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loguetowns · 1 year

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the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back.

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh.

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around.

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day.

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?”

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath.

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

“silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession.

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there.

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?”

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart.

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying.

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #zoro fluff #one piece x reader #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#i know i just wrote a zoro fic BUT #this fic has been stuck in my drafts for too mf long #i didn't even proofread the epilogue bc fuck it #i just need her to go out into the world ok #i promise i will write non-zoro stuff soon #(maybe)#(jk i will)

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callofdudes · 1 year

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Hello how are you are you good? May I ask for some headcanons? Please make it longer if possible. A wonderful cook with a female reader. For Ghost Simon and (separately)Konig, please? if you do this can you tag me in the post too please? have a nice day

No I totally didn't lose this in my drafts while trying to come up with stuff. I do hope the length is ok, sorry that it took so long 😓

Y'all are wholesale today! I like it! Thank you for the request @simligul I tried to make it as long as I could so I hope you enjoy.

Female! Cook x The Tall Boys.

(Each tall boy sold separately)

Ghost:

He cannot cook to save his life. He knows how to put honey on bread and that is the extent of his knowledge.

He's gotten used to the MRE's that they're mandated to eat, but the first time you cook him a meal from scratch he falls more than he thought he ever could.

This man straight up either eats MRE's when he's at home or orders skip the dishes constantly to the point where it's kind of unhealthy.

Before you were living together he didn't know you could cook. He'd taken you out to restaurants but hadn't ever witnessed you active in a kitchen before.

So when he does...

You smile when he approached the kitchen, curious of the wonderful smells that are being produced. His nose leads him right to you in your apron with stains all over the cloth.

"What is this?" He asks, admiring the scene from the doorway and the apron you wore.

"What do you think? I'm making food."

He poked his head around and eyed the different ingredients simmering and popping in pans on the stove and his stomach cries out loudly. He looks back at you and you laugh at how he's practically begging you with his eyes. "Get out of my kitchen, I'll call you when it's done!"

He will come back every now and then to check on you (and the food).

When you finally set up the table and call him to eat he is borderline hyper. He sees all the steaming beautiful food and he will devour it all.

You are too good for him. Before he even sits down he will assure you that it looks absolutely delicious.

When he does manage to sit down and starts eating his stomach is beyond grateful. He had gotten so used to eating MRE's that he had genuine forgotten what it was like to eat a real meal. When he gets through the first three thrill bites his stomach grows three times the size. You yourself are a bit surprised by how much he ate. You barely had any leftovers to pack up.

Full of food and warm he'll hug you from behind while your washing the dishes and mutter thanks into your neck.

He'll hang around you for the rest of the evening and gratefully crash next to you in pure bliss.

From the day you first cooked for him forth Ghost longs for the days when he can return from war to your loving arms and a home cooked meal.

After going back to camp he'll occasionally mention that the food there tastes like shit compared to what you can make. This causes Soap to want to come with him on leave just to taste your food.

"I've missed you." He'll hug you close and rest against you for a while before taking off his head and stepping into the living room. Before he can even take his boots off he can smell the thick aroma of food. His stomach praises you loudly, making you giggle.

He takes off all his things and kisses you before going over to the kitchen. Again he will praise you for every bit of food on the table.

If he comes home after you've already packed up for bed, he'll check the fridge for food and there will be a little sticky note on the containers of leftovers. "Hey love. Sorry I couldn't be there to greet you. Tonight's dinner is xyz, have as much as you'd like."

He misses you when he isn't able to come back for the holidays. He loves hanging out with you around Christmas and Thanksgiving. But the food you make is so good around the holidays. He's always surprised by just how much effort you put into meals.

He tries to keep mention of you around base low. While he enjoys talking about you, he doesn't like the constant teasing from the others. But when Johnny starts to hear more about how good a cook you supposedly are, he is on his knees begging to come back to Simon's home with him for the holidays. And Simon was going to refuse, until somehow he didn't.

He thought you were going to be abrasive about all the guests when he showed up at his home with Price, Johnny, and Kyle right behind him, but you welcomed them with open arms.

Ghost smiled when you opened your arms and welcomed Price into your home. How you smiled so kindly and you were genuinely happy they were there.

There was no anger for being intruded on or barging to reach your husband, it was heartwarming to watch how you treated them.

When you'd met everyone and shaken their hands, you greeted Simon who was still taking his coat off. But that didn't matter. You pulled him into a short kiss before urging him toward the couch.

Simon and Price tried to help you with setting up the guest bedroom but you weren't having it.

"You lot must be exhausted. Sit, I'll have supper prepared in an hour." Simon smiled. "You're wonderful." You shoved him down onto the couch. "Rest, hang out with your friends." And you walked off to start preparing the guest room for the three.

You were right to assume they were exhausted. They tore their gear off and settled down on the couches. Finally getting to watch some good TV.

They didn't bother to move for the rest of the evening until you called them to dinner.

"Dinner is served boys!"

Kyle and Johnny were the first ones up and sprinting for the kitchen. Their stomachs empty of anything but the McDonald's they'd had early before their flight out.

Johnny was in heaven when he came in and saw the food. It was enough to feed a small army. He grabbed your hands and shook them roughly. "Oh Mrs. Riley you're an angel." You chuckled and handed him a plate as Simon and Price came in to inspect the food. "Take as much as you'd like, don't worry about leftovers and if I need to make more I can."

"Thank you ma'am." Price served himself.

Once they'd vacated the kitchen Simon gave you another kiss and took what the boys had left. "Do you want any?" He asked.

"Have it darling. You deserve it."

The boys were impressed with your cooking the first time. But when the 25 of December rolled around three days later it was a feast. You were happy to have Simon's friends along with your family for Christmas.

"Any friend of Simon's is a friend of mine. You are always welcome in our home."

Jokingly you get Simon a cookbook for Christmas so he can take it to the base with him. Whenever he gets the chance to go shopping (which is rarely) at least he'll be able to make something comprehendable with the foods.

Simon does eventually ask you to teach him to cook. And you'd thought he'd never ask. You started with basic recipes, something he could remember easily and come back to. A starter. And then you got out of hand. Sauce all over your apron and Simon getting his oil covered fingers all over you.

You taught him to bake as well. Because who else is going to make the 141 cookies? You couldn't keep sending them in boxes every month when mail slots opened up.

Simon enjoys baking more than cooking. He will lick all the utensils. If you're making chocolate cookies he'll lick the spoon/spatula/whisk, whatever you used he'll lick it clean. And you need to constantly supervise him when baking because will 100% eat raw cookie dough without fear of consequences.

"Simon! Don't eat that! You'll get sick!"

"fuck off!" He'll say as he playfully pushes you away and grabs another handful of dough.

If he ever comes across a dish he likes or thinks he'd like, he'll send a picture of it to you. When he goes to Mexico Rodolfo takes care of meals for the group and If Ghost likes something he'll hint you off like, "Hey Y/N, look at this really delicious looking dish... A shame I'll only be able to eat it once. Unless..."

Another thing he enjoys about it, is not just the food. But watching you cook. You have a smile on your face the whole time and you seem in utter bliss to cook for you, him, or anyone else.

And the apron.

Teasingly pulling on the strings from behind you or helping you take it off. It's small but it manages to mesmerize him every time.

If you are part of the military most of this still stands, when you first cool for him and the boys he's stunned and amazed. Maybe he's a little annoyed that you didn't start making food sooner when everyone was bitching and moaning about MRE's.

In the very, very, very rare instances where Simon is sick you're the type to not let him out of bed. Simon is either so sick he's unable to move or he can power through it, there is no difference to you. You'll lay him in bed and bring in a warm bowl of soup. And while Simon protests you'll cup his jaw and help him eat.

"I don't need help-"

"Shh, lay down Simon, let me take care of you."

"I hate how sweet you are."

"I love you too."

König:

König knows a little about cooking, but not a lot. His mother taught him him how to make basic cultural dishes including some sweets.

He enjoys cooking on the occasion but the military doesn't offer him much for culinary adventure. So he's become less fluent. Put him in a kitchen however and he could make you a warm meal from his heart.

When you first cook for him, his mouth is watering. He's absolutely starving when he gets home from base and his surprise when he came to see you and your house was swimming with the smells of culinary love.

He'll slip into the kitchen and eyeball all the stuff that's going on. In a heartbeat he's on his knees for whatever your making.

"Darling- please! I haven't eaten a proper meal in so long!"

"Get out of my Kitchen König, I will call you when it's ready. Just rest."

This man will sit by the corner of your kitchen. He will make sure he's pressed up against the wall but not entering the space. He'll crawl into a ball and whimper to make sure you remember he's sitting there.

"König, it'll only take a couple of minutes." You chuckled when he starts to slowly drag himself back into the kitchen hoping you wouldn't notice.

When you finish up he is giving you the biggest puppy eyes he can. It's as if his irises grew in size, they're practically sparkling when you motion with your finger and he jumps up. "YES! Thank you!"

He grabs a plate and doesn't hold back to shovel food onto his plate and rush to the table to consume it all. There is barely enough for you this big boy took so much.

He's scarfing it down when you take your seat and all you can do is just lovingly stare at him. His eyes are practically glazed over when he tastes it on his tongue.

"Darling, this is absolutely amazing, thank you."

"You're welcome König, you deserve it."

This man goes into a full food comma. When he's out his plate in the dishwasher he goes and passes out on the couch. You find it absolutely adorable.

He's just passed out. Usually when König comes back home it takes him at least a day or two to take the hood off and another couple to full relax. But tired and full it's the first time you've seen him throw his hood on the coffee table and just pass out without a worry.

You're not even complaining.

König and you exchange recipes. While you teach him some of the dishes he doesn't know how to make, he'll show you how to make dishes from his home.

When he gets back he will not shut up about you. He won't tell new recruits or other members unless their already friends, subject of his anxiety. But he loves to talk about you with his small group of friends and his operatives team. You're his shining light.

When he starts digging into military food again his head is just filling with all the ways you could cook this so much better and slop in a tube was just as bad as it was when he first signed up.

He finds himself getting particularly homesick now whenever he eats food that is not cooked by you. He always thinks about the dish and it will relate back to you in some way.

After König teaches you to make his favorite sweets, you make sure to send him a tightly sealed box of them every month for him. (If they can survive over time ofc)

He shares with his team because he wants them to also taste your baking and cooking. He will proudly tell them how wonderful you are and after tasting the sweets they all agree.

König is a little more lenient with his leave time, so he gets to see you somewhat more often then others. When he returns again around Thanksgiving he isn't expecting utterly extravagant meal he finds.

He slouched against the door, tired and gross. He looks up when you come over. Your apron on and your hair up. You gasp when you see him. "I thought you were coming back tomorrow?"

König tiredly shakes his hand and opens his arms for you to rush into. He's sore but he hugs you tightly. You smell of freshly baked goods and spices. He breathes you in deeply and he knows he's home. He sighs and nuzzles his forehead against yours.

"I've got food on the table love, come join whenever you're ready."

"Thank you meine liebe."

When he does join you he takes in all the smells of home. His mind and his body starting to relax just at the hand of the fruits of your labor.

You guide him to the table and get him a plate. The area is well lit when he returns to make him feel comfortable.

The two of you will talk as he eats. And it's not unusual for him to go back for seconds or thirds. Sometimes if he's extra hungry he'll raid the pantry for food.

Crashing in bed after a warm meal is the best feeling. His stomach sated, he wraps his arms around you and feels his worries slip away.

You crawl in bed next to him and snuggle up against him. "Goodnight" and despite his food coma, König pulls you to his chest, content to stay here forever.

When he's on leave he offers to bring Horangi back to stay with you both, just so you can taste the food. He has no plans for his leave except sitting in the kitchen and enjoying whatever warm meal you've set up for him.

Bringing Horangi back then were both incredibly excited about your cooking. König could almost taste it and Horangi had heard many good things.

You were overjoyed to have Horangi over and cooked a feast for the two. Horangi's mouth was watering and all König could say was "Seeeee!"

Both König and Horangi sit by the kitchen entrance, watching you like cats going back and forth, back and forth.

The smell of the food is not lost on them when you bring them into the kitchen finally. Seeing everything you've prepared.

"This looks stunning ma'am, thank you a thousand times for having me." Horangi took your hands and squeezed them, unable to contain his excitement. Or his hunger. His stomach started to snarl before he could finish his expression of gratitude.

You once again stand back and let the men eat what the want. You weren't at all surprised when Horangi had just the appetite that König did.

It was funny watching them talk while they feasted, occasionally melting and having a brain aneurysm over how good it was.

Compared to the food on base, Horangi will now get on his knees and kiss the ground you walk on. You are a fucking angel for taking care of him when he comes over.

He will not stop talking about "König's wife can cook!! And you don't get any of it, because you're not invited! 😏"

König is just glad you're there for his friends, willing to provide hospitality and food. You can't turn down anyone it seems.

But he wouldn't change that about you.

He loves to dance in the kitchen with you. If you're cooking something and you have music in the background, König will come over, hands cupping your waist and drawing you toward him.

"And what are you doing??" You hold a spatula covered in sauce up to him and he licks it happily. "What does it look like??" You pulls you in and twirls you around the kitchen.

