the crowd, tears bawling out of my eyes.

I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with Jay openly, to share our love with the world. To see where our connection might lead us. But I knew that was not an option. Not after how he left me....

The days after that night were so bitter. Everytime i looked up to his eyes, they were always filled with a mix of longing and guilt with a hint of sadness.

As much as we wanted to be together, we couldn't deny the reality of our situation. His parents would never allow it, and they held all the power. They could take away everything that we had if they found out how we truly felt about each other. It was a risk we couldn't afford to.

Everytime I'd catch him staring at me, I wanted to tell him it was okay, that I understood why he was doing this, but the words caught in my throat. How could I possibly make him understand when I didn't even fully understand myself?

I knew that he was trying to protect me, to spare me from the inevitable pain that would come if we continued to pursue this forbidden love. But every time he tried to distance himself from me, a tiny piece of my heart seemed to shatter. It was a constant, aching reminder of the impossible situation we found ourselves in.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡Permanent Taglist ༘˚⋆𐙚｡ @cha-eui @alvojake @heeslut4life @wondipity @dollywons @wonlvkay

+ @ja3yun here you go~ this might not be what you expected T.T but I hope you like it <3

#pockettwinzz writes #jay enha #jay enhypen #jay x reader #jay x y/n #angst #sadistic #forbidden love #park jongseong #enhypen #enha x reader

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alwritey-aphrodite · 4 months

Note

Oh my god I beg I plead

Sejanus writing you handwritten letters is all I need in the world

Something about Sejanus made you a little silly, a little bit lovesick. You weren’t sure what it was, but recently all you’d been able to do was think about him and his beautiful brown eyes and his perfect smile and the adorable dimples that accompany that perfect smile. It didn’t matter if he was right in front of you or miles away at his own house, he invaded every inch of your brain, every second of your thoughts.

One night, kept awake by assignments and kept awake longer by daydreaming, you wrote him a letter, a quick scrawl about how infuriating it was that he was so lovely and left you thinking about him at all hours of the day. You must have been more sleep deprived than you thought, though, because suddenly the letter was sealed and the envelope was addressed and you didn’t even realize what had happened until you woke the next morning.

With all of the stress of your daily life, you forget all about the letter, chalking it up as a sleep deprived dream whenever you happen to think about it, and you try your hardest to force it out of your brain. Luckily for you, Sejanus never mentions anything about the letter, in front of your classmates or in private, so you assume that he never actually received it and you made it all up.

That plan worked great until you returned home from your classes and your mother told you there was a letter on your desk. You try your hardest not to run up the stairs, but your heart is still pounding when you reach your bedroom and make your way to your desk. Just as you had feared, there’s a letter addressed to you in Sejanus’s familiar handwriting.

Peeling open the envelope with shaking hands, you wonder briefly if maybe you should just throw the letter away without reading it so you can continue to pretend like none of this ever happened, but your hands seemingly have a mind of their own as they slide the letter from the envelope. Fueled by nerves and curiosity, you read quickly, eyes scanning over Sejanus’s affection for you.

Shy, quiet Sejanus is bold in his writing, confessing things you’re certain he would never say to your face, but he remains as lovely as he always is, singing your praises in the handwritten you’ve gotten so familiar with over years and years of sitting next to each other in your classes. You reread the letter as soon as you finish it for the first time, eyes jumping back to the top as you try and soak it all in.

Once you finish rereading it three times over, just for good measure, you set the writing aside and pull out your own paper, writing a letter for Sejanus that you hope is more coherent than the last one. It’s a little silly, writing letters back and forth and waiting for a response when you could just say it all to his face, but hiding behind the page gives you a certain sense of confidence that would disappear the moment you looked into his beautiful brown eyes.

Instead, you seal up your pages and address the envelope, already anxious for his response.

#sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus plinth fanfiction #sejanus x reader #sejanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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pastanest · 8 months

Text

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: the day I don’t write about a sunshine!reader is the day one of you needs to action a welfare check on me bc I bawled my eyes out writing this angsty shit fr

warning: mentions of Maeve (rip queen x)

A Chance

It was strange, getting to know someone through the words of friends, before being able to actually meet that person. The board had requested you transfer to the BAU while Spencer was in prison, and you were only ever meant to be there as a placeholder of sorts, to lend your expertise to the team that struggled in their dear friend’s absence. It was a temporary arrangement, but from the moment Emily Prentiss referenced you to Spencer during a visit to him in prison, he could see in her eyes that your presence had already proven itself invaluable.

The tales she told him of you were silly things that made him laugh, and that was something he had long forgotten how to do. Spencer had no idea what you looked like, because you had insisted that you didn’t want to take a visitation slot from someone that he knew; a notion Emily had passed on to him when he had asked, and his sombre heart had ached from beneath the rubble in his chest, the ruins that once housed a heart of gold. He had no way of picturing you, but he did, he tried. Hearing the jokes you had told the team through Emily, seeing the enjoyment you brought to his friends simply by talking about you, hearing of your efforts to bring smiles to everyone on the team like it was second nature for you. In every way, you made it clear you had no intention of taking Spencer’s place, you were only there to take care of those he loved by making them laugh again, and somehow, that endless stream of kindness reached Spencer, too. Flowing through prison bars, through tense muscles, to the cold, grey, shattered fragments of his heart.

On the day of his release, you had conducted the team in arranging a surprise party for him at the office, just a small get-together for him and his closest friends, who you understood were his family. Your efforts did not go unnoticed to the genius, and neither did the absence of you, amongst his friends.

“Is (Y/N) here?” Spencer had asked.

And David Rossi had shaken his head with a fond smile. “No, she insisted she didn’t want to impose or put you in the position of having to meet someone new, so she’s at home, but she’ll be back in tomorrow.”

You had done it again, without even being there to do it. You had single-handedly reached into Spencer’s chest and lifted those fragments out of the rubble, dusting them off and setting them down gently atop the rubble, letting the sun shine on his heart again.

The next day, Spencer had arrived early at the office for a multitude of reasons. To sit at his desk in the silence of the morning, with nobody around, just to feel back where he belonged, the serenity of it; that was one of the reasons. And as he sat, contemplating that very notion, another reason for his early arrival stepped into the office. Though he had never seen you before, Spencer’s heart recognised you immediately, and he stood from his desk, the softest smile on his face as he watched you. It took you several seconds to acknowledge his presence, what with your big headphones covering your ears and a large pile of boxes in your arms. Spencer watched you like you were a silent film, an enchanting and nostalgic wonder that he had never been lucky enough to lay his eyes on before. It was only when you had set your things down and turned to his desk, with just one large box in your arms, that your eyes widened. And Spencer continued to watch as the brightest smile he had ever seen blossomed on your face, like the first flower he’d seen after a year-long winter.

“Spencer! Hello!” You greeted him cheerfully, removing your headphones. “These are for you! Emily said that you liked ones with chocolate frosting and sprinkles best?” You had asked, setting the large box down on his desk in front of him.

He stared down at it, and you, in absolute wonder. How could you possibly be real?