"König, watch out for the stove." You giggle.

He keeps turning and spinning you, pressing kisses to your throat and cheeks.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too you big goof."

He smiles, nuzzling against your neck, the smell of the spices imprinting on your skin. They must have. After you've cooked an apple pie you still smell of cinnamon. And it drives him crazy.

König loves you so much, he wouldn't dream his life any other way. And certainly not without you in it. He gives you another kiss and you shove him out of your kitchen.

"Food isn't really yet."

"But looooove-!" He whines.

"No, you'll have to wait. Like a good boy." You smirk.

He huffs, but he can't say no to that. So he plops down and sits longingly at the entrance of the kitchen, watching you as you cook.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty headcanons #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #konig headcanons #konig x reader #könig headcanons #könig cod #könig x reader

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witch-hazels-musings · 24 days

Text

Gone again, but I had a reason 😭

Draft 2 is done, look at this beast !!

152k words

433 pages

I'll be taking a break while my alpha reader looks it over, so I'm going to poke at some stuff here to curb my need to look at the dang thing - harbinger diluc, I'll finish you yet

#draft 2 #hazel wrote a book #writing a book

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felixsramen · 7 months

Text

Taste pt.2

It's long but it's a second part to taste. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it. I think I'll make it a short little series. This one has been marinating in the drafts for the longest time to be honest.

Here you were waking up in Minhos bed. Minho in front of you, Felix behind you, and Hyunjin behind Minho. You don't remember much besides falling asleep in Minhos car. You do remember however fucking all 3 of them in the dance studio. You have no regrets about it but your body says otherwise. It was sore. Terribly sore.

You shimmied your way out of Minho and Felixs grip careful to wake none of them up. You felt like a mess as you enter the bathroom. The mirror confirmed what your thoughts were. Your hair was everywhere and your lips plump. Maybe one of the boys had one of your hairbrushes. It wasn't the first time you had slept over with them but it was the first time you had slept with any of them much less 3 of them.

You check their cabinets and see none. Maybe Chan had one. He always seemed to have your stuff. You walk out of the bathroom and see all 3 boys laying down still asleep. You really didn't want to wake them considering they were probably exhausted and had stayed up longer than you.

You open the door as quietly as you can. Walking into the hallway as it was quiet. You open the unlocked door quietly. You look over to see him asleep in his chair near his desk. His head resting on his knuckles as he sleeps.

You sneak into his bathroom. Opening the cabinets and you finally find one of your brushes. You come back up looking in the mirror and you almost have a heart attack at Chan standing at the door.

"Don't you know you should knock before entering?" He says arms crossed leaning against the door frame.

"Christopher seriously?" You say and Chan rolls his eyes. He always hated you saying that for some reason. That's why you used it so much getting under his skin.

"Yes seriously." He says his eyes go to your hairbrush.

You look at him. "So you just have a collection of my stuff now?" You ask him joking.

"Yes I'm so obsessed with you I'm building a shrine." Chan says sarcastically to you. You laugh at his response.

"Thank you for keeping my stuff and not throwing it away like Changbin did that one time." You say remembering Changbin throwing away your favorite pair of socks because he had no idea whose it was.

Chan laughs at the memory. "Doesn't he owe you another pair?" Chan says still laughing.

"2 pairs." You say correcting him.

"Do you mind if I use your shower? Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix were asleep and I didn't want to wake them." You say looking at him again.

He raises an eyebrow. "But you'll wake me up rummaging through my cabinets for a hairbrush?"

You poke your bottom lip out at him. He gives in quickly sighing. "Fine but don't ever make that face again. It's weird." He says looking at you.

"Thank you Channie." You say happily.

"Yeah yeah. Do you have any clothes to change into?" He asks you and you shake your head.

"Get in. I'll bring you some of mine in a minute." He says sighing. You nod at him and he walks out the bathroom. You strip and turn the water on. You look at the mirror. Your neck was littered in hickeys from all the boys and you could still see Felixs nail prints in your skin but you didn't mind. Your neck was blue and purple all the way down. Probably mostly from Minho.

You realize the shower is made of glass. Luckily it wasn't clear mostly fogged up from the steam coming from the shower. You step into the shower not really caring at the moment if Chan saw you naked.

You slide the door closed and sigh as the hot water hit your body. It relaxed your muscles for the most part. You hear the door open.

"I'm putting the clothes on the counter. I have a shirt and some sweatpants and a pair of socks for you." Chan says and steps out after letting you know.

You grab your hairbrush brushing your hair. It was always much easier brushing your hair in the shower. You sigh as you brush the knots out.

It was kind of crazy to you. You had went from seeing your best friends and hanging out with them and watching them dance to having sex with them in a dance studio and waking up in bed with all 3 of them.

You weren't ashamed of it. You guys were all perfectly consenting adults. You didn't know how much you loved having control though. Felix was the first guy you ever had control over. It felt good but it also felt good being fucked by Hyunjin and gagging on Minhos cock.

You don't know how long you had been in there brushing your hair and off in your own thoughts. You sighed turning the water off and stepping out of the shower. You grabbed a towel quicky drying your body and then wrapping your hair in it.

You pulled on Chans Sweatpants and Chans shirt. You pull on the socks almost falling in the process. You finish drying your hair somewhat and decide to let it finish air drying now that it wasn't dripping. You open the door met with the cold air.

You look over at Chan on his bed scrolling through his phone. Bag packed sitting on the edge of the bed. "Where are you going?" You ask him and he looks up from his phone putting it down.

"About to head to the studio with Changbin and Jisung. You're more than welcome to come by later if you want but we have to finish some songs." Chan says closing his bag and getting up.

"I wanted to let you know though that you're more than welcome to stop by later." Chan says bag over his shoulder. You nod at him.

"Don't let Hyunjin do something stupid please. Definitely don't let him touch the stove." Chan says reminding you when Hyunjin thought he could bake bread and almost had the whole house on fire. Chan ended up having to replace the stove because it was so ruined.

You cringe at the thought. "Yeah will do." You say as Chan sighs.

"Good. You're more than welcome to come in here and do whatever." Chan says and you nod. Suddenly there's a knock on the door. Before Chan can even answer the door swings open revealing Jisung.

"Come onnnnn. Changbin said we need to hurry up and get this done. I'm too tired for this and so is Changbin." Jisung says dragging his words out emphasizing how tired he was.

"I'm coming. I hope you know I don't want to go as much as you don't but we need to finish these songs for the next album." Chan says walking towards the door.

"Yeah yeah. Anyways love you, bye Y/N!" Jisung says waving.

"Love you too Ji. I'll probably be at the studio later." You say and he nods smiling as him and Chan walk out the doorway.

It wasn't unusual for Jisung to tell you he loves you. He was always an affectionate person. Jisung would tell a tree he loves it but you loved that about him.

You go into the hallway and into the kitchen it find something to eat. You had a feeling Minho, Jisung, and Felix had bought you food last night. You open the door and you were right. You were surprised it had stayed and not gotten eaten by the members.

You pull it out of the fridge with a sticky note on top saying Y/Ns food. Right under that in Minhos handwriting it says 'If anybody other than Y/N touches it I will personally deal with you.'

That explained why it was still in the fridge. You put the food in the microwave heating it up. Suddenly you feel hands around your waist.

"How long have you been up?" Mumbles Hyunjin into your neck still tired. He almost had a panic attack waking up in a bed with the other 2 members and no sign of you. He had thought you had left but he decided to go see if you got hungry after Minho reminded him.

"About an hour. I didn't want to wake you guys up. I was sure you guys stayed up late." You say and Hyunjin sighs.

"Next time wake us up. Hyunjin almost had a heart attack." Minho says leaning on the counter beside you. Hyunjin cuts his eyes at his Hyung.

You nod. "Felix up?" You ask and Minho shakes his head.

"Still asleep. I think you took a toll on him last night." Hyunjin says still holding you.

"Well I hope it wasn't too much." You say and Minho shakes his head again.

"I don't think it was just you. I think it was everything." Minho says and you nod. You try turning in Hyunjins arms to face him and he lets you but his hands never leave you.

Your eyes meet his sleepy eyes. His hair is a mess and his face is slightly swollen. Yet you think he was even more attractive like that.

You run your fingers through his hair trying to smooth it down. He sighs as your nails trace along his scalp. When your fingers leave his scalp he starts kissing your neck.

"Okay we don't need Hyunjin fucking you on the counter right now. You need to eat. Quit getting a boner like a horny teenager." Minho says watching Hyunjin pull away from you at Minhos words.

"You're just jealous." Hyunjin says and Minho rolls his eyes.

"Of what? You." Minho says sarcastically.

Hyunjin lets go of you going up to Minho. "Not of me. Y/N." He says his hand now on Minhos hips.

Minho scoffs at him. "In your dreams Hwang." Minho says pushing Hyunjin off him. Hyunjin pouts at Minho.

"You literally kissed Felix last night but you won't indulge in my fantasies for 5 minutes." Hyunjin says and Minho raises an eyebrow.

"What? You dream about me fucking you?" Minho respond wanting to see Hyunjins reaction.

Hyunjin just smirks and shrugs. "Whatever Hwang." Minho says rolling his eyes. You thought with how much he rolled his eyes that they might get stuck.

"Can I at least get a kiss?" Hyunjin says pouting and Minho crosses his arms.

"Will you leave me alone if I do?" Minho says. Hyunjin nods but you can see the mischievous look in his eyes.

"Fine." Minho says uncrossing his arms. Hyunjins hands go to Minhos hips once again and Minho doesn't push him off immediately.

Minho leans and meets Hyunjin who kisses him back. Minho tries pulling away but one of Hyunjins hands go up to Minhos face cupping it. He forces Minho to kiss him longer and Minho stops struggling and relaxes in Hyunjins grip. Minho takes over the kiss like he had taken over the kiss with you and Felix.

Hyunjin pulls away smirking. Minho glares at him. Hyunjin giggles like a school girl.

"Seriously?" Minho says and Hyunjin nods smile still on his face.

"We're never doing that again as long as I live." Minho says and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

"Get over yourself. It wasn't that bad kissing me." Hyunjin says looking at you as you grab your food out the microwave.

"I'm a good kisser right Y/N?" Hyunjin says trying to bring you in the argument.

You don't look at him or reply instead opting to grab a fork from the drawer. You dig into your food ignoring him ready to take a bite but Hyunjin takes the fork from your hand. He dumps your food from your fork back into your bowl and holding it like it's a trophy.

"You'll get this back when you answer me." He says crossing his arms.

"I hope you know I can just go grab another fork." You say raising an eyebrow at him.

He laughs at you. "You don't think I'll stop you?" He says questioning you and you roll your eyes.

You look at Minho asking him for help but he just watches you waiting for an answer.

"Yes you're a good kisser! Now can I have my fork back?" You ask him huffing and he smirks.

"Give me a kiss first." Hyunjin says and you roll your eyes.

"I'm not hungry anymore." You say walking away from the table.

"Oh come on you kissed me yesterday! Why won't you do it now?" He asks you. You sigh knowing he's right.

"Fine but you won't ask me for anything else you promise?" You ask him and he nods smiling.

You peck his lips and he pouts giving you back your fork because he wanted to be fair.

You eat and finish your food as Hyunjin continues teasing Minho. "I'm going to go see Chan, Changbin, and Jisung in the studio. Don't burn the house down Hyunjin." You say and Hyunjin pouts.

"It was one time." He says sighing. You and Minho laugh at his words.

You start to make your way to Minho's room but you're quickly grabbed by Minho who smirks at you. Minho had a knowing look in his eyes and you can't help but tilt your head.

"What is it Minho?" You ask and he just chuckles.

Minho's grip doesn't leave you though. "Why'd you ask me that?" Minho says questioning you and you sigh.

"You look like you know something. Spit it out already." You say glaring at him.

"Feisty. Watch it before I give you something to shut that pretty mouth of yours up again." Minho brings a hand to your face cupping.

Minho continues to smirk at you. "But I guess I'll tell you...." Minho starts to trail off.

"I heard from a little birdie that someone was quite jealous hearing about our little escapade." Minho says close to your face.

"Who?" You ask and Minho just chuckles.

"A certain rapper." Minho says and your mind immediately goes to the 3 guys who were at the studio.

Minho watches your eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Jisung?" You ask knowing that Jisung has made multiple jokes about having sex with you.

"Nope." Minho says smirk still on his face.

Your eyes widen while realizing. "Chan?" You ask and you wonder if his smirk had gotten bigger at the name.

"Ding Ding Ding. What's the prize Hyunjin?" Minho says and suddenly Hyunjin is behind you.

"I think there's a lot more prizes coming soon." Minho smirks at Hyunjins words.

"Jinnie is right." Minho says before pulling away and you let out a sigh. Now you were hot and bothered.