“(Y/N)...” Spencer spoke your name to you for the first time, having rehearsed it and played around with the way it sounded in his mind during particularly lonely nights in his cell, but finding that it sounded different when he said it to you.

“I can’t thank you enough. For this, for the party yesterday, for the happiness you’ve brought the team- thank you.” Spencer said, his voice as gentle as he could make it, afraid that the slightest of harsh tones could shatter the fragile ray of sunshine that stood before him.

“Oh, that’s alright! You don’t need to thank me, not for any of it, the team have all been so welcoming to me, and they talk about you all the time, you know.” You beamed up at him.

“They do?” Spencer asked, his words unexpectedly shy.

You nodded fervently. “Everyday, they had a new tale to tell me about you, a new fact to share that they learned from you- honestly, I feel like I was getting to know you before I’d even met you!” The chuckle that passed your lips was that of an angel.

You had been getting to know him in the same way he had been getting to know you. What did you think of the things you heard? Did you think of him as often as he thought of you? Were you as curious about him? Did thoughts of him make you smile, in the way thoughts of you made him, when he would walk back to his cell after a visit from Emily?

A lump formed in Spencer’s throat. How different is he now, to the person you were getting to know? Will prison have made him unrecognizable to you, too?

But as he gazed down at you and searched your eyes, unable to find a single shred of judgment, or fear, he felt hope. A glimmer, a spark, beneath the rubble.

“Emily’s been telling me about you, too.” He managed to reply, his voice quiet in a way he hoped you wouldn’t address.

“All good things, I hope!” You chuckled again, busying yourself at your desk and looking over your shoulder at him.

It felt normal. Like a conversation between two old friends. Spencer felt comfortable, for the first time since…even his eidetic memory faltered in recalling.

“All good things.” He assured you, a smile playing on his lips and in his chest.

Somehow, it came as a surprise to you when the team requested you join the team permanently. You had enjoyed your time with them tremendously, but you had never suspected they enjoyed you just as much, enough to ask you to stay. They had waited to ask you, wanting Spencer to meet you first and give his verdict. He couldn’t form his thoughts into coherent strings of sentences, but the smile on his face after meeting you told the team that he shared their resounding 'yes'.

And when he saw the way you lit up, the happy tears in your eyes as the team asked you if you’d consider making your position permanent, Spencer grinned. Your tearful eyes landed on him, sensing that he had agreed to ask you to stay, and that one thought made the tears in your eyes cascade down your cheeks.

“Thank you.” You had blubbered, gaze traveling across each and every member of the team, but lingering on Spencer in a way that made him question whether his IQ points were evaporating, leaving his head emptier, his mind happier, with the simple joy of you, smiling at him like that.

With your place on the team set in stone, you all began working on cases together, quickly discovering that your true place was at Spencer’s side, much to his delight and dismay in equal measure. You made him smile like nobody else, made him feel normal, seen, for who he was, who he could be as long as you were around to encourage a side of him he had learned to keep well hidden, to protect himself. Even his mother, on his first visit to her since getting out of prison, had commented that he seemed so much more himself. How had you reminded him of who he was, when you had not known who he was before? Spencer felt selfish for collecting your smiles, treasuring them all to himself. He wondered if he had any right to make you smile at all. He was unworthy of causing a smile like yours. And there was guilt, so much guilt, the moment you were out of sight and he became excruciatingly aware of just how much more you deserved. An angel like you, walking on hot coals beside him, burning the soles of your feet but still smiling up at him like he’s worth it.

Tonight, the pain is worse. To celebrate a particularly gruelling case being solved, you suggested a garden party at your house, and Spencer had been the very first person you asked to attend. As if he needed any further proof to his ongoing theory of it being physically impossible for him to ever deny you of anything. And here he stands, in your garden, nursing a drink and watching you just as he did the first time he saw you. There is music playing, and you are aware of his presence, but you are still the same vision to him, all sound fading until you are that same silent film. Until your laugh breaks the barrier; a sound he is certain could reach his ears from miles away. Through any sea of other voices, he can pinpoint yours.

He is nothing more than a shadow, standing alone, a few feet away from everyone else, on the outside of their bubble but peering in just to torture himself. The smiles on his friends faces, on yours, as you all dance around together, dressed to the nines and laughing like it’s the silliest joy you’ve ever known. Spencer looks at the perfect image before him until he can bear it no longer, and he sets his drink down on the nearest table. Enough, he thinks to himself.

Nobody notices when a shadow slowly fades out of view.

He walks through your home, towards the front door, the scent of your perfume trying to persuade him to stay. The trinkets on your shelves, the art on your walls, every single thing exuding you in the most beautiful way; he knows he could stand right here, in your hallway, just drinking you in until he died of old age, but he keeps walking. Shoes heavy, legs of lead, he trudges out of your front door and onto the street, under the same stars as you and feeling the weight of how little he deserves to share such a thing.

Every step further away from where you are kills him just a little more. He wonders how far he’ll make it, whether he’ll manage to reach the sea before he sinks to his knees and lets himself wither away entirely, the force of you no longer binding his atoms and holding him to this Earth; an echo that you have been selfless enough to maintain, no matter the cost to you. The cost, Spencer is sure, has been insurmountable. How can it not have been? A burden as heavy as him, a stain you can’t wash out of your life that somehow exacerbates every time you check in on it, a husk that you remind how to live, simply by existing.

Seven steps from your front door, his legs start to falter, wobbling beneath him under the weight of the crime he has committed and the sentence he serves now, for stringing you along like he’s ever been worthy of walking the same ground. His trembling hands grip garden fences as he forces himself onwards, away, away.

“Spencer?”

A vision, a mirage, the perfect and only balm to restore his strength enough to stand up straight. Thank you, thank you, his mind spins, continuing to walk until your footsteps reach his ears.

“Where are we going?”

And there it is, that smile, looking up at him like you can fix everything in his world, and you have. Again.

He can’t tell you, he can’t possibly speak such heartbreaking thoughts aloud. He can’t do anything that’ll cause your smile to even falter, not now, when his heart breathes to life and rises from the rubble, reaching for you.

“Just…needed some air.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse, and he can tell from the look in your eyes that you see right through him, see that something is wrong, but you don’t pry.

Instead, you do what feels right to you.

For the first time, you slip your hand into Spencer’s and squeeze it, so gently. His hand all but engulfs yours, but he can feel every inch of your skin that touches his, and his heart soars.

“Okay, you wanna walk round the block?” You ask, your words casual, gentle, and holding no judgement, like always.

Spencer can only nod, his IQ reduced to zero because you are holding his hand and he cannot possibly think about anything else.

Taking his agreement, you start walking, and he walks in step beside you. On the same ground, under the same night sky, in a silent film that he feels he is a part of now.

For a few minutes, neither of you say anything. Only casting shy smiles at each other every so often, until you decide to speak words that alter Spencer’s very brain chemistry.

“You know, you’ve become my favorite person in the world.” Your voice is quiet, almost bashful, in a way he has never heard you speak before.

Spencer frowns, his eyebrows knitted together by the confusion and bliss that swirls within him in a perfect storm, but your hand is still holding his, so he is still incapable of speaking.

“Every new thing I come to learn about you, I adore more than the last.” You continue. “And I didn’t know what to do with that, at first, because I didn’t want to drop my feelings on you and give you no choice but to address them, I didn’t think that would be fair. So I’ve thought about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s okay.” You smile up at him in a way that makes his heart splutter frantically. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, because even if you don’t, I’ll still adore you just as much, and I’ll help you find the person that you come to adore in that way.” The sincerity in your eyes very nearly breaks Spencer in two, and he stops walking.

He is at an agonizing crossroads. His eidetic memory forces him to relive his tragic romantic history, from the date he asked JJ on that she invited Penelope to, to the worst day of his life, when the only girl he thought that would ever love him, was murdered right in front of him. Maeve. He never even got to hold her hand like this, say the words he’d always wanted to, thank her for giving him the chance, for letting him love her until her last moments, and beyond that.

Tears gather in Spencer’s eyes as he looks down at you and thinks of Maeve. He had always thought that she was it, that she was his one and only chance at love, at a family, at the life he had always dreamed of, and that was out of his reach because she was. But as he gazes down at you, feels your hand squeeze his again in a way he never got to feel with Maeve, he realizes that this is different, that he is different. There is no way to know how his life would differ if he had not lost Maeve, how long they would have lasted, if at all; he stopped plaguing himself with the what-ifs long ago, settling with the agony that it was his fault, that he deserved to suffer, and he deserved to do so alone.

But you are here. Right here.

Smiling up at him like he’s worth more than he feels he is, pouring your heart out to him and not expecting anything in return, just wanting him to know that you adore him, because that’s who you are. And he is the person you adore. He is not without love, he is not a lost cause, his fate is not sealed.

You are here, with Spencer, because you have chosen to be. You adore him as he is now, and he doesn’t even know who that is, but he doesn’t care anymore, because as long as you adore him, he’s okay with that.

The tears gathering in his eyes break past the barriers and slip down his stubbled cheeks, a small smile curling at his lips, before it blossoms just as yours did the first time you saw him, into a grin, and then a quiet laugh. He looks up at the stars and takes a moment to thank them for allowing him to stay here with you, and then he takes hold of your other hand, holding both of your smaller ones in his.

“You’ll have to give me time to formulate my thoughts into words, but for now, let me just say that I…” Spencer takes a deep breath, blinking back the tears that dare blur his perfect vision of you, and then he sighs, shaking his head. “Adore isn’t a strong enough word.” He smiles down at you. “I’m enchanted by you, and I’d be willing to challenge any belief that tries to advise me against worshipping you.”

The chuckle that passes your lips as your eyes glaze over is the most beautiful sound Spencer has ever heard, and he is definitely not biased, because he absolutely has not thought that every time he’s heard you laugh.

“Very profound, Doctor Reid.” You muse. “So, where does that leave us?”

The smile on Spencer’s face is dazed, lost in the dream of you. The stars shine above and the ground sighs below, the universe relieved to have finally guided the two of you to where you were always intended to be.

Your question is a good one - an excellent one, Spencer would argue, solely because you were the one to ask it - and it takes several seconds for his whirring mind to piece together the words to correctly phrase the sentiment he feels deep within the heart that you have taken the time to intricately piece back together with the same gentle hands that hold his now. Eventually, though, the words find him, and he parts his smile to let that same heart speak to you.

“I honestly don’t know, but anywhere that you are, is where I want to be.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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writing-for-marvel · 11 months

Text

Heartburn

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 4 | Series Masterlist | PART 6 > >

Summary: You hadn’t expected to meet Bucky’s family so soon, let alone in your hospital.

Warnings: strictly 18+, TRIGGER WARNING mention of a child dying from an epileptic seizure, mention of child abuse, mention of someone dying from alcoholism/liver cancer, minor character has a heart attack, CPR including chest compressions is depicted, mention of surgery, angst, fluff, implied smut, please note this is a medical AU which is set in a emergency room

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: sorry if the pacing is a little off in this one, I had a vision but I’m not sure it’s actually come together all that well. We finally learn about Bucky’s past in this one! Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

It’s the irritating beeping sound of a phone alarm that pulls you from your dreamland with a start.

For a minute you’re disoriented, even though you recognise the surroundings as your own bedroom. Only a second ago it seems you were cuddled up next to Bucky on your couch, head on his shoulder and fingers intertwined as reruns of The Office played in front of your tired eyelids.

Now, his large form reaches across to the bedside table to quickly shut off his alarm, the muscles in his bare back tensing with the stretch.

“Sorry darling, got an early shift and my uniform is back at my place.” The apology spoken in his hoarse morning voice is coupled with a soft kiss to your forehead which is sweet, but not quite enough recompense for the price of being woken up extra early.

Even though you’ve just woken up, probably looking puffy, bleary eyed and like a unshowered mess, Bucky’s gaze is still filled with wonder and tenderness, as if, even in this state, you’re still the most exquisite person he’s ever laid eyes on and he can’t quite believe he gets to wake up beside you.

He holds you into his warm, musky scented, hairy chest for a long minute, wherein you almost fall back to sleep listening to the steady beat of his heart, until he covertly attempts to remove his arms from around you, aiming to leave you to continue to rest alone in bed.

“No, don’t go.” You mumble in protest, reaching out to grab hold of his burly frame. Bucky’s strong enough to pull away from you if he really wanted, but it’s clear he doesn’t when even the drowsy grasp you have on him is adequate to prevent him from leaving your bed.

Bucky snuggles back into your embrace and a soft, loving smile spreads over your sleepy features which induces his heart to melt into warm honey in his chest. This is where he’s meant to be.

In a decades time, reflecting back he’s not going to remember everyday he turned up to work on time, but he will reminisce on these stolen moments with you.

For so long being a paramedic has been his purpose. That after everything he’s suffered through he poured his soul into helping other people to give him a reason to keep going.

But perhaps now he can instead be a little selfish. Open up his heart, which has been under lock and key, and indulge in the rapture and ardour that you seem to instinctively induce within him, even if there is a threat of eventual heartache.

After years of drifting lost at sea, he’s finally found a safe haven with you. And he doesn’t plan on doing anything to jeopardise that. He’d inflict life threatening pain on himself before allowing any hurt to come to you.

Bucky kisses you, pulling your pelvis flush with his as you swing your leg lazily over his thigh. It’s far from the perfect kiss, noses bumping, lips lethargic, unbrushed teeth and morning breath, but to Bucky it’s impeccable and unforgettable because it’s a kiss shared with you the first morning you’re waking up beside each other.

When your hands slip below the elastic of his sweatpants, Bucky knows he’s going to be late for his shift, but that hardly seems important when he gets to spend these extra moments with you.

Besides, he knows Steve will cover for him.

Right now, he’s just focused on satisfying his girl.

* * *

“Alright, I need to know everything about your date last night.” Typically this was a sentence Wanda spoke to you after a night spent with Bucky, but was now coming from your mouth directed at her.

It had been a relatively slow day in the ER. All patients were stable and you were caught up on paperwork, so you finally had the opportunity to interrogate Wanda about her first date with the anaesthesiologist she met last week - Vis, she had called him.