Minho lets out a chuckle as you flick him off walking to his room to grab your bag.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff

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so-long-soldier-writes · 25 days

Text

Gorgeous

kai parker x reader (both 18+!) (shy!virgin!kai)

summary: troubled by his own body, kai's afraid to go all the way with you. that is, until you confess you love him regardless of the way he looks, giving him just the confidence he's needed all along.

tags: friends to lovers, kissing, minor fingering, shy!kai, mentions of child abuse / physical abuse [I can't just write a normal fic, can I?], implied s3lf h4rm, emotional hurt / comfort, confessions, making out, blow jobs, virgin!kai, top / bottom switching, reader is a little freaky, nipple sucking, pet names, aftercare, cuddling

word count: 5.5k

a/n: sooooo... this has been sitting in my wips for over a year. for some reason, i just never posted it. but unfortunately, i have work tomorrow, so i'll be dead as a doornail that evening, and the work i wanted to post isn't done yet, so i'll post this in the meantime. that being said, i think i'm finally starting to get back in the swing of things. i'm still working on requests as well as other stuff, but i'm coming back slowly!

also, if this idea is totally unusual, that's probably why it sat in my drafts for a year. it's a year old fluffy smut with a strange premise. bare with me. 😅

The minute you get back from work, you collapse onto the nearest chair and groan.

“You okay there?”

Looking up, you see Jo and her boyfriend on the couch watching a movie. Oops.

“Sorry. Yeah. Long day. Where is everyone?”

“Our dads went to the flooding company people to try and get that situation covered, and our moms took the kids to the park.”

“My brother too?”

“Your brother, but not mine.”

“Cool,” you give the girl a thumbs up. “Hey Cody.”

Jo’s boyfriend looks over at you, “hey, Y/N.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go shower.”

“Okay!”

You make your way up the stairs slowly, wondering where Kai is. Poking your head in his room, you see he’s not in there, but you don’t hear him anywhere else. Oh well. You’ll find him after your shower, because you really, really need that shower.

In your room - also the Parker’s guest room - you grab a new set of clothes and your hairbrush, before going into the guest bathroom in the hallway. See, you and the Parkers are neighbors and have become close family friends. Though one night after a really bad storm, your basement flooded, as did several other houses nearby. This is a problem Mr. Parker could easily fix with magic, but considering the electric and flooding companies know your house was one of the ones affected, he can’t do anything without revealing his coven. Instead, your family temporarily moved in with his until the county could fix the issue.

It’s been two weeks, no progress. But you’re not complaining; you get to spend more time with Kai - your best friend who you’ve recently started dating in secret.

As you’re busy undressing and getting the water ready, you don’t hear Kai come in from outside. The boy stands in the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular.

“Is everyone still out?” He hesitantly asks Jo.

“Yeah. But Y/N came home.”

“Oh. Where is she?”

“Mhm, went upstairs.” Then she snaps her fingers, “oh wait! She said she’s taking a shower. So don’t bother her. Just go to your room and wait for her to come out. Don’t be weird.”

Kai scrunches his nose. As if he’d ever make you uncomfortable on purpose. “Okay, thanks.”

Quietly, he makes his way upstairs. When he hears the water running, he bites his lip. Don’t be weird, Jo had just said. But she doesn’t know how close you two actually are. Swallowing hard, he slowly turns the knob to the bathroom door, trying not to alert Jo to which door he’s opening. Inside, the hot water steams up the mirrors, making it hard to see, but he can vaguely point out your figure through the glass.

“Y/N?”

You hear him and pop your head out of the door, “Kai! Hi. Come in,” you gesture for him to enter all the way.

He does, then shuts the door just as quietly. “I don’t mean to bug you, I just wanted to make sure you were here. Jo said you were, but…” he shrugs.

“You’re not bugging. Come on, join me.”

“What?”

“In here.”

“But… I’m wearing jeans.”

“Well then take them off, you goof.”

“I-I… um.”

Deciding to give him privacy, you stick your head back in the shower and rinse out the shampoo. The whole time you’re finishing your shower routine, you assume Kai’s going to join you at any time. You haven’t gone that far in your relationship yet, but he is a teenage boy, and he does love kissing you every chance he gets.

You two have done more than kissing, of course, but just haven’t gone all the way. And there’s plenty of reasons for that: too many people in this damn house, someone might walk in, someone might overhear, etc. etc. etc. But aside from the obvious reasons, you can’t help but feel like there’s also reasons that Kai isn’t sharing.

He likes to spend a lot of your time together practically worshipping your body. His lips and fingers have touched nearly every part of you, but he isn’t too keen on letting you do the same.

Kai holds you in place with a hand on your neck. His lips are attached right below, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand’s busy farther down - two fingers pumping in and out of you quickly. You bite your lip hard to not moan as you cum on his hands. He continues to finger fuck you through your orgasm, not letting up until your body stills. Then, he tastes one finger before putting the second in your mouth. You suck on it, eyes trained on him the whole time.

“My turn. Let me make you feel good, Kai.”

“You are. I like watching you like this.”

“No, I know. But I want to taste you, too. Let me blow you.”

Kai bites his lip as if he’s having an internal debate. “Isn’t this so much better, though?” Before you can say anything else, he kisses you, feeling his hands up and down the sides of your body as he does. “Now let me cuddle you, m’kay? Let me take care of you.”

You’re too overwhelmed in pleasure to fight, and succumb to his open arms. Minutes later, you’re both asleep.

You don’t pry if he tells you ‘no’ the first time, but of course, you can’t help but wonder why he’s never let you even see his body.

“Take your shirt off, why am I the only one exposed?” You joke, pulling at the hem.

“Hmph, no, baby, I’m too focused on you,” he says.

Every time. He won’t even take his bracelets off, let alone any of his clothes. Again, you don’t push him - he’ll take that step when he’s ready - but you really want to pleasure him the same way he does you. And besides, he just has to be hot under there; his face is insanely attractive, arms are strong, and figure is lean. You’re dying to know.

“Y/N?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts.

“Mhm?”

“I, um, actually nevermind.”

“You okay, angel?”

“Yeah, just…”

Done with your shower, you turn off the water and grab your towel. You would just go out nude despite him there, but you know the air will be cold, so you wrap the blue cloth around your body. “Well now I’m done.” Carefully, you open the door and step off the slippery floor.

In front of you, Kai is standing awkwardly. His jeans are still on, but his shirt is off and folded neatly on the bathroom counter. You gulp the minute you see his body for the first time. As you expected, he’s lean and rather well-toned for someone not allowed out of his house much. His arms have some muscle to them, and you can see several prominent veins close to the surface of his skin. What catches your eye most, however, is the sharp v-line shaping his hips, leading to somewhere still hidden from your sight. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath.

Kai swallows hard. His eyes are red. You don’t notice the signs of discomfort, though, until a small sigh escapes his lips.

You narrow your eyes when you hear him. “What's wrong, pumpkin?” Hurrying towards him, you cup the sides of his face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I hate it.”

“Hate what?”

“Hate my body.”

“What do you mean? You’re gorgeous, Kai.”

“All the ew, all the stupid… everything.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t see anything ‘ew’.”

“Look closer.”

“Are you sure? If you’re uncomfortable, I won’t.”

“Just do it.”

Nervous, you step back to look at him closer. “Oh,” you mutter, suddenly saddened. Discolored skin in shades of green, yellow, and purple. Bruises, new and old. Handprints, whip marks, slaps from an open palm, all fading from red. Then there are the cuts, up and down his arms, some on his stomach, some on his shoulders. Clearly self-inflicted, though the bruises were all clearly marks of abuse.

“Now you see how ugly I really am.”

“No, no, Kai…” Gently, you run a finger across a row of evidential abuse. He flinches a little and you can’t help the tear that falls from your eyes. “You’re still gorgeous, baby.”

“Hm,” he mutters, shaking his head ‘no’.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I promise. You are still beautiful to me. And I still want you, I still want every inch of your body. You don’t have to hide from me. Hey, I have some, too.”

You peel the towel away a bit to expose several cuts along your upper arm.

He sniffs, “those weren’t there the other day.”

“I know, baby. But yesterday was really hard with my dad, and this was the only way I could think of to cope.”

Kai remembers yesterday. Your dad had forced you to go out with him to visit different universities in the area. By the time you both got back, he was fuming and you were holding back tears.

“He got pissed at me when I said I didn’t want to go to college. He asked me why I was the family failure, and why I couldn’t be more like him.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay, now that I’m back beside you.”

“He’s a dick. Your brother’s a dick.”

“My point is, Kai, that we have a lot of the same scars. You don’t think I’m any less beautiful because of them, so why should you think that about yourself?”

“Because I also have bruises from my fucking dad.”

“That’s not your fault, baby. Your dad is an even bigger dick than mine. And just because you have wounds on your body from his hand doesn’t mean I don’t love you or your body any less.”

Kai freezes, “you love me?”

You then freeze, too. “I, um…” Then you realize that that confession may be exactly what he needs to hear. “Yes. I do love you, Kai.”

Tears that were welling in his eyes are now falling, “why?”

“Why? Why not? Because on top of being absolutely gorgeous, you’re an amazing friend and boyfriend. You’re sweet and gentle and trying your best despite the awful circumstances you’ve been given. You’re always there through the good and bad, and I could never get tired of being with you.”

“Can I admit that I love you, too?”

You smile and nod happily before leaning in quickly to kiss him. Amidst your excitement, your towel falls from your body, and your breasts rub up against his bare chest. Kai lets out a moan at the contact, but then separates from the kiss to cover his mouth with his hand. You just raise your eyebrows at him.

“Feel good?”

Instead of answering, his hands find your breasts and feel them. His eyes roll back in his head. “So soft,” he mutters.

“Kai?”

“Hm?”

“Does this mean I can see you now?”

“Um, I, n- uh-” he stutters over every word.

“You know what? It’s okay. Later?”

“Okay.”

“Sounds good. And I hate to say it, but we have to stop,” you pause to pull on your panties and jeans, “because Jo will start getting suspicious soon,” you have to ignore Kai’s pouting face as you put on your bra, “and she doesn’t need to see us like this, because she’ll tell your dad.” Your shirt is on next, “and then my dad. And then you’ll get hurt.” He watches you pull your hair out from under your shirt and flip it to curl around your face, “and you’re not getting hurt on my watch. Okay?”

Kai nods, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, pumpkin.” You two share another kiss before leaving the bathroom. Kai grabs his shirt on the way out, fumbling to put it on, along with his multiple bracelets. “Downstairs? I need some water.”

“Sure.”

The minute you reach the last step, Jo calls out to you, “did Kai find you?”

“Yeah, he’s here.”

“Okay. He came in a little bit after you went up. I told him you were in the shower, but not to bother you. He listened to me, right?”

“He didn’t bother me at all. Was very gentlemanly and waited in his room for me to come out.” You wink at Kai as you lie straight to Jo’s turned face. Luckily, she’s fixated on the movie.

“Okay, good.”

“I’m just going to get a drink and then we’ll be out of your hair shortly.”

◇◇◇◇

“Y/N, are you sure you don’t want to come with us? It’s a huge festival, it’s a lot of fun,” Mr. Parker asks one more time as he’s halfway out the door.

You take another glance at the amount of people crowding the doorway: your brother and parents, plus Kai’s parents and all his siblings. Minus him, of course. “I’m sure. I’m not too big on crowds, and I’m kinda tired. Might just see if Kai wants to watch a movie.”

“Okay, but be careful.” Then, Mr. Parker leans closer to whisper in your ear. The gray hairs of his beard lightly touch your skin, making you shiver in fear. “And don’t get too close to him.”

“Noted.”

“We should be back around three-ish, more or less,” your Dad adds.

“Okay.”

“Don’t leave the house, and certainly don’t let him sneak out,” Mr. Parker piggy-backs off your dad’s comment. Jeez, it’s like they’re long-lost irritating brothers.

“I won’t. He’ll stay here with me.”

“But not too close, becau-”

“I heard it the first time, Dad. I trust Kai enough that we’ll be fine for a couple of hours. Go have fun, okay?” You had to downplay your friendship to make them think you only trusted him a little. If they knew the truth - that you’d trust him with your life - they’d definitely stage an intervention and never let you see each other again.

“Okay, just making sure. See you later, Y/N.”

“Bye.”

Finally, they leave. It takes ten minutes for nine kids to assemble between two cars, between the Parkers’ van and your parents’ SUV, but they eventually make it work. You can literally hear two kids crying over “having to sit in the back again”, but then you hear your Dad’s voice, “ride with me, if it’s okay with your Dad.” The crying ceases at last, and the cars pull out of the gate.

“Are they gone yet?” Kai comes downstairs about a minute after they left.

“Just pulled out. What were you doing?”

He swallows, “um.” While struggling to answer, you give him a look. “I’m used to hiding during the van-packing process.”

“Okay,” you answer, not entirely convinced.

He bites his lip, “okay, that part is true. I do hide when they do that because sometimes someone storms back in to grab something to appease the ones stuck in the back, like a snack or whatever. But, um, what I was actually doing was… trying to,” he pauses, and you let him find the words, “build up the courage to, um… can I just kiss you?”

You’re confused, but you’ll never deny him a kiss. Smile forming on your lips, you close the three foot gap between you two, hands tracing his jawline, capturing his face, while kissing him softly. His hands find your waist, gripping your hips. There’s something different about this kiss than your usual ones. Something more hungry… willing, maybe. Whatever it is, you let him take charge.