“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.” She teases with a smirk, which tells you exactly how her night ended. You remember saying something of a similar vein after your first date with Bucky.

“Are you gonna see him again?” You prompt, wanting far more information about your friend’s love life than she was letting on.

“He’s already booked us in for Per Se this weekend.” You can see the excitement she’s failing to hide in her beaming smile which gets reciprocated on your own features.

“Oh, fancy! How did you manage to score that reservation after just one date?” You ask with raised brows and Wanda just smirks.

“I can do amazing things with my mouth.”

All of a sudden there’s a commotion over by the other side of the ER which pulls everyone’s attention. Bursting through the double doors from the ambulance bay is a gurney with a patient and a paramedic atop performing rhythmic chest compressions.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a strange sight to see in an ER, in fact, it’s a daily occurrence in your experience. However, what you do find peculiar is the sight of a familiar broad paramedic with long chestnut hair performing CPR even though you know for a fact his shift finished hours prior.

Something close to terror rises like steam from a burning hole in your stomach. You can see by the pure panic lining Bucky’s features as he screams instructions that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Time seems to stand still as you watch the scene play out in front of you - Bucky continues compressions as they wheel the gurney past you towards the surgical wing. From your position you get a glimpse of a middle aged woman with the same colour hair as Bucky unconscious on the stretcher.

One of the ER doctors you don’t know very well offers to take over CPR but Bucky glowers at him and proceeds anyway. It’s not until Dr Strange approaches with his surgical team that a helpless melancholy overcomes Bucky’s demeanour and you immediately want to wrap him in an endless hug.

They exchange some words before Bucky shouts despondently “she’s my mother!” Your already bruised heart crumbles into a million tiny pieces on the floor in front of you. Dr Carter takes over from Bucky’s role as he steps off the gurney, wanting to follow the team into the OR but Strange stops him with a hand to strapping chest.

“This is as far as you go Barnes.” You hear him command flatly, and when Bucky opens his mouth to argue like you knew he would, Strange cuts him off. “We’ll do the best we can.” Stephen remarks in his quintessential vague and unpromising statement before following his team into the surgical wing. Knowing how superior Stephen’s best is, this utterance generally makes you feel confident about a patient's outcome, but this time, when the patient is someone so close to a person you care deeply about, it provides no comfort.

The short paramedic who arrived with Bucky, perhaps driving the ambulance, observes him with sorrowful, sympathetic eyes. She reaches out to him, looking as if she’s trying to find the right comforting words, but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. He instead searches you out in the crowd of people who had gathered at the incident, finding you almost instantly, and with a few large strides has his arms wrapped tightly around your middle and his head tucks into the crook of your neck.

“I’m so sorry baby.” You whisper in his ear while on the tips of your toes, the ends of his long hair tickling your jawline. As you rub slow circles over his back a wretched sob bubbles up in his throat and his whole body starts heaving as he cries. “I’m right here, Buck.”

You feel his clutch on the back of your scrubs tighten as he continues to weep, your chest tightening knowing that as much as you may want to, there is nothing you can do to take the weight of this catastrophic misery from him.

“I can’t lose her too.” He cries in a barely intelligible stammer. Your heart cracks at the implication of too, instinctively pulling him closer in your embrace, tears welling in your own eyes at seeing your strong and cheeky Bucky face such overwhelming anguish. “Please, I can’t lose her too.” He repeats in a blubber with a hefty sniff, pulling back to gaze at you with imploring eyes, as if begging you to promise that she will live.

At this moment all you want is to ease his suffering, but you know as a physician you can't make that promise. Statistics are not in her favour. Your hand intuitively comes up to cup his face, thumb wiping the stream of tears flowing from the corner of his eye.

“I know, Buck. C’mere, let’s go to an on-call room where you can lie down.” The sea of people who had been silently staring at the scene of Bucky breaking down part for you to move through, though not before you throw incensed glares at those who were observing Bucky’s moment of grief.

You keep your arm steadily around Bucky’s muscular back as you both lead him through the maze of the hospital, towards where you know the nearest on-call room is due to your carnal activities weeks before, and keep him upright.

You shut the door behind you and lead Bucky to the small bed, his movements stemming from you prompting him - you suspect he’s too caught up in distraught thoughts to even recognise where he is.

Sitting with your back against the pillows, you gently pull Bucky up to your chest. His large frame is heavy and pushes you further into the mattress, but it’s a welcome, comforting embrace.

That morning, cuddled up in bed in a similar manner to now feels like a lifetime ago. You stay like that for a while, Bucky’s tears dampening your scrubs. It’s raw, observing someone you care for in such a vulnerable, impuissant state. You’re not entirely sure what Bucky needs right now, you’re still yet to learn so much about one another, but just being present seems to be sufficient for the moment.

With a sniffle Bucky clears his throat and finally speaks.

“She just collapsed, I stopped by her place after my shift. One second she was fine, talking and laughing, then the next unconscious on the floor.” He explained, slightly muffled into your chest as you stroked his hair in soothing motions.

“Thankfully you were with her.” You comment, dreading to think what would have happened if he had arrived too late, but realising that it probably isn’t any consolation to the person whose mother is currently fighting for her life.

You return to comfortable silence, your hand combing through strands of his hair, already having learnt that he enjoys having his hair played with. He shuffles so that your legs interlace, which helps you pull him closer.

“You’re probably wondering what I meant by her too.” Bucky gauges, and though you were intrigued by the insinuation of his phrasing, you also understand that it’s none of your business.

“Bucky, you don’t have to go into that now. You can tell me when you’re ready, or not at all if it makes you uncomfortable.” You utter softly into his hairline before peppering a few kisses along his forehead to his temple.

“I want you to know.” He urges, and though you’re not sure it’s the right time for him to detail any previous suffering or trauma he’s had to endure, you’re also not in a position to pick an argument with him. You’re all ears for whatever he wishes to share in such a vulnerable moment. “I trust you.” There’s a weight to these words that you enjoy bearing, that for Bucky there’s not many people who have the privilege of earning his trust and this heavy responsibility is an honour rather than a burden.

Bucky takes a deep breath, his bottom lip quivering. You stroke his hair again and when he gazes up at you it feels like you’re holding your entire world in your hands.

“Sorry, I haven’t had to explain this to someone in a long time.” He apologises needlessly.

“Take your time.”

He gulps down the lump forming in his throat before he starts.

“I had a baby sister.” He simply states. I can’t lose her too, echoing in your mind in Bucky’s distraught, desperate voice and every nerve in your body fires with despair.

He lost his baby sister.

Overcoming saying those five words aloud takes him a moment, but you remain patient. Even if that’s all the explanation he is to give, that wouldn’t matter to you, you already believe him to be the strongest person you know.

“She was five years younger than me, and besides Steve, was my best friend. You think I’m cheeky, well Becca was ten times worse.” He says with a reminiscent chuckle. You continue to rub steady circles over his sturdy back as his head rests on your chest. “She was only nine when it happened. She had epilepsy and one day when we were home alone she started having a seizure. I did everything I was taught to do in that situation, but she still didn’t make it. It took the ambulance over 30 minutes to get there. You’re a doctor, I’m sure you can put the pieces together.”