As soon as the shift in control changes, he spins the both of you around so that you’re pressed into the counter, rather than himself, while he kisses you deeper. His lips leave your mouth to trail down your jaw, to your neck, but then he suddenly stops to look up at you.

“Everything okay?”

“Can we go upstairs?”

“Of course.” You joke, “afraid someone’s gonna walk in?”

He misses your teasing tone and replies bluntly, “no, I wanna fuck you.”

You nearly trip up the first stair, causing you to grab a tight hold of his hand. “What’d you say?”

“Is that okay?”

“I-uh-um- yes, just caught me off guard. What brought it on?”

“You said you loved me. And that you liked my body even with all the scars. And that if I can love yours with scars, you can love mine.”

“I did say that. I meant every word.”

“And so now we’re here alone, and I’m going to act on something I’ve wanted to do a long time ago.”

You reach the top of the stairs. He has an arm around your back to prevent you from falling, just in case, as he stares into your eyes for hesitancy. You give none. “Then do it.”

Instantly, your back collides with the hallway wall and he kisses you with the same tenacity he did downstairs. Out of habit, your hands find his hair; his, your waist, but he’s a lot more confident now. Slowly, he inches the both of you towards his door. His hand fumbles with the knob, making him frustrated.

“Wish I could just open the stupid thing with magic.”

“If I had magic, I’d let you take it whenever,” you answer, again, with no hesitancy.

He stops to stare at you. “You would?”

“Mhm. I mean it, Kai, I love you.”

“But the siphoning hurts.”

You shrug, “can’t hurt that bad. I imagine it’d probably actually feel good. At least for me, maybe not other people. Send little tingles all the way down to my-”

He cuts you off with an open mouthed kiss. “Now I really wish you had magic.”

“-and then a part of me would kinda be in your blood, too, right?” You finish the second part of what you wanted to say.

“Holy fuck, you’re turning me on.”

“Open the door, Kai,” you urge.

He finally does, but in the second you take to catch a breath, he’s back on you. He takes advantage of your state and slips his tongue in your mouth, no regard for anything but his and your pleasures. You go weak in his arms and let him explore, enjoying the feeling much more than you probably should. Then, he taps on your hips signaling for you to jump. You do, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carries you to the bed, finally, and throws you down rather roughly.

Immediately, panic takes over his face. “Shit, that was way harder than I meant to! You okay?”

You, on the other hand, can’t get a word out because you’re giggling too hard.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He tries again.

“You’re so hot when you’re all dominant. Well, you’re always hot, but-” and then you continue to giggle.

Kai relaxes, realizing he didn’t hurt you. “Oh you little-” he climbs on top of you until he’s hovering over your face. Legs tangle together, bodies close but not close enough… You buck your hips. There, now they’re close enough. “You’ve been wanting this,” he observes, fighting back a moan at the contact.

“Yes, but also, your comfort is my number one priority. It’s much better now, with you enjoying it too, than if we were to try when you weren’t ready.”

“Thank you, princess,” he kisses your nose sweetly.

“Thank you for trusting me. One thing though.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you trust me right now?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Without further warning, you grab his wrists and flip him over so that his back is pressed into the bed. It’s the first time you’ve ever been on top of him, and the power makes you giddy.

“I thought you liked me being dominant?”

“Oh, I do. But I also want to see you writhe under me,” you wink at him.

Kai gives you a look, and you know he’s going to start fighting any minute now. It’s in his eyes, and you can feel his muscles under you tensing to build up the strength. In the last second before you think he’s going to try and take charge, your hand goes down to the outline forming in his jeans. All fight is immediately gone as soon as you start to feel him. He can’t even fight the moan he’s been holding back since you started making out downstairs. The sound spurs you on and you rub him harder.

“More, princess. Please.”

You move your legs to straddle him, hands going to his belt. “This okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Words, please.”

“What am I, five?”

You cock your head at him. “Words, or no further touching.”

“Princess,” he tries to buck his hips like you did, but you’re holding him down.

“Come on, Malachai.”

“Don’t use that name.”

“Mala-”

“Fine! Yes, please. It’s okay. Please.” You smirk, not expecting the begging, but loving it. “You little sadist.”

That only makes you love it more. Not wasting another second, your hands are undoing his belt. As much as you want to take it slowly, you’re both too excited to drag it out any longer. Besides, just by looking at him, you can see how hard he is, and you know you’re almost soaking your panties with wetness.

“Wait,” he pants.

You stop immediately. “You okay?”

“I need… I need. C’mere,” he beckons you forward, and you listen. “Need this off,” he pulls off your shirt. “And this,” next is your bra. The minute it’s off, he loses control and grabs your tits like he did in the bathroom a couple days earlier. Before you know it, he’s fondling one while the other’s in his mouth.

“If mine is, this is coming off, too.” You make a grab for his shirt. He pauses, tongue still around your nipple. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” he seems to decide in that instant.

In order for you to pull the fabric over his head, he has to disconnect his mouth from your breast. But when it’s off, he swallows hard and doesn’t reach for them again.

“Kai… c’mon, pumpkin.” You take his hand to put it back on your body, trying to return that sense of comfort, but he doesn’t grasp your breast again. Sighing, you take it as a moment to get a closer look at his body. The bruises, the scars, everything. A tear escapes your eye, and you lean down to press a kiss to one of the purplish wounds. Then, you start to do that with all of them. From his neck to his hips, you kiss every mark made on his body, whether by his dad’s hand or his own. On the fresher ones, your lips are more gentle, barely there, not wanting to cause him more pain. But on the older ones, you leave multiple kisses, or even lick them with your tongue before kissing. “I meant it, Kai. You’re gorgeous. These marks don’t stop me from loving you.”

Slowly, he makes eye contact with you again. His hands reach out to your face, and when he gets a hold of you, he pulls you in for another deep kiss on his lips. “What did I do to deserve you?” He asks with a tear emerging.

“You don’t have to deserve love, baby.” You kiss his collarbone.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Your lips travel to his chest. Giving him a taste of his own medicine, you swirl your tongue around one of his nipples. He moans loudly, arching his back.

“Holy shit, I didn’t know that would feel that good.”

“Can I continue to make you feel things like that?”

“Yes, please. I need it, I need you. Wait, but let me-” he suddenly sticks two fingers into your wet heat, hovering over his own body, and pops them in his mouth. “You taste so good.”

“Are you gonna let me taste you now?”

“Sure. Yes. I meant yes.”

Your eyes warm and you continue to kiss him further down - this time, trailing his v-line. You had noticed the prominent indents the other day, but are now getting to see it up close. He moans again, enticing you more.

“Princess.”

“I’m working on it.” Finally, you shrug his jeans down and off his body. You can tell he’s fighting the urge to hide his now-bare legs, but you opt to not pay attention to them anyway. Your gaze goes straight to the bulge in his boxers that looks even thicker without his jeans in the way. Mouth watering, you touch him first, enjoying the feeling.

“Y/N, please. It’s uncomfortable. Too tight.”

Succumbing to his wishes, you tap his hips for him to lift them, then peel back the final confinement. His cock springs out, slapping his stomach in the process. You’re quick to lean forward and lick a stripe from the base to the tip. Kai sinks his head into the pillow, groaning huskily. After pulling his boxers all the way off, you refocus your attention back to the length in front of you.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” you mutter. The praise makes him twitch, and you immediately reach out to grasp him between two of your fingers. “Need to taste.” And then you finally do. You start at the tip, rolling your tongue over the slit counter clockwise, stimulating precum in the process. Some of it leaks into your mouth, straight down your throat, but most of it drips down the side of cock. It doesn’t get far, though, before you move your head to catch it, licking your way from the base to the tip, again.

A shiver runs through his body. “Feels so good.” Barely audible, but you hear him.

Positioning your head over him, you prepare to take him fully. To you, it’s a five second break of deep breaths, but to Kai, overwhelmed in pleasure, there’s almost no warning. As soon as you’re ready, you sink your mouth down on him until you get about halfway and your gag reflex kicks in. Cock hitting the back of your throat, you gag around him.

“Y/N, you okay?” He sits up on his elbows, worried he’d accidentally hurt you.

Slowly, you lift your head back up, “I’m good, baby. Just training my throat to take you.”

He swallows so hard that you see his Adam’s apple bob. “Oh, um…” He doesn’t lay back down, opting to watch you instead.

You don’t mind as you go down for a second time, getting further now. You do it several times, taking more and more of him each time. Your tongue swirls around his length and traces his veins. In fact, there’s one vein in particular that especially makes Kai moan every time you hit it. It’s on the underside of his cock, and you start to pay special attention to it. The rest of his length sits against your face as you focus on it.

Kai doesn’t know if the sight or the feeling is affecting him more. Either way, he feels himself getting close to release. Your mouth is around him, head bobbing up and down rapidly, when he twitches. He whines, resisting the urge to hold your head where he wants. Suddenly, though, you stop and remove your mouth completely.

“Fuck, wait, I’m about to…”

“I know, pumpkin. Can’t let you do that yet.”

He’s about to ask why, but then sees his answer. In one quick motion, you’re removing your own pants and lining your bodies together. “Ready?”

“Mhm. Yes.”

You smile, grab his cock to hold it upright, then sink your heat down onto him. Kai collapses, elbows no longer supporting him, as pleasure consumes him.

“You okay?”

“Yes, oh- oh god.”

“Can I move? I’ll start slow.”

“Please.”

As promised, you slowly begin to ride his length. Your hands rest on either side of his body and lips are pressed to his chest, leaving hot kisses all over his skin.

“Let me know if you want to try and take over.”

“Okay.”

When Kai starts to relax, you pick up the pace. Not too fast, but little by little. Soon, his hands find your hips and he helps guide you. His fingers have a tight grip on you, but it only makes you wetter.

“I think, I wanna… wanna try…”

“Want to be on top, angel?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. You can just flip us or I can move, what are you feeling?” But the hungry look in his eyes already gives you your answer.

As soon as you nod and grab onto his shoulders, he flips the both of you so that you’re now pressed into the bed. With his usual role re-established, so does his dominance. You open your legs wider to give him more access, and he immediately takes advantage of it. With a lick of his lips, he pushes his cock into you, not stopping until he’s run out of length.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“Is it too much?”

“No, you’re perfect. Move when you’re ready, mmkay?”

He nods, then copies the way you rode him when he begins to move: arms on your side, head ducked into your chest. His lips attach to your nipples, sucking, and pulling them between his teeth. When he gets a hold of his balance, you feel pressure on your clit, too.

“Fuck, Kai. You’re so good.”

His body jolts, “say it again.”

“What?”

“Name. Say it again.”

“Kai,” you pant as he quickens pace.

“No one else is home baby, say it louder.”

You had forgotten this fact, actually, but the minute he reminds you, you let yourself go. “Fuck,” you moan, rather loudly, “feels so good, Kai! Fuck. Harder.”

He spreads your legs wider and thrusts harder upon request. Obscene sounds fill the room, mixed with your moans and whimpers.

“Kai,” you pant, “need to hear you, too.”

“I’d rather hear you, Princess.”

“Aw, come on, gorgeous. Nothing turns me on more than men moaning,” you admit. “Need to hear you.”

Previously held-back grunts and groans tumble from his mouth at your confession. When his lips return to your nipple, he makes sure to keep up with your request, sending vibrations throughout your body.

“I’m close, Kai. So close, so close… don’t stop what you’re doing.”

“I’m getting there, too,” he twitches again. “Come for me, Princess.”

As soon as he asks, your orgasm rips through your body. Loud moans follow, and your eyes roll back in your head. Kai rides you through yours, before pulling out and immediately releasing all over your face and chest. Some drips off your shoulders, down to the bedsheets.

The minute he catches his breath, a worried expression takes over his face, “I’m sorry! I knew I shouldn’t do it inside you, but wasn’t sure where else to. I aimed for your chest and misfired.”

You make direct eye contact with him, then swipe a bunch off your cheek with your finger before sucking it off. “Oh, I’ll never complain about a facial.” You dart your tongue out to the side to gather more. “And don’t worry, I kinda like the taste. How the hell were you a virgin, Kai?! You were amazing the whole way through!”

He blushes, “um, thank you.”

You can’t help but giggle. Only Kai would be sweet enough to thank you for complimenting his sexual ability. Your ex-boyfriend, to whom you had lost your virginity, threw you an, “I know,” when you told him he was good. This little fact just made you love Kai even more.

Then, as if he couldn’t get more perfect, his next words are, “can I clean you up now, Princess? And then we can cuddle and nap?”

“Of course. Give me a kiss first.”

Kai leans forward and kisses you sweetly. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, wetting it gently.

“Blood,” he comments.

“Hm?”

“There’s blood on your lip.”

You run your own tongue along it, “must’ve bit it in pleasure.”

“I’ll be right back, okay?” He pulls on a loose pair of sweatpants from his drawer, giving you a wink.

“Okay, darling.”

Two minutes later, Kai returns with a warm rag and a water bottle. First, he cleans the small sore and any remaining blood off your lip, then hands you the bottle. “Drink,” he insists. As you do, he moves the rag over your face and down your neck and chest, cleaning off his drying cum. He rubs your lower body next, easing some of the soreness as well as wiping away your cum. “Anywhere else?”