Sometimes being a physician and having intimate medical knowledge about what exactly was happening to a person felt like a punishment rather than a blessing. Being able to visualise precisely was happening in her body during her last moments and the medical reasons why she passed away even though a fourteen year old Bucky did everything he could to prevent it was knowledge you didn’t wish to have in this moment.

“I blamed myself for the longest time, I still do occasionally.” He comments and your chest constricts at the vision of a teenage Bucky thinking he was the reason his little sister died. You pull him even closer to you, your cheek brushing the top of his head.

“You would have done everything you could, James. I’m sure Becca knows that.” Bucky looks up at you with a combination of bewilderment and admiration, overly appreciative of the blind faith you’ve placed in him.

“My dad blamed me for it. Becca was always his favourite. Daddy’s little girl.” His voice is demure, so different to the brash, confident man you met in the ER. But part of you feels appreciative he can be vulnerable with you, that he can be truthful to his pain when you’re together instead of putting on a facade. “He took that grief and anger out on me and my mom after that. Told me he wished I was the child of his that died. She left him after that, and I barely saw him from then on. Didn’t fight her for custody, didn’t even want shared custody, he was completely fine with never seeing me again. He drank himself to death - got liver cancer and died just before my twenty-first birthday.”

Though it felt malevolent to wish harm on someone who had been through the horrendous pain of losing their daughter, you couldn’t help the sense of warm contentment filling your chest that Bucky’s father cannot hurt him anymore. What a vile thing to say to your own son.

“What happened is not your fault. It was devastating and so very unfortunate, but the blame does not lie with you. Don’t you ever believe for a moment that your fathers words are true.” He chokes out a sob and for a few long minutes you simply stay cuddled up to each other in the small on-call bed.

“You remember on our first date when you asked why I became a paramedic?” He finally breaks the silence with a raspy voice. You hum in affirmation. “This is why. I wanted to make sure no one else had to go through what my family did. That no one would lose a loved one because the help they needed didn’t arrive in time.”

You recall the day you met Bucky, carrying seven year old Sasha into the ER, a tear trickling down his cheek as she was wheeled off for her scan. You had always believed the tear was born from thinking she was in pain - but now, you contemplate that instead it was a happy tear, that against all odds he had successfully pulled a young girl from the train wreckage and she was getting the help she needed. Aid that never got to his sister.

“Ma and Steve are the only family I have left. I’m not ready to lose her.” You want to tell him that he will always have you too, but considering he’s known you for such a short time compared to his actual family and childhood best friend, it feels like an empty gesture.

“You want me to go check on her? I have surgical wing privileges, I could-”

“No, please, I need you here.” His embrace becomes suffocatingly tight to prevent you from leaving, and you reassure him with a kiss.

“Okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky pulls the covers around the two of you, perhaps as an added layer you would have to fight to leave this room, so you repeat your statement, followed by placing a stream of kisses over his damp cheeks.

It becomes a warm cocoon as the two of you snuggle, Bucky’s large hands snaking under your shirt to rest on the expanse of your back, saying he just wants to feel close to you, the feel of your bare skin in a chaste circumstance seems to lower his previously pounding heart rate.

It’s not long until there is a knock on the door of the on-call room. You and Bucky exchange worried glances knowing this is it. You can sense Bucky’s apprehension in opening the door, so with a look asking for permission, and a slight nod from him, you twist the door handle.

It’s Dr Strange on the other side. You suspect Wanda had clued him into your whereabouts.

“She’s alive.” He states, knowing that key piece of information is all you care about, and you feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. You can’t imagine how Bucky must feel.

He pulls you into his chest in a bone crunching hug, happy tears now leaking from the corners of his eyes, relief buoyant in your chest at seeing your man with a smile on his face once again.

You don’t retain much more information after hearing this news. You note Stephen mentioning Winnifred had suffered a heart attack, and that they placed a couple of stents but you don’t absorb anything further.

You follow Dr Strange to her recovery room hand in hand. Bucky’s hold on your much smaller hand remains tight, though you can feel the trembling of his fingers. In response, you rub your thumb over the smooth skin of the back of his hand.

When you arrive, you observe an unconscious Mrs Barnes through the open cubicle curtain. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief next to you. Though still under the effects of anaesthesia, she is alive, and you have to be thankful for that much.

Stephen leaves you to wait for her to wake up, and glancing around, you recognise a few of the nurses who have done shifts in the ER give you sympathetic smiles.

Bucky takes a moment to observe and come to terms with his mother looking fragile in a hospital bed, wires connecting to machines attached to all parts of her body. He seems afraid to enter the room at the same time as looking grateful that she is still with him.

He takes a tentative step closer to the room, however you stay firmly where you are, the tension from your joined hands giving away your reluctance to invade his mothers privacy.

“Buck, I don’t think she’ll want a stranger in there with her at a time like this.” You comment, concerned about intruding into a personal, confidential space of a stranger. It wouldn’t be a good first impression if she kicked you out before you could even introduce yourself.

“But I need you.”

And that’s all it takes.

Bucky needs you, so nothing else matters.

Still somewhat grudgingly you follow Bucky into the private hospital room, but his beaming smile directed at you as you sit beside him, legs slung over his thick thighs, hands intertwined, is reward enough for facing that anxiety.

Besides, that is nothing compared to what Bucky faced today.

By the time Winnifred finally regains consciousness it’s been a long day - having been woken up early with Bucky and the carnal activities performed in your bedroom before either of you started your shifts, to the emotional rollercoaster since he entered your ER, but you’re still smiling and joking with each other until she awakens.

“Ma!” Bucky jumps up, worry filling his eyes as she groans, adjusting her position in bed. “Try not to move. You’ve just come out of surgery.”

“Surgery?” Winnifred takes in her clinical surroundings, surprise and dread brimming her eyes as she recognises the type of bed she’s in, pulse oximeter connected to her finger, blood pressure cuff strapped to her arm.

“The doctor will explain everything, but right now you just need your rest.” Bucky instructs, taking her hand in his and gently stroking her arm comfortingly. She gazes up at Bucky like he’s her entire world, and given everything she’s had to endure in her life, you can imagine that’s probably not far from the truth.

Her eyes land on you for the first time, and she tries to push herself up in bed but that only results in her grimacing, clearly in pain.

“Are you the doctor?”

“I am a doctor, but I’m not your doctor. I can get them for you though.” You offer but she immediately shakes her head, as if you haven’t properly interpreted her question.

“No, I mean James’ girlfriend, the doctor?”

You pause for a brief moment - the most you and Bucky had discussed your relationship was that you weren’t sleeping with other people, but had never confirmed that you are officially dating. You didn’t want to scare him off by putting a label on what you are. Hearing ‘Bucky’s girlfriend’ spoken out loud makes it very real all of a sudden, but it’s a title you want to possess.

“Yes, I’m James’ girlfriend.” You confirm, meeting Bucky’s tender gaze from beside you. He slings his arm around you, cheeks rosy from blushing, pulling you closer into his side, kissing the top of your head as Winnifred observes you both with a besotted smile.