“No, I’m okay. Do you need anything?”

“Just you,” he sappily replies.

“Okay, come here then.” Arms wide open, you gather him up and pull him close. You take a hand away for a split-second to pull the blankets over you two, earning a whine before he realizes what you’re doing. As soon as your arm is back around him, he snuggles into your body. “I love you, Kai,” you whisper with your lips against his cheek.

“I love you, too, Princess. Thank you for making me feel like I’m worth something to someone.”

As much as his words sadden you, they also make you feel warm inside. You’re the one that makes him feel that way, and that’s pretty fucking special.

“Always, my sweetheart.” You give him a kiss to the cheek, keeping your lips there even afterwards. His heartbeat slows into a comfortable rhythm and breathing evens out, and soon, he’s fast asleep in your arms.

#malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #kai parker fluff #kai parker smut #tw: child abuse #tw: s3lf h4rm mentions #tvd fanfiction #virgin kai parker #shy virgin kai - my favorite flavor 😂😅

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yourlocallyneysimp · 9 months

Note

More focalors/Furina stuff pleaseeee, there is no stuff for her :(

My wife <3

Maybe Furina with an artist or singer Partner

( have a good day <33 don’t forget to eat and drink and smile)

"Music??"

Focalors/Furina x Artist/Singer Reader

A/n: Omg, you're so sweet. ☹️ I'm so sorry this took so long, I'm trying to get all my drafts together. 💔

Furina is not a big fan of music and originally has no interest in it, but whenever you would start playing your guitar or bass, she can't help but listen.

And don't get her started on your voice! Jeez, she secretly fangirls everytime she hears it.

Although she would never admit it, she loves listening to you sing and play instruments. It calms her down and makes all her stress go away.

At first when she heard that you were an artist/singer, she would poke fun at you by making jokes about how music was a waste of time.

"Music? Hah! What do you take me for, a child?"

Well, apparently yes because she secretly goes to every single one of your little mini concerts.

She watched afar while holding a glowstick, listening to the music with a big smile on her face.

So... who's the child now???

Bonus:

"Furina, do you want to listen to me play?"

You held your guitar up and smiled at the Hydro Archon, Focalors.

Furina crossed her arms and turned her back to you with an irritated look on her face.

"Hmph, I told you to stop calling me by my real name! How disrespecful..."

After a few moments of silence, she finally turned to you, a light blush on her face.

"Although.. I wouldn't mind listening to a few songs."

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #Fontaine #Focalors #focalors x reader #Furina #Furina x reader #hydro archon

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the-s1lly-corner · 3 months

Text

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack imagine #creepypasta fanfic #eyeless jack fanfic

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david-talks-sw · 1 year

Text

BONUS stuff from the AOTC screenplay...

1. Yoda probing the Dark Side.

In an earlier draft of the Attack of the Clones screenplay, Scene 51 (which I've already talked about here) ends with this comment by Mace, where he explains what Yoda is doing up in his quarters, followed up by Scene 52, showing Yoda meditating:

And it turns out, this is actually a mini plot point in this draft!

Since Qui-Gon's death, the Jedi are actually on the lookout for the remaining Sith Lord, waiting to sense even a trace of him... but then this happens.

And, like, nobody saw it coming! What the hell!

So that leads to this other cut scene (originally set right after Obi-Wan tells Anakin that Padmé "was happy to see us"), Scene 12, which features an evening conversation between Mace Windu and Yoda.

When Yoda says "the dark side of the Force clouds everything", that's not just an expression to say 'he doesn't know'.

The Dark Side has tainted everything around the Jedi, and THAT'S why the Sith have an advantage. Because they're used to it. They were 'born in the dark, molded by it'.

As a result... in this situation, they're the only ones who can foresee the possibilities of the future, while the Jedi are pretty much walking blind, in a fog.

It's not just that the Sith Lord is a master politician and the Jedi are politically inept. It's that, right now, he's the only one who can truly see the future and roll with it, while the only thing the Jedi can do is go forward, have their guard up and hope for the best.

Which a concept explored in the non-canon comic Sithisis from Star Wars: Visionaries (which, if I recall, was created by Derek Thompson after his regular interactions with George Lucas and a 45-minute interview with Ian McDiarmid)!

2. "Sifo-Dyas", aka Sidious

Okay, so some of y'all probably already knew this tidbit. I did, but didn't know it was in this draft of the script so it was a fun surprise:

Sifo-Dyas was originally a pseudonym used by Darth Sidious.

Throughout the script, his name is spelled "Sido-Dyas" (which sounds a lot more like "Sidious").

And when it comes to the mysterious Sido-Dyas, the Jedi talk about him like they've never heard of him before and full-on say he's an imposter.

At some point, there ended up being a typo in the scene where Obi-Wan talks to Lama Su, and the word was mispelled "Sifo-Dyas" and eventually Lucas decided to make him a different character.

Also the Tyranus who hired Jango Fett is referred to as "Darth Tyranus", in this draft, which I guess was changed because it was gonna be to obvious.

But it does indicate that after TPM, they concluded that Darth Maul was the Master, not the Apprentice.

3. Are Yoda and Padmé friends...?

Okay so there's this moment here:

Yoda taps Padmé with his cane!

Thus CONFIRMING that poking/tapping/hitting people with his cane is Yoda's love language!

Seconds later, there's also this line where Yoda tells Padmé to reign the selflessness and politics back and accept their help:

First off, I'm just picturing Padmé just casually kneeling so she can be at Yoda-height and I'm dying!

But also, like... he calls her "Padmé". They're on a first-name basis!

To me, that's gotta be an implication that in the 10 years between TPM and AOTC... I dunno, Padmé visited the Temple while Anakin was off-planet or just met Yoda at a meeting, and now they've formed a bond and they're pals.

If that's the case, then their Ilum mission in Clone Wars (2003) takes a whole new aspect.

And if we're rolling with this idea... how much of Padmé did Yoda see in Luke?? None? Some?

I think it's a case of when Luke is screwing up royally "he's just like Anakin ffs" and then the few times he's actually listening "nice to see you inherited some of your mother's sense!"

Bear in mind, these bits of dialog never made it on the screen but they did make it to the "final" version of the screenplay published in The Art of Attack of the Clones. So if I had to guess the reason for deletion, it was probably for pacing purposes.

Bonus:

Yoda introducing the younglings in his care is such an adorable thing.

Just in general, this scene is great. George Lucas had this to say in the AOTC commentary track:

"This is a chance for me to play with that more mischievous side of his character and get away from the 'official, serious Yoda' that ends up [...] on the Jedi Council, where he really isn't allowed to be as fun and tease people. In this environment with the kids, he's able to lighten up a little bit, which I really wanted to do for his character. It's much more what his character is in the other movies, especially in Empire Strikes Back."

But also... like Yoda is hyping up the younglings! Is that a thing?

Did Dooku & Yoda have competitions and introduce their respective clans like hype men? I'm picturing a scene where Yoda's like:

Yoda: "To a competition, the mighty Bear Clan challenges the Thranta Clan!" Bear Clan younglings: "GROOAAAAH!"

And Dooku is like:

Dooku: "The gallant Thranta Clan is ready to clean the floors with the Bear Clan whenever you want!" Thranta Clan younglings: *POSE MAJESTICALLY*

Glorious...

#I may have had a bit too much fun with this post #star wars #attack of the clones #aotc #yoda #dooku #sifo-dyas #sidious #padmé amidala #padmé #mace windu #george lucas #jonathan hales #script analysis #bts tidbits #long post

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firefirefruit · 4 months

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirteen: A Line in the Sand

“Don’t expect me to fix anything else,” you say, crossing your arms. “After these three, I owe you nothing.”

Zoro, unfazed by your remark, watches the crew bustling around, moving your workshop contents onto the Sunny. As he steps on board with a case containing your meticulous work, vials of melted metals cradling the essence of his swords, he glances at you, his words carrying an air of detachment.

"Do what you want, I couldn't care less." His gaze lingers on your face for a moment before he turns away, striding off to find a suitable spot for your tools.

“THIS IS SO COOL!” Usopp yells, yanking out a pistol from the box he’s carrying. He aims the empty mock piece at the reindeer. “Chopper, play dead!”

“I’m not a dog!” Chopper shouts vexedly in his heavy point transformation, dragging a carton of metal ores on his back.

Meanwhile, Franky’s grinning on the Sunny, going through all of the transported items the others are constantly bringing in like a hyperactive child.

“Oh man, you’re an artist,” Franky gushes as he rifles through each and every one of your boxes. Suddenly, his arm plunges into your inventory, gently scrambling around to not dent your work and manages to whip out a crazy-looking lightsabre. “Woah, what is this?!”

Franky swings the beam around excitedly, attracting Usopp, Brook, Luffy and Chopper’s wild attention.

“A LASER?!” Chopper bubbles wildly, repeatedly hopping into the air to get a better look at the weapon.

Brook accidentally singes a part of his hair by leaning in too much, immediately emitting a worried yelp. "YO-HO! Even I'm not immune to its strength."

The aggressively blue laser beam glares wildly against all five of the fanboys' faces as they huddle around in a circle. You laugh a little, seeing them as a resemblance of animals poking a stick at an unidentified object.

“Raya, can I have it? I’ll take good care of it, I promise. Can I? Please?” Luffy pouts pleadingly at you, eyes sparkling with mischievous wonder. Nami gives him a side eye as she boards the deck, heaving a heavy container in her arms.

“Absolutely not,” she dismisses. “Remember the last time you used one of Franky’s beams?”

Luffy blinks at her innocently. “What’s the big deal? I only burnt half the island.”

Everyone turns around and stares at the other side of the island. A row of singed corpses of trees lay morose on the blackened sand.

“Luffy…”

“Ah, keep it, it’s only a draft anyway. But who gets to keep it…? Well, that’s up to you.” You devilishly flutter your eyes, placing a hand on your hip.

Usopp grunts, tugging helplessly at the handle from Franky’s stubborn hands. “Competition it is!”

“Can you lot talk about that later? We got stuff to move,” Sanji grumbles, giving them a dirty look; but as his eyes slowly flicker onto to yours, a big smile spreads across his face like butter on hot toast, his hot face steaming into heart-shaped swirls of love. “Our lovely Raya-san is relying on us <3”

Robin smiles, as a flutter of hands rolls through from the cave and downhill to the deck. Her eyes beam brightly as she looms over the gathering crowd, taking in the view of your weapon. “I wonder how many people you can cut with that simultaneously.”

Usopp stares at her. “I don’t feel safe when I’m around you.”

Sanji swoons, twirling around you and Robin, and shoots his hand up in the air. “I vote for Robin-chan to possess the weapon!”

“Declined.” The four boys wave their hands dismissively, turning their backs to Sanji.

Franky beams at you, placing a metallic arm over your shoulder. “Besides all a' that, our SUPER weapons master needs to keep her assembly goin’! I gotcha, Raya. Gimme a few hours.”

“Hey, no fair! You’re trying to win her over!” Chopper glares.

“Whad’ya say? Can’t hear you, Chops. Got things to do,” Franky says, already on the other side of the ship. He waves a hand in the air. “You won’t be disappointed, Raya~”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. Are you stupid for joining their crew, or was this a somewhat reasonable decision? You can’t tell just yet.

As you rest your head against the wall, your eyes apathetically trace over the shapes of clouds. A twang of guilt reverberates inside you, almost like someone’s pulled the strings to your fragile insides out of spite.

You can’t help but feel like you’re awful. You’re awful for laughing - for smiling and feeling joy as if your dearest family member’s life isn’t hanging in the balance. Should you even be allowed the possibility to feel anything other than sadness and anger right now? Are you unfeeling for being able to?

Gramps' logbook, your precious memento, rests within the folds of your pocket, the heaviness of his novel-laden words filling your chest. Your fingers scatter across its leather surface, caressing it as if his soul lies within those yellowed pages. You trace the familiar curves of your grandfather's handwriting, your heart sinking.

And it hits you: you’re joining the crew of the man who let your gramps be kidnapped.

The way he just stood on top of that house and watched as your Gramps mercilessly took ruthless beatings, over and over again. Watching as the ink dragged his fragile, paralysed body into slime, consuming him whole. The memories start flooding in, the wide, squishy eyes of the sentient taking his whole form into its peripheral.

It kills you. The realisation hits you that you gave your complete trust to a man who was more than capable of saving your guardian and he simply refused to do so. He sat there and took it in. All of it.

Strength, the old man’s voice whispers into you. A whoosh of heavy wind brushes your cheek as a delicate reminder of him. Have strength, child.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the Thousand Sunny, Franky emerges from his little workshop cave with an enthusiastic grin. A dirty rag slung over his shoulder, a pencil tucked behind his ear, he gestures proudly toward the revamped space.

"Wanna see, Ray? It’s all done.” Franky smiles cheekily as if he’s bursting trying to hold onto his little secret.

You lean away from the wall, offering him a strained grin. “Totally. Time to show me your skills, Franks.”

The workshop is ingeniously integrated into the newly upgraded and expanded crow's nest, seamlessly extending its structure. On one half lies the gym, now revamped and full of equipment, while the other half unfolds into an expansive space of metalwork. Its spacious design accommodates a variety of workstations, each adorned with gleaming tools and metallic wonders. The ceiling, a marvel of engineering, forms a domed structure entirely composed of windows, providing a breathtaking panoramic view of the night sky.

You step into the workshop, feeling the cool metal floor beneath your feet; the familiar smell of fresh wood and the tang of metal engulf you, making your heart burst with joy. Franky follows you in, his eyes eagerly scanning your expressions.

Franky, always one for grand gestures, hits a switch, and sleek metallic blinds glide up to the centre point of the dome with a graceful motion, forming a private enclave.

“And if you both need a lil’ peace and quiet….” Franky grins while flicking the second switch.

Another option presents itself – the odd partition between the workshop and the gym transforms into a thick wall of sound-proof glass.

“Or if there’s any…bad vibes goin’ on in here…” Franky spins to the third switch, fingers already on the job.

In an instant, the glass pane immediately flips into a solid metal wall. The crew gazes in awe at this spectacle, and Usopp, in particular, is on the verge of drooling with sheer amazement on the floor.

“Franky, why here?” Zoro frowns, staring longingly at his poor gym.

Franky grins, flexing his biceps as he responds. “Crafters work best under natural light, buddy! Our Crow’s Nest offers 360-degree light, in all directions, from every angle. Besides, I’ve expanded the gym to almost twice its original size to make up for it, did ya see? It's a whole new training ground now!”

Zoro crosses his arms, eyeing the newly expanded gym area and then glancing back at the workshop. His frown deepens for a moment, but then he grumbles, "Better be worth it. Don’t want anyone interrupting my training."

Franky laughs heartily, clapping Zoro on the back. "Don't you worry, man! Your workouts’ll be undisturbed, and now Raya's got the perfect space for her work."

Zoro mutters something under his breath, a mix of scepticism and acceptance, and then heads towards the expanded gym to inspect the changes.

The equipment held within your side of the Crow’s Nest is a fusion of practicality and artistic flair. Sturdy anvils are strategically placed, ready to endure the forging of blades and crafting of intricate designs. The workbenches, sleek and polished, offer ample space for organising your tools and materials. The entire space is ingeniously soundproofed, ensuring that the clinks and clangs of your work won't disturb the tranquillity of the crew's quarters.

Nami gasps as she takes the whole space in, turning to different areas with amazement. “This is beautiful!”

Luffy runs inside and plops himself on one of the stools. “Chopper, my right-hand man, hand me some metal!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Chopper says as he pretends to offer Luffy materials.

Zoro snaps his head around and raises his eyebrows from his side of the Crow’s Nest. “Right-hand man?”

“And look - you’ve got tons of space,” Franky says, showcasing the various workstations he has meticulously arranged.

A designated area for the vials of melted metals, a specialised section for assembling and testing your inventions, and racks filled with neatly organised tools. The walls are adorned with the posters he found in one of your moving-in boxes, adding a little touch of home to its interior, as well as a bunch of some playful doodles from the crew members.

As you move around the workshop, inspecting the meticulously arranged workstations and the various tools at your disposal, there's an undeniable sense of awe at Franky's craftsmanship. The fusion of his genius flair composed as a tangible product of your workshop is beyond your expectations, and you can't help but feel love for the dedicated space.

However, the beauty of the studio is somewhat overshadowed by the realization that you'll be sharing this closed space with Zoro. Every clang of metal, every creak of the floor, and every breath will feel like a reminder of his presence. The panoramic view that was initially breathtaking now seems slightly tarnished as you look from across the room, the gym resting in your peripheral as a stain.

You find yourself trying to focus on the positives, appreciating the thoughtfulness of Franky's gesture. Still, the irritation persists as you contemplate having to navigate your space with someone you'd rather not be around. You purse your lips slightly, mentally preparing yourself to coexist in this shared workspace.

“How come Usopp Factory doesn’t have any windows?” Usopp grumbles, side-eyeing Franky. Consequently, he receives a slap on the head from Nami, who hisses at him to be nice.

“So?” Franky turns to you, his eyes wide, growing more and more nervous with every moment of your prolonged silence. “What do you think, Raya? I can absolutely change the parts that you don’t—”

“Franky. You shouldn’t have,” you breathe out, a sense of admiration and fondness for the space bubbling up in your chest. Your eyes glimmer, taking everything in like a gasp of fresh air. “This is a crafter’s dream.”

“I know what a workshop means to people like us,” Franky gushes, blushing immensely at your gratifying reaction.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the sea, of fresh wood and sawdust, and the metallic tang of the workshop before turning to your fellow colleague.

“Thank you.” You grin brightly, gently punching his shoulder. “This is exactly what I need, Franks.”

Franky returns the punch, a broad grin on his face. “Then get unpacking already!”

You roll your eyes at him with a small smile, watching him aggressively gather the rest up in his massive metallic arms, to then rugby tackle them all out of the studio. With a couple of objecting yells, your door slams with a thud and all you hear left is the muffle of their complaints.

With a heavy exhale, your weight slams down on one of the stools, its impact reverberating through the entire workshop, echoing and echoing into the flush edges of the room.

In the midst of the ensuing silence, a realization strikes – you're not the sole occupant of this expansive space. Across the distance, your eyes lock onto a familiar grey eye and a soft white scar.

Despite the palpable awkwardness, Zoro remains a silent observer. His gaze meets yours, and even as you shoot him an unimpressed look, he stands there stoically, seemingly unaffected by the tension that fills the workshop.

"I..." Zoro begins, his voice low, "I didn't want it to turn out like this." The words hang in the air, the weight of their meaning palpable. His gaze is sincere, a glimpse of regret.

You meet Zoro's gaze with an unyielding and narrowed expression, your eyes conveying a mixture of emotions — frustration, hurt, and a determination not to be swayed by his words.

The silence hangs heavy in the air, pregnant with unspoken hatred.

His grey eye steely gazes at you, but you've already decided to shield yourself from the vulnerability his words might expose.

“Listen—” Zoro starts, pushing himself away from the wall.

Without waiting for him to finish, you turn away and stride purposefully towards the switch that Franky had installed for situations exactly like this. The tension in the room becomes palpable as your fingers deliberately flick the switch upwards.

The metallic wall, a masterpiece of engineering, responds to your command; slowly, deliberately, it ascends from the middle partition of the room. The sound of its movement resonates through the workshop, drowning out any potential words Zoro might throw out.

Zoro's eyes — chilled steel, intense, a reflection of the mutual irritation that charges the air — are the last thing you see before the ascending barrier closes in. As the partition completes its ascent, there's a visceral shudder, a palpable severance of the connection between you and him - and yet, it's not so easily shrugged off.

Because you know his presence is still there. You know he's stood on the other side, staring at the same wall as you are; simply, your newly issued armour is but a fragile facade of protection, a delusion of control.

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jackhues · 5 months

Text

a secret - šimon nemec

requested by: anon :)

notes: i hope you like this!

likes are good, reblogs are better <3

gif not mine

you met šimon while he'd been in new jersey for training camp. he'd just been drafted to the nhl, while you'd just gotten a new job at a local cafe.

in any other world, you two wouldn't have even met each other -- let alone start a relationship.

it just so happened that he was recommended the cafe by another devils player, and decided to check it out on the morning that you were working. you made him a coffee, suggesting one of your favourites because he wasn't sure how to order.

after that, things just blossomed.

you exchanged numbers, texting and facetiming whenever you could. you went on dates, you wore his jersey to games, you spent all of your time together.

but you still hadn't gone public.

you were dating, but neither of you wanted to be poked and prodded at by the media. especially since he was called up to the nhl.

in fact, you hadn't even told the team yet.

it's not like it would be the end of the world, but they believed you were best friends. and considering the way some of them could never keep their mouths shut, you guys decided it was simply better that way.

never denied, but never confirmed.

you sat with the other wags, dressed in a nemec jersey, and ready for this game to be over. the devils were leading 5-1, with three minutes left in the third, and šimon had just scored his first hattrick.

it was a big achievement, you knew that. and you just wanted to go home and celebrate it.

which was why the second the game was over, you jumped up and clapped louder than anyone around you. after the stars of the game were announced (šimon getting the first star), you waited for a little longer before heading to the locker room.

by now, most guys were headed home, leaving only šimon in the locker room. he'd been the last to do media, and was going to be the last to leave.

"good game," you fist bumped nico as he walked by.

"thanks, y/n/n," he grinned. "šimon's still in the locker room. he'll be out in a few minutes."

you waved as nico walked away, poking your head inside the room. just like you predicted, he was the only one left. his back was facing you as he pulled his shirt on.

you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his back.

šimon froze for half a second, before relaxing once he realized it was only you. he turned around, a wide grin on his face as he pulled you into a proper hug.

"i'm so proud of you," you smiled, fixing the collar of his shirt. "look at you, a big shot now. scoring hattricks and stuff. how're you gonna make sure it doesn't get to your head?"

šimon laughed, swaying you gently with his arms around your waist. "hmm, i'm not sure. i do have this wonderful girlfriend who's very good at making sure my head doesn't get too big. i'm probably going to have to spend more time with her to increase her effect on me."

you rolled your eyes, a stupid grin on your face.

šimon laughed at your expression, pressing a kiss to your nose.

"you're so cute," he grinned, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

he continued peppering kisses over your face, pausing before he dipped down to capture your lips in his. you found yourself melting into him, your hand coming up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. his arms gripped your waist, doing the job of holding you up since your legs seemed to have failed you.

the two of you pulled apart as a loud bang sounded, followed by something clattering to the floor.

there stood luke hughes, a sheepish look on his face as he chased his waterbottle.

"sorry guys," he muttered. "forgot this. don't mind me, i'm heading out now. continue." he paused, "just don't have sex on my stall, that's where i draw the line."

"we - we're not--" šimon stuttered.

"oh please, don't pull that she's my best friend bullshit again," he said dismissively. "everyone on the team knows you're together, and everyone thinks you guys are adorable. i might be changing my mind if you have sex in the locker room."

"luke, stop talking," you told him.

"yes ma'am."

"and get out if you're not missing anything else."

"yes ma'am."

you and šimon waited for luke to leave, before turning back to each other.

"let's face it," you shrugged. "it's not like we were doing a good job at keeping this a secret."

---

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uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years

Text

(you are a) natural, baby - p.2

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: sex in the Impala, oral sex (f receiving), whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite), Sam being a pussy fiend, you get it 💅 Word Count: 16,202. Notes: part two, aka: THE GOOD STUFF. this bad boy has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. i thought it would be a fun little Halloween present while I'm between other projects :) pure sam goodness ahead, chaps ✨ enjoy! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

"Every time you go down on me," his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, "I get to practice on you, too."

You adjusted your clammy hold around his neck, reminded of the emptiness between your legs. “Every time?”

“Every time,” Sam nodded. “But… mostly… other times, too. Any time. That I want. If you want, of course.”

You panted. “Yeah. A-anytime,” you echoed.

“S’ gonna be… a lot,” Sam warned. His chin dipped, stealing an open-mouthed, burning kiss against your quaking pulse. The sound his mouth made against your flesh was sloppy and hot in ways that would’ve destroyed anyone, but you most of all. “M’ not a quick study, ____. I’m gonna have to… take my time with you.”

“Uh-huh,” you squeaked.

Sam laved his tongue—which was ridiculously, pussy-wettingly broad—in one passionate drag from your collarbones to the center of your throat. “…I’ll have t’ be thorough. You know I only do things the right way, baby.”

Mindless, you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know y’ do,” you whined.

“You might have to coach me.” Sam pressed further, plotting open-mouthed kisses all over your pliant neck, just to make it clear the kind of things that tongue could do. “I wanna do it good for you…”

If you had the wherewithal to step back, you should’ve known that Sam was a quick study. A ridiculously quick study, since you’d had him under your spell for a little under an hour and he was already echoing back all the filthy things you’d said to him. He did learn fast. These next parts… he’d learn these very fast, too, even if you couldn’t keep up. The thought thrilled you. For once, a partner that could match you, surpass you. Sam being that partner… God. It wouldn’t have mattered if Sam was good—honest to God, it wouldn’t have. He could be the shittest partner on the planet, and you would still be here. But he wasn’t. What heroic, selfless feat had you accomplished to get this kind of good karma? To have Sam, and selfishly, for him to want you too?

Sam grinned up at you, feeling that same streak of luckiness. His accent was laden with sex, and hearing it in Sam’s voice—your best friend since childhood—when your head was (mostly) clear made you flush like a schoolgirl. It was every stupid high school fantasy come to life. Like the hot professor you had a crush on had asked to see you after class, but instead of boring homework talk, Sam had bent you over his desk and shoved his hands up your skirt like you wanted him to.

“Can you show me, ___?” Sam tilted his head until your noses were nudging, drawling into the immediate heat of your mouth, “How to make you feel good?”

You were so pumped full of arousal that you could hardly talk. You were aware again that you were topless, since the swell of your chest surged up against Sam’s, like the rest of you. He might’ve palmed you there if it wouldn’t mean peeling you off him, but it was clear that was all Sam could ask for—the shivering shape of you melted entirely against him. That was exactly the prize he’d carved out for himself. The bulb of Sam’s nose was smushed into your cheek and your breath mixed in the hair’s width between your mouths, which waited half open. Sam’s fingers sloped into the curve of your lower back, then up around your hips, tracing your waistband again and again. Jesus, he wanted it.