You introduce yourself and Winnie, which she requests you call her, already has a million questions about where you grew up, your family, how you met her James, and why you got into medicine. You gladly answer them all, immediately seeing the joy it brings her that Bucky has a partner that cares about him as much as you do. You suspect it’s also a good diversion for her while nurses come in, poke and prod her and take vitals.

The sun sets outside the hospital but Winnie’s spirits are high when visiting hours come to an end. Bucky is adamant that he sleeps on the makeshift window bed in his moms room so that he can be there for her during the first days of her recovery. You offer to take care of Alpine, his mischievous snowy white cat, while he focuses on being with his mom.

Bucky insists he walks you out, even though you’re adamant he should stay with his mom. When you leave her room, Bucky all of a sudden looks nervous, and worry churns in your stomach.

“I know we said we weren’t putting labels on this-” He motions between you with an anxious look in his eye, as if he’s overstepped and is frantically trying to explain his rationale, “but ‘girlfriend’ was just the easiest way to explain it to her. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Bucky.” You say to stop his nervous ranting. You take both of his hands, intertwining fingers, and a shaky breath leaves his lips as he swallows the myriad of words on his tongue. “I want to be your girlfriend - I didn’t say it just to appease your mom. I kinda thought we were already there to be honest, but I don’t want to push you to take this quicker than you’re ready for.”

“I’m ready.” He whispers with a subliminal nod. “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.” He admits sheepishly, but it’s honestly adorable. This tall, burly man, whose size would intimidate most, is nervous to admit he’s never had a girlfriend. Something of pride blooms in your chest that you get the honour of being Bucky’s first ever girlfriend.

Hopefully his only ever girlfriend.

“Aww, I’m your first?” You stand on the tips of your toes and place a delicate kiss to his chapped lips as you tease him. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Affection twinkles in his eyes. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his deep, steel blues observing you like you hang the stars and the moon in the night sky. Bucky leans down, encircling your waist with his strong arms as he kisses you with ardour.

“You are far from my first…” He mumbles against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip and pulling it lightly, “but you’re the only one that matters.”

You kiss him again, arms around his neck pulling him down to you. You’re dangerously addicted to the taste of him, the way his lips move against yours and how his tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it.

Ensuring that you get safely to your car this late at night, Bucky walks you all the way there, giving you another kiss before making sure you lock your car door and promise to text him when you get to his place to pick up Alpine and when you finally get home.

He watches as you pull your car out of the lot, until you’re completely out of sight.

Warmth spreads through the pit of your stomach even though you’re driving away from him, remembering Wanda’s warning before going on your first date with him. No one gets a second date with Bucky Barnes.

No one except you. And now you’re officially his girlfriend.

* * *

Walking back into his mom’s hospital room, Bucky’s surprised to find her still sitting up in bed with a bright smile plastered on her face. If he didn’t know any better, he wouldn’t have known she was ill at all.

“James.” Winnie pats the edge of her bed, motioning for Bucky to sit beside her. “She makes you happy?”

Bucky perches himself where his mother suggested and takes her hand in both of his, overly grateful to have her still with him. He kisses the back of her hand as he thinks of his response - not because he’s uncertain of his answer, you make him astonishingly happy, more than he has been in living memory, but because the extent of that delight is difficult to put into words.

“Incredibly so.” Is what he comes up with, though it feels incomplete and deficient of the precise devotion his heart already feels for you.

His mother, however, seems content with the answer for she clasps her hands together and hums with excitement.

“My boy, I never thought I’d see the day where you would finally let yourself be happy.” She takes a delicate hand and cups his face. Her eyes are filled with overwhelming joy, and Bucky suspects as happy as she is for him, she is also using it as a distraction from her current circumstance.

He didn’t think he’d ever open his heart and allow someone to own it as he has done with you. His greatest fear is being hurt like that again - being crushed by grief like a car in a compactor until he’s a shell of the person he was.

You have this uncanny ability to bring out the true jocular and jovial personality his mother would recognise from before bereavement overtook his life.

He’s already decided that he cannot for the life of him lose you. That if this doesn’t work out with you, he will shut his heart off from the rest of the world for good this time. You’re the only person he’s interested in giving his heart to, if his life can’t be shared with you, then he’ll have to find a way to be content on his own.

“So, can I be expecting grandbabies anytime soon?” Winnie asks in a teasing voice which makes Bucky’s cheeks flush. There isn’t any doubt where Bucky and Becca got their cheeky nature from.

“Ma, we’re definitely not there yet.” He shakes his head urgently but his mom just chuckles.

“Do you love her?”

Bucky pauses. It’s a yes or no question, and yet the answer certainly isn’t that simple.

Can you love someone who you’ve barely known for a month?

Probably not. At least, not in the way his mom is most likely probing about. He’s not even sure if his heart will allow himself to feel that way about someone. But there’s a flutter in his chest and a warmth in the pit of his stomach every time he so much as thinks about you that suggests he’s already begun falling.

“I think I could - I think I will.” He amends which promotes a smile to blossom on his moms face.

“She’s good for you.” It fills Bucky’s stomach with butterflies that his mom has only observed the two of you together for such a short time, and yet still holds this view. “Makes you genuinely laugh like when you were a little boy. I haven’t heard that beautiful sound in such a long time.”

They both have tears in their eyes now, and after the emotional upheaval of the day, Bucky is barely holding on from breaking down again.

“I don’t plan on letting her go, Ma.”

Part 6 > >

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He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv

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tuiccim · 11 days

Text

Wrecked (Part 4)

Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader

Trigger Warnings: References to infertility, love triangle, smut

Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader and hype princess, @whisperlullaby

Wrecked Masterlist

You danced around Billy for the rest of the day. He always seemed to find a way to touch you or at the least, be within reach, and always solicitous. It hadn’t taken you long to realize your folly that morning. He was testing you, making sure you were loyal to his friend. Part of you wondered if Frank had put him up to it. Was he trying to find a reason to break it off with you? Did he regret his commitment to mate you? You hated the thoughts that continuously ran through your head. You jerk your head, trying to make the ugly thoughts go away. Would you ever find any peace from your own self-doubt?

“You okay, gorgeous?” Billy asks as he studies you from across the kitchen counter.

“Fine,” you say, not making eye contact.

“What time do you have to be at the bar?” he asks.

“I’ve got to go get ready now. Are you guys coming by?” You look at Frank for the answer.

“Nah,” Frank says.

“Of course,” Billy’s answers simultaneously.

“Okay, well, either way, I’ll see you guys later,” you retreat to your room to change. You wished you had a moment alone with Frank to ask him what was going on with him, but he seemed content to keep you at arms length. It was as you were driving that another explanation crossed your mind. What if Billy brought back memories of Frank’s mate, Maria? He had known her and Frank’s children. The thought made you sad and you wondered if you had jumped to conclusions about Frank’s remoteness. You resolved to talk to him about it tonight after close.