“You sure you’re a virgin?” You managed, laughing between pants.

Sam nodded, less bashful than he’d been when you’d poked him with that word before. He repeated himself: “But… you’ll show me?”

He was serious. Your legs were shaking without shame now, each tremor pouring straight into your helplessly wet core like you were sitting on a washing machine on its highest setting. You were sure you’d never been wetter in your entire life. It had left your underwear entirely, coating your inner thighs. Sam’s gaze never left yours if he could avoid it, yet you could tell that every fiber of his being was hyper-focussed on that space.

You still couldn’t believe your luck. You leaned back, just enough to get a read on Sam with your eyes instead of your hands, and tested.

“You really want this?” You resisted for his sake. “You don’t need t’ feel pressured or anything like that, okay? This is your first time. It should be about you. If you’re not 100%...”

Sam dipped his head in thought. When he came back up, his brow was set. “I want to try… And this is our first time.”

Your head shook of its own accord, mystified. You brushed your fingers over one of Sam’s dimples and downward, just feeling him, and the soft, yielding skin of your lover’s face. He gazed at you with big puppy eyes, mumbling, “How many times s’ somebody done this for you?”

“A couple,” you answered, purposefully bland. “Mostly, y’know, as a lead up to the big part.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. The big part. Like that,” he gestured at his lap, “wasn’t the big part. Right.”

You allowed yourself to be smug. “I told you, baby. No complaints.”

Sam kept looking at you with those big, pretty eyes, and with each passing second you felt more like an ice cube in a bowl of hot soup, dissolving completely and effortlessly into him. He nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

You let that request sizzle comfortably under your skin for a moment, before taking Sam’s face between your thumbs and greeting him with a sweet kiss. A deep, pleasured sound seeped out of him, and you deserved some kind of reward for managing to peel yourself off Sam just as he was humming in your ear like that.

Maybe you're giving yourself away when you giddily order, “Let’s go to the backseat, huh?”

You helped Sam get his jeans back around his waist. This was accomplished with a generous amount of petting, from Sam and from you, squeezing him through his briefs and kissing him a little meaner than you should’ve. Now that you were permitted to touch him, nothing could stop you.

When you bend below the seat to pull the front bench forward, pouring heat across Sam’s lap and bringing your face close enough to nuzzle his dick, he flashes you a look that’s written all over with the bossy Sam you remember.

Technically you could stay up front, but there were fewer controls to collide with and more space in the back seat. You enjoyed the thought of fucking Sam in the back of the Impala, too… The whole car rocking, the glass fogging up… Dean was going to kill you if he ever found out. A nonsensical part of your mind that had been spoiled too much today almost wanted Dean to know, just so everyone would. Just so it’d be in the air that Sam’s virginity had been taken, and you had been the one to do it.

“Think you can climb over?” You cleared your throat.

Sam waved for you to go first. You weren’t halfway over the bench, sweat-slick and nude but for petal-thin underwear, when Sam darted out the passenger’s side—into the furious rainstorm. Your back hadn’t even hit the other seat by the time Sam was back in the car, but still. The door slammed behind him, softening the sound of the rain. You shuffled up onto your elbows, cursing him, but Sam didn’t care one bit. Just two seconds outside had soaked him from head to toe. Rainwater twisted in his bangs and slithered in long lines down his back, dotting his shoulders. You hadn’t been too diligent putting his pants back on, so the droplets rolled over his hips and into the low waistband of his jeans too. You maneuvered so you were sitting on your calves in the back seat, and Sam paralleled you, wild and determined. He took up half the backseat with his legs alone.

“Don’t give me that look. It was faster,” he mumbled, smiling.

You played annoyed, but then Sam slithered in and kissed you again, greedy and desperate: conditions impossible to pretend in. You give up on scolding him. Getting your arms around his shoulders, you dragged yourself into his lap and struggled a bit on his slippery skin. He helps you the rest of the way. Sam goes the extra mile, too, putting all of your weight on his thighs and rolling his hips up. A little shock of pressure meets you once you’re seated on him.

“Sam,” you yelped.

“You like that?”

He asked as if you weren’t white-knuckling the meat of his shoulders, but you nodded anyway. Throatily, you managed, “Keep going.”

Sam does as told, stirring his bulge up between your legs, making your head loll back until your throat is vertical and you’re purring like a new sportscar. Tortured pleasure throbs up your body. After almost an hour of teasing, of getting off just watching him, even the smallest contact is explosive. You’re honest-to-god quivering. You huffed out deep, rattling breaths and kissed him until your lungs burned. He yields for you—he always does—letting your tongue lick hot through his parted lips. You want him like nothing else. Between your legs, yes, but kissing is closer and you throb every time he surges up in response. Sam is nothing but pretty, senseless noises. It devours you from the inside, how precious and perfect and everything he is, your Sam. Kissing him kickstarts a chemical reaction in your body unlike anything else you’ve ever felt before, soft and musical, like a field of a million fireflies blinking in a hundred ways at night. You rock your body into his and Sam responds every time, the push and pull of your hips rolling to a hypnotic tempo. The next time you withdraw from him to breathe, you stroke his face in both hands, your baby, and kiss him all over until he’s sick of you, kissing his cheek, his chin, his dimples, his jaw, his brow.

Sam had to close both eyes to protect them. “_____,” he whined.

“Quit complainin’,” you drawled, grinning, “let me be obsessed with you.”

Sam squinted, and even in the dark you could see how blown his pupils were. He smiled. “You gonna start kissing up my arm, now? Like in the movies?”

You, of course, took this as a request.

“Oh, cara mia… ”

Collecting his hand in yours, you turned inwards and pushed a deep, lingering kiss into Sam’s palm, then his wrist, looking up at him through your lashes after each devoted press. By the time you were in the middle of his forearm he was sucking in air through his teeth. He’d been playing, but it seemed to be really riling him. You gleamed with delight. You surged one into the center of his elbow, then his warm bicep and up, across his rain-slick shoulder and all the moles there. Sam’s chest heaved. The taut muscles in his arm twitched after each touch, sensitive after so much. Maybe you cheated a bit, skipping straight to his neck after that, but it was a miracle you’d held out any longer. You twisted and plotted open-mouthed, possessive, fervored kisses all over Sam’s throat.

“Oh god,” Sam shudders. His head thudded against the seat. “____. Please.”

The salty tang of sweat and the earthy touch of rain in his taste turned on your lewdest instincts, and all you wanted was Sam’s fingers on you. Inside you. Some part of him, any part of him. Your core blazed with an empty, bottomless feeling. You’d put yourself aside to give your all for Sam, but now the pounding neediness of your arousal was too strong to ignore.

You captured Sam by the wrists and brought his hold over your breasts, moaning, “Touch me.”

Sam gave you a wild look. His warm, huge hands sloped around your ribs and tentatively slid up to cup your tits in both palms. It wasn’t a forceful examination. It’s Sam, greedy and turned on, sure, but he’s nothing but gentle with you, squeezing you feather-light and testing the feel of you in his palms.

“I wanna—” Sam groans, going shy, “I wanna bite you. Can I bite you? Not hard, o-or—”

You're grinning before he can finish. “Fuck yeah.”

Sam goes for the closest thing, your jaw, breathing loud and shaky. Whatever it is about the sound that squeaks out of you unlocks some primal urge in him. Sam bites the meat of your shoulder, using just enough teeth to leave a mark. The stinging pressure is soothed immediately by his hot soft tongue in starved little licks. Sam's learned to just take—both of your tits are squeezed in big, calloused Kansas hands as you're nibbled on.

While you’re sucking new red patches into Sam’s spit-soaked throat, he gives himself one last second to soak in the feel of it before he nudges you away.

“Enough. It’s your—god, s’ your turn,” he insists. “C’mon. Let’s get these off. Please.”

Sam pets at your underwear. Wiping the spit from your chin, you tilted back in Sam’s lap, wincing at even that pressure, and thought. “Al-alright. But… but maybe I should start on my back.”

He pouted. “I wanted to—”

“I know,” you shushed, and grinned filthily over his ridiculousness. “I’ll sit on your face, I promise. But it’ll be better if we start this way, okay? You need to crawl before you can walk here, Sammy.”

You expected Sam to be stubborn as usual, since he insisted on proving himself with everything else. Your resolve was so weak-kneed for him that you probably would’ve let him. It was Sam, begging through sex-swollen lips to just let him fuck you with his mouth, which any reasonable person would’ve crumbled for. And your throbbing, neglected core made you more than reasonable. Instead, Sam went out of his way to surprise you for tonight's hundredth time. He wasn’t always stubborn. He could beg for you to suck his dick like no one else. And, he would forever be keeping you on your toes.

Sam kept you sturdy with both unreasonably huge hands clamped around your hips. Then, he turned up onto his knees, dunking you out of his lap and back onto the seat just hard enough to make you bounce. The Impala creaked in protest. When your spine was flat to the black leather, Sam slithered over you and uttered into your ear, sexy and starved:

“It’s Sam.”

You couldn’t help the grin that transformed your face. Or the senseless, merciless throbbing in your panties. Your hair was a mess around your head (or in general) because of him, and with how dark your eyes were, you must’ve looked a few steps away from rabid. Sam did; he panted above you, his seething, ravenous body hanging over yours like an predator over a prey animal. From this angle, the view of him was fucking spectacular. Sam was a wall of taut, sloping muscle covered in all these pretty little freckles. An old pair of jeans hung uselessly on his hips, open at the zipper around an ardent hard-on. Since all of that apparently wasn’t enough, your center was flush right up against it, so when Sam leans forward you feel—all of it, big and warm and iron-hard for you. Just fuck me already, you almost groaned.

You’d barely thought about your own body since Sam’s had captivated you so much, but it was clear he was just as consumed by you. Mouth watering, Sam dropped his hands to frame your ribcage and just looked at you, awed and enamored with what he was seeing. Who he was looking at.

You gazed up at him the exact same way, biting down a mean grin. “Sam, huh.”

He shot you a dark look, which was just hilarious, since he was still looking at you for guidance.

You reached up and slid your fingers into Sam’s damp, lush bangs, stroking them away from the gleaming eyes you loved. You teased, “That’s what you want me to call you when you eat me out, baby? Sam?”

Sam’s lids slid closed. You brushed over his brow with your thumb, maybe enjoying torturing him a bit too much for your own good. His silhouette snaked up to hang over you, and in the dark Sam oozed affection and love.

“My Sam?” You murmured, “That’s what you want me to scream, huh? When you get that pretty mouth between my legs?”

A groan bubbled up from his chest, and Sam poured it into the valley between your breasts. In it was the result of more than an hour’s worth of ruthless, unsatiated teasing, plus at least twelve years spent with a painful crush on you. Before Sam did anything else, he removed his worst enemy from the equation. The skimpy black underwear you had worn were on you and then they weren’t. You opened your mouth to rib him for his haste and Sam was already there, kissing you into the seat so furiously the springs squealed. You squealed too, arching up and finding a broad, heated body layered over your own. The untouched backseat was freezing cold, which was just another reason to soak into Sam and Sam’s touch. Now entirely nude, it was painfully obvious how soaking wet you were. You should’ve been lightheaded with how much slick your body was making for Sam.

“S’ what you’re gonna be screamin’ when I make you cum,” he dared.

You did your best not to let the cartoon hearts floating around your head seem too obvious. “Show me.”

Sam hovered over you then, lips parted and eyes shining. “How do I start?”

“Okay, cowboy,” You adjusted yourself on your back, forgetting to tamp down the euphoric, thrilled energy that had already put you on cloud nine just laying there. You’d tried to put a lot of your own feelings aside for Sam, but now that he wanted them you could only willingly hand them over. “When you’re… doing this for somebody, you should—”

“No, no,” Sam shook his head. His bangs tickled your forehead. “I’m not doing this for somebody, I’m doing this for you.” Wetting his lips, he said, “Talk like it’s for you. Please.”

Your blush was not a horny blush or a drunk one, but a result of your stupid, inescapable crush on him. Holy hell. You might’ve been smiling. “...Okay. Sam. To start, just… kiss me all over. Anywhere you want. You don't always have ta’, but it's the warm-up before the—”

“—other big part?” Sam finished.

You nodded as casually as you could. “Yup.”

Sam raised a dry eyebrow. “Want me to kiss you like you kissed me?”

“You like me that much?” You joked.

Sam’s head tilted, eyes alight. “Oh, mon cher… M’ crazy about you.”

So maybe the two of you had watched too much Addams Family as kids, but if this was the result, you couldn’t mind if you tried. Your pounding heart could’ve burst, you loved him so much.