Saturday night at any bar is busy and you were glad your other bartender was here. You really needed to find another hand, if only to give you a couple nights off a week. You usually take Mondays off but you'd been called in several times lately. You loved the bar but everyone needs a break sometimes. You hadn't taken a vacation since you bought it.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts as a group bustles in through the door. Without them even making it across the floor, you get a pitcher going and gather glasses. They were regulars on Saturday nights. The group bought a few pitchers, played pool on one of the three tables, and were decent tippers. The leader of their group, Dane, came by to drop his card for the tab and grabbed the drinks. He was an Alpha and paid little attention to you outside of ordering and paying. Just how you liked them to behave.

You were surprised when Frank and Billy actually showed. After their awkward exchange earlier, you assumed they wouldn't bother. Billy was all smiles as he approached and you set their drinks at two open spaces at the end of the bar.

"Thanks," Frank said softly with a gentle look. It warmed your heart and you gave him a genuine smile. He looked in your eyes for what felt like the first time in days, though it had only been hours.

"How's the night going?" Billy asks.

"It's been busy but nothing we can't handle," you nod.

"Can I get another?" A patron calls.

"I'll check on you guys in a bit," you smile as you get back to work.

The next hour goes by in a blur as customers come and go. You rarely have a moment to breathe and do little but refill glasses. The music was playing loudly and there was a commotion at one of the tables that calmed down with Jordan's quick work. It was a great night business-wise and everyone was having a good time. You had finally made it back over to the guys when, out of nowhere, the hair on the back of your neck stood up. Your shoulders tensed as you glanced around.

"What is it?" Billy looked around before looking back at you.

"I don't know..." your eyes continue to scan.

"You probably just caught a chill," Frank attempts to reassure you.

"Um,yeah... probably," you say softly.

"I don't think so, Frankie," Billy disagrees. "Your face went white, gorgeous. Something set you off."

Frank glances around and shrugs, "Everything's fine. Relax. I'm gonna hit the head."

Taking a deep breath, you pour Billy another drink with a small smile, appreciative of his understanding. You glance up to check on the group at the pool table and see their pitcher getting low. You head that way to ask if they want another or to close out. Halfway there, you stop dead in your tracks when you make eye contact with a late arrival to the group. The Alpha that attacked you gave a sinister smile before lifting his glass. You look towards Jordan but he's dealing with a couple of young looking guys at the door. A hand grips your arm and you gasp, twisting to see Billy. A laugh rings out from your attacker's direction and your gut clenches.

"It-it's him," you breathe out, frozen in place as your anger builds.

"Who?" Billy looks and immediately knows. His hackles raise as he locks eyes, a challenge clear in the other Alpha's eyes.

"He attacked me. Frank stopped him. He can't be here," you set off to face your attacker but Billy catches you.

"Hey, Let me handle it," Billy says.

"It's my bar. I can handle it," you say confidently.

"But you don't have to. Let me do this for you," Billy argues.

"No, I need to do this. I can stand up on my own," you pull away but, letting go of a little of your pride, you turn back to him, "But you can back me up." As you walk, you catch Jordan's eye and motion for him to join you. You approach the Alpha with them flanking you. "I'm only going to say this once, leave now."

"Brought your posse, huh? Where's your hero with the crowbar? Couldn't hold on to him? He didn't want the broken Omega?" He says, darkly.

"He's right behind you," Frank's gruff voice is accompanied by the sound of a pool stick taking out your attacker's knees.

"What the fuck?" Dane yells, seeing his friend being attacked.

Frank stops him with the pool stick, "You don't want in on this."

"What is going on?" Dane looks at you for an answer.

"Last time he was here, I cut him off. After close, he attacked me by my car. He's not welcome here," you explain plainly.

"Did he hurt you?" Dane asks.

"Nah, I hurt him," Frank grouses.

"Is that when you were in that 'car wreck', Matt?" Dane looks at his friend.

"No. Back me up here, man!" Matt yells.

Dane looks between Frank, Billy, and Jordan and shakes his head, "I'm good. Uh, when you're done here another round would be great."

"Sure, Dane." You look at the guys, "Get him out of my bar. Feel free to remind him why he's not welcome."

"We've got this," Billy stops Jordan from joining them. The dark smiles Frank and Billy exchange are enough to make your insides quell. Matt would be shitting his pants before the night was over.

You grabbed the pitcher and flounced back to the bar as if nothing had happened, secure in the knowledge that he'd never show his face here again. His audacity was mind boggling.

You settle back into the swing of things and finish off the night. Just as you were yelling last call, Billy and Frank come in with bruised knuckles. You pour them each a drink with a grateful smile.

"Thanks for delivering the message," you wink.

Frank smiles as he raises his glass, "Anytime."

You glance down at Billy's split knuckles, "Need some ice? Or a bandaid?"

"Nah, gorgeous," he licks the wound and takes a drink while staring at you.

You don't know why but it was hot as fuck. Your mind immediately went to it doing other things and you have to swiftly shift your attention. You pour yourself a hit of whiskey, a rarity for you, but necessary to help you through these strange feelings coursing through you.

“You okay, babe?” Frank eyes you.

“Just a little keyed up,” you say, dismissively.

“Sounds like you need an outlet,” Billy gives you a rakish look.

Deciding to play his little game, you lean on the bar suggestively, “Any suggestions?”

Billy’s eyes betrayed him in that moment. Want was obvious but a moment of vulnerability flashed. He recovered quickly to send a smirk Frank’s way, “You’ve got a firecracker on your hands, Frankie.”

“She gets in her moods,” Frank cracks.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment but before you can reply, Dane walks up to close out his tab. He leaves a big tip and looks at Frank, “He still alive?”

“He was when we left him,” Billy says with a cagey shrug.

“He’s only in town a couple of times a year but once his dad hears about this, he won’t be back. Sorry for the trouble. Won’t happen again,” Dane nods to you as if sealing a deal.

“Thanks. See ya next Saturday,” you say to assure his welcome to return.

“Alright, let’s head out, Bill. Jordan, you’ll make sure she gets to her car?” Frank drains his glass.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” Jordan says nervously.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll stay with her,” Billy states.

“Wha- No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine,” you retort.

“I’d feel better if you weren’t alone,” Billy says sternly.

“Jordan will be here,” you argue.

“She’s good, Bill. Let’s go,” Frank jerks his head toward the door.

“You go ahead,” Billy says coldly. “I’m staying.”

“You always were a stubborn bastard,” Frank laughs, shaking his head.

“Always,” Billy says dismissively.

You clench your jaw in frustration but turn away to finish off the night. It was as if time sped up to leave you alone with Billy. The bar emptied quickly, the staff cleaned in record time, and before you realized it, Billy had told Jordan to head to his apartment. Taking the cash to the back room, you crouch down to lock it in the safe. It was the only way to put some distance between the two of you. His intent to get you alone was obvious to you and you wanted to get into the car quickly to limit it. What you didn’t expect was for him to be right behind you when you stood up from locking the safe.

Gasping, you growl out, “Damn Marines and their fucking silent steps!”

Billy chuckles as he closes the little distance between you.

“Don’t,” you put a hand up to stop him.

“We need to finish our conversation from this morning,” Billy intimates.

“The one where you tried to seduce your best friend’s Omega?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Were you testing me? Is this some sick game you play? Or did Frank put you up to it so he has a reason to dump me?” You practically spit the accusations. All of your anxiety and fears come to the surface with them.

A muscle ticked in Billy’s clenched jaw. His dark eyes bore into yours as he leaned in closer. You stand your ground but you’d be lying if you said your insides didn’t quiver. His scent was suddenly more intense and you knew you had struck a nerve. His hand lashed out to grasp you by the throat and pull your face close to his. You wrap your hands around his wrist as your eyes widen. You should be scared, afraid of what this Alpha may do to you but you find yourself aroused by his reaction. Your thighs clench and heat pools in your belly despite you fighting these feelings. He takes a deep breath, pulling your scent in before speaking, “I don’t play games with other men’s Omegas. I don’t mess with Omegas at all, generally. But, I do go after what I want and from the moment I stepped in this damn bar yesterday, all I can think of doing is marking you as mine,” he growls.

“Why?” You ask, staring at him pleadingly, desperate for an answer. Mainly because you felt the same way. Your mind and body were screaming out for him. It was insanity, a delusion. It had to be. A reaction to agreeing to be mated. A seven month itch, fuck, it had to be something because whatever else it was, it was wrong.

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it but I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” he whispers.

“I’m Frank’s,” you reply quietly.

“Funny,” Billy says, trailing his fingers over the scent gland on your neck and sending a shiver through you, “I don’t see a claiming mark. You’re with Frank, you’re not his. Not yet… He won’t stay. He can’t. Even if he does mate you, he won’t stay.”

Those words broke whatever spell Billy was able to put over you and you felt the anger claw its way into you, “And you will?”

Billy’s lips part but nothing comes out.

“Exactly,” You push him away. You grab your keys from the desk and flick the lights off as you exit the back room, “Let’s go.”

You walk away without a backwards glance. Shutting everything down as you go, you make it to your car and slip in without him bothering to say anything more. Frank had told you Billy was known for going through the Omegas but you were kicking yourself for falling for his soulful shit again. Yes, you were attracted to him but he was just passing through town and no matter how much you wanted to give in, it would be stupid to lose Frank for nothing more than a quick fuck. You rode in silence to the cabin. Your anger and frustration were too intense to allow you to speak and Billy was similarly stoic.

As soon as you were inside, you went to shower, feeling as if all you could smell was Billy on your skin. You ran the water hotter than normal and scrubbed your skin of any smell from him or the bar. When you entered the bedroom, Frank stirred, woken by the light from the bathroom.

“Everything okay?” Frank asks, squinting.

“No,” you say as you get on the bed.

“What’s the matter?”

You pull the blankets down and straddle his naked body. Kissing him hard, you pull back just long enough to whisper, “I need you.”

His arms go around you immediately and his mouth opens to kiss you more thoroughly. You reach down to pump his cock until it’s hard enough for you to slip it inside. Your walls clench around him. Breaking the kiss, you sit up to work your hips more quickly, allowing him to fill you more.

“Jesus, babe, what’s gotten into you?” Frank moans as his hands cover your breasts to knead.

“Fuck, needed this cock in me. Needed it stretching me out like only you can,” you answer, throwing your head back to let out a moan.

“Quiet, babe. Billy will hear us,” Frank chuckles, sitting up and trying to pull you to him for a kiss.

You push him back down forcefully and ride him harder, “Then he’ll know just how good you fuck me.” Your anger returns as you ride him. Anger at Billy for his very presence, anger at Frank for making you feel he always had one foot out the door, anger at your family for making you feel less than, anger at society that considered you nothing but a wreck. You rode all those feelings out on Frank’s cock and when that wasn’t enough you dug your nails into his pecs until he grimaced. You drag them down his chest leaving angry red marks, making Frank roar as he grabs you and throws you under him. He thrusts as hard as possible, driving impossibly deep, and forcing a cry from your throat. He doesn’t relent, pounding into you harder than he ever has, enough that you know your thighs will be bruised. You lose yourself in it, allowing your mouth to fall open and release moans and cries with no regard to who hears. When you come, your body bows and you release a full-throated scream.

You lay like a ragdoll, completely spent and grateful for the release but Frank isn’t finished with you. Pulling out, he grabs your leg and flips you over. He pulls you up onto your knees and slams into you repeatedly from behind, grunting as he uses his hands to pull you back against him. Your skin slaps obscenely and you can do little more than curl your hands into the sheets as he fucks into you. When his hand lands a punishing slap on your ass, you cry out again.

“Don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you tonight, but don’t worry, babe, I’m gonna fuck it out of you,” Frank growls as he continues his delicious assault on your pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as another orgasm slams through you.

“That’s right. Let it out, fuck,” Frank pulls out of you and you collapse on the bed. Turning you on your back, Frank pulls one of your legs across the other and enters you again. You're twisted in half, breasts and face where he can see them, but your ass is still displayed as he fucks you. He grasps your thigh as he watches your tits bounce with each thrust. “Play with them. I wanna watch you,” Frank brings your hand up to your breast.

You pinch your nipples, twisting and flicking as he watches. His hips drive into you steadily and his thumb makes circles around your clit. Your orgasm creeps up on you, your attention on your breast but your body suddenly spasms and you let out a high pitched moan. It comes in waves and you clench down on Frank with each one.

“Frankie, baby, please. I need you to fill me up,” you whine, exhausted.

“You want me to fill you up, you’re gonna have to work for it,” Frank grunts, pulling you up. He positions you on top of him in reverse cowgirl. “Ride me like you did the other night and maybe I’ll give it to you. Move that ass,” he says as he delivers another punishing smack to your ass cheek.

“Oh,” you squeal as you begin to move. You’re so tired but you put all of your remaining energy into bouncing on his cock. You stick your ass out, giving him the full view. He licks his lips as he watches your dripping cunt swallow his cock. He grabs handfuls, delivers alternating smacks, and smears slick from your cunt to play around your tight, little asshole.

“Play with your clit. I want to feel you come around my cock one more time,” Frank demands.

“I… I don’t think I can,” you whimper.

“I ain’t coming until you come, ‘mega. I suggest you get to work,” he flexes his hips up into you to emphasize his words.

You circle your clit, searching desperately for that toe curling feeling. You reposition your hips to allow his cock to hit your g spot a little better and begin making shorter strokes. You find it and ride it out, begging your body to give you just one more. When you felt yourself teetering on that precipice, you whined until the spasms hit. Your hips moved in jerky motions as the orgasm made your legs shake uncontrollably.

Frank’s deep voice groans, “Oh, yeah, fuck. That’s it. Fuck.”

You feel his knot lock in place and you sob as pleasure rolls through you. Frank rolls you to your side while you’re still connected. His big hand caresses your cheek before resting it on the back of your head.

“That’s what you needed, huh? Just needed my knot filling you up, huh, ‘mega?” He whispers, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whisper, glad that you were facing away from him so you could hide your tears. You were filled by a man who wanted you, so why did you feel so empty?

Part 5

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