Sam proved what he said. Bent over you, he lingered for a moment, trying to decide where to start. He ended up in his new favorite place. Drinking you in with low eyes, Sam tipped your faces together and met you with a surging, devouring kiss. Instead of the possessive pawing or the filthy groping you had expected, Sam dragged just his fingertips over the slopes of your curves. The gentleness of it somehow gushed with intensity, so just the slightest touch from him had you hissing with want. His fingers were calloused. They pet from the dip of your collarbones all the way down to your belly button in the most sexually agonizing minute of your life, each inch of flesh enjoyed to the absolute fullest. You rolled your hips up, hoping and praying that he’d drag those fingers further, but Sam didn’t. Again: a quick study.

One long finger tapped the softest part of your belly. “...Can I bite you here?”

“Sammy,” you felt your eyes glaze with desire. “You can do anything you want to me.”

The line he’d drawn on your chest tingled hard enough to send every hair on your body on end, so Sam’s mouth—that hot, wet, gorgeous mouth, made to be between a woman’s legs—was a million times more intense. Sam took his time. He got comfortable, urging your thighs apart with his hips, then dutifully bent to kiss your collarbone. Those maddening hands traced down your ribs, then your belly. He applied just enough pressure to make lines in sand. Sam kissed and caressed you like he was sculpting you right there in the car, squeezing your clay-malleable body for its shape. Again, his soft seeping kisses were improved by needy bites.

You knew that you probably shouldn’t compare, but Sam was… Sam was leaps and bounds more passionate than any other partner you’d ever had. This confirmed it: you were madly in love with him, movie-in-love with him, which might’ve made you a bit biased, but it was true. Sam was fucking awesome. He felt fucking awesome. His soft lips seared down the center seam of your ribs with intent, smushing his nose and chin into your breasts, your belly, licking wide stripes over each hollow and nuzzling his face into you. Other men had done something similar, but none of them were him. So none of them had felt nearly as mind-whiting. Maybe it was because Sam had never done this before, but there was something different in how he went about touching. It wasn’t exactly methodical. He was trying to do a good job, but more than that he was trying to juice some real pleasure out of you. For Sam, the act of eating you out wasn’t an obligation. It was a damn pleasure.

You weren’t sure if you believed all the stuff they said about true love, but man, you hoped it would feel like the first time every time with him. Like it did now.

Sam shuffled forward to give the underside of your chin a brief peck, then turned both his hands onto your tits, kneading and appreciating them until you were making the same noises he’d been making earlier. You're drooling like a camgirl when Sam nuzzles his face between them. His eyes flick up to you once, turning audience into performer, and you're left wriggling and bucking when Sam bites the underside of your breast, crazed with an endless appetite for your skin. He really is a biter.

“So soft,” Sam husked. His eyes flicked up at you from below his bangs, instantly making you clench.

Your laugh tinkled like sleighbells. Your whole body blazed with light and energy in ways you didn’t know you could feel, all of it filling you in surging, boundless waves. And every bit of your reactions were so honest. It made you realize just how often you’d lied during sex, before. You ramped up the little pornographic sounds you thought boys liked, bucked when expected, and closed your eyes more. Sam coaxed those whiny little noises from you anyway. With his face smushed into your breasts and those fawn-brown eyes just craving you, you closing yours would be the dumbest missed opportunity of all time.

“Talk to me,” you gasped. “I love it when you— ah .”

“You’re beautiful,” Sam gushed, like he’d been waiting for permission. He gave your left breast one last kiss, then started to crawl down your body in earnest, shocking your system with anticipation. “So damn pretty. And so soft … Losin’ my damn mind, you’re so good, ____… Gonna fuck you with my mouth. Gonna fuck you so good.”

You whimpered, “Yeah, baby?”

He nodded messily. “Mhm. I’ve thought about it,” he sucked saliva back through his teeth, closing his eyes just to revel in the mounting excitement of it, “all day.”

Then Sam’s plush, wet lips pressed open-mouthed into your stomach, kissing your belly button then the skin below, bumping his teeth on you, making you writhe and mewl. He made all these desperate keening sounds into your flesh as he went. Coupled with his panting and his lips puckering and popping as he kissed you, you knew you were fucking done for. The second that tongue laved over you for the first time you’d be three miles over the edge already.

Now that he was so close to where you wanted, you got your fingers in Sam’s luscious hair and tried to reign yourself back. You were embarrassingly close and Sam hadn’t even kissed you there yet. The space between your legs was so desperate it was sore , this strange, hollow soreness that craved something thick to fill it end-to-end. It was damn evil. You didn’t have to rely on fantasy anymore when it came to what could fill you, but you resisted the urge, knowing exactly what it would do to you. One too-intense thought about Sam’s dick… his huge, filling cock, which had felt so good puffing out your cheeks… inside you, scratching that itch… satisfying that soreness in one great thrust… or a dozen… and you might die. You had to hold out. But Sam Winchester was about to eat you alive, so you stood absolutely no chance.

He waited for his next order. Sam must’ve been truly intent on destroying your psyche, since he scraped his nails around your hips and ass as he did. You couldn’t drag your eyes away from his face. Soft, hazel and mouth-frothingly ravenous, Sam’s gaze raked over you in long and possessive drags.

You suppressed the instinct to squirm with Sam watching you like that, directing, “Spread my legs more, then get them where you’re comfortable.”

He was listening before you’d even finished your sentence, bracing two man-paws over the swell of your thighs and pressing them apart. Wetness cloyed just inches away from his fingers.

“God,” Sam sighed at the sight. He sounded awed, not fully believing his own influence over you: “You’re really, really wet. This whole time…”

You cursed with him, hissing at the freezing air on your exposed pussy. Sam tilted closer and closer to you, drawn in like a magnet, until his hot breath was fanning deliciously close to your core. You choked down a second hiss, wetting your grinning lips, “Yeah. I’ve been half-soaked since this afternoon.”

Sam’s eyes lit up with his scoff, delighted yet sympathetic. “Why? That’s almost half a day.”

“At the laundromat,” you confessed, “n’ we were washin’ everything… you just had that stupid thin t-shirt on and your jeans were so low I knew you weren’t wearing anything under em’… I wanted you to fuck me so bad , Sam, right then and there on the machines. Drag down my leggings and just wail on me…”

Sam’s patchy blush returned in full force. He ducked his head, huffed a breath in disbelief, and pretended he wasn’t entertaining the idea just as thoroughly. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you aren’t?” You snickered. You flopped backward, hair splayed out behind you and your hands lounging beside your face. “You can’t share a bed with me without practically shoving my hands down your pants, Sammy.”

“It was under my shirt,” he corrected, pinching the meat of your thigh where it was hooked around his. “And—it’s Sam .”

Even that felt shamefully good. You ground into the touch and played up an erotic moan for him, and of course, grinned like an asshole the whole time. “Mmmn, Sam . You don’t know what it does t’ me when you get all demanding.”

Sam dragged in a deep, sucking breath through his nose that almost failed to keep his restraint in check. His palm passed over his bulge in thought, instantly loading you with a truckload of adrenaline. Jesus—like a dog with the dinner bell. Instead of giving up and drilling you into the seats like a part of you wanted right now , Sam’s hands nudged your thighs apart again, patient, and spread your pussy open with his thumbs.

“Jesus fuck , Sam,” you choked.

“You’re so pretty down here.” Sam sounded amused. He makes pretty sound like purty .

“Thank you,” you panted, and somehow kept yourself from shoving Sam’s face where he was staring. “Okay. Okay. When you’re… doing this for a girl—” Sam’s eyebrow raised. “When you’re eating me out, there’s a couple places where it’s gonna feel really good. Like really good. That’s where you need to aim. I know all the tricks, so listen closely.”

Sam nodded, 100% serious. Because of course he was. Your chest felt like it was stuffed full of whizzing sparklers when you held eye-contact, and they went off all at once when Sam neared his face to your sobbing core. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. You realized you couldn’t explain it well enough with words alone, so you brought your hand off the seat and slid it between your legs. A pleased sound jumped out of Sam’s throat. And shit, did all that attention—your finger sliding over yourself, Sam’s thumbs parting you for him to see, and his focus rapt on your cunt—feel fucking great .

Wetting your lips and bracing yourself, you shyly found Sam’s thumb and pressed the blunt of it against your clit. “Right— oh , right here,” you panted.

You guided him around each part, explaining to him through clenched teeth and a little bit of humor. Sam was nothing but a devout student. You couldn’t lie to yourself: it drove you fucking insane, how dedicated Sam was to knowing how to make you feel good. It was so strange but so him—his brow furrowed and his eyes sharpened the way they always did when he was truly absorbing something, listening to you walk him through licking you open. He hung on your every word, storing the knowledge beside his laundry list of demonic omens or hexbag herbs. You were crazy for him. He was crazy.

“...and brace your hand right here when you’re ready.” You modeled for him where to place his palm, right on the height of your pelvic bone. “I might wiggle around, so you might have to—”

Sam was way ahead of you. He snuggled up between your legs, saddled the one closest to the backrest over his shoulder, and hugged that thigh against him. Then the whole breadth of his left palm clamped down on your twitching belly exactly where you’d directed, pinning you to the spot. You yelped. Sam’s smoldering cheek smushed into your inner thigh, and he simpered at you from his new comfortable nest. He blinked slowly on purpose, a cat expressing its love. After all the filth that you’d heard from him, nothing could change your mind that he was the sweetest, most basic definition of goodness there was.

Sam watched you with hungry, devouring eyes, and felt lust pulse in his cock when you smirked down at him. Your dark eyes glittered with challenge and fondness. “Samuel…” you warned.

“Shh,” he said, and did what he’d always wanted to do.

The first kiss of Sam’s mouth to your weeping pussy is… it is…

Your entire body pulls together, thread pulling two pieces of cloth into a single seam, toes curling, fingers knotting, jaw dropped, belly twitching, and back snapping up. The slow open-mouthed kiss finds a little suction around your clit, flooding Sam’s tongue for the first time. He basks in you—in your taste, your reaction. An onslaught of pure enjoyment envelops him, drinking you down. Sam’s brows furrowed up in ecstasy, and the bastard actually grinned into your cunt, satisfaction pouring off him in waves. You watched him and those low eyes watched you, already spellbound. This strange brand of utter happiness consumed his gaze, devouring you with his eyes—and you realize with burning heat crawling up your body that Sam just loved to watch you. He wanted to watch you squirm and twist up into him. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, just so he could feel the effect he had on you in real time. Your pussy sobs in bliss, pulsing and pulsing under painfully soft kisses.

“No wonder you’re so wet,” Sam rasps, “you’re already close, aren’t you?”

You conceded with a pathetic nod, breathing hard.

“All this just from blowing me…” Sam smirks.

That smirk opens up, and so do you—two licks and you’re his, all his, giving yourself over to him completely. Sam accepts you at his own pace. The abused blunts of his free fingertips just barely ghost over your open, trembling thigh, bewitching every cell in your legs. Somehow, the lighter he pets you the more intensely you feel it. Perfect ghostly tingles sizzle hot under your skin—the flesh of your pelvic bone, your core, following Sam’s touch. He’s examining you. Feeling you out. You realize that nobody’s taught him how to activate that sensory secret, so Sam is doing it purely because he wants to.

There’s a dim thought in your mind that the backseat of the Impala is pretty cramped with Sam bent over you like this, so you try to squirm back to give his poor legs some room. Your head doesn’t even glimpse the armrest. There’s a flash of vieny hands and a black jelly bracelet, then you’re ripped forward by both thighs down into Sam’s blazing hot mouth again.

“Sam!” You squeal a laugh. “Haha—ah, oh… ”

Sam remained devoted to your clit, kissing it with the same passion he kissed you. At first he seemed hesitant to go where his intuition was taking him, but you’d made it more than clear that his intuition could fuck you six ways to Sunday if he wanted, so Sam went with his gut. Now, with both of your thighs wrapped around his head, he was truly in his happy place.

Letting his mouth slip open, Sam splayed his tongue and shook his face back and forth between your legs. Your moans were helplessly involuntary. The sight of him alone was enough to make you question how real this was, but the pulses of slippery pressure surging up your cunt confirmed it. Some creature on your last hunt hadn’t missed their chance—meaning this, your highlight reel of reserve Sam fantasies, was your heaven. Sounded about right. You dragged your heavy head off the seat long enough to look at him, only to clench so hard that even Sam felt it. He beamed. Fuck, he was gorgeous. And Sam only looked prettier with your slick drooling down his chin like that.

He was so fucking good. So good. Inexperience be damned, this boy could fucking eat . Even better, he fucked you into a nice, warm, sloppy mess and gorged blatantly on the sight of you the whole time.

When you mewled and begged, when your back cinched up, when your breasts rolled with your heaving breaths, Sam drunk you in. You were so sweaty that the two of you were sliding on the seats and you probably looked as pleasantly manhandled as you felt, but Sam loved it. Craved it. His eyes were glittering black slits beneath his bangs, just rushing with lust and overwhelming devotion. Laying in that backseat, you were the hottest woman alive—a statue of Venus come to life, plush, naked skin and all—because it was written all over Sam’s taste-drunk face.

You couldn’t resist stroking your fingers through his sweaty, rain-curled hair, and Sam followed the motion to push a tender kiss into your clit.

Again, his strong, worn hands slid down to cup around the round bottom of your thighs so he could spread you with his thumbs. Sam made a gratified sound in the back of his throat. For a long time he just stared down at your open folds framed by his thick fingers, watching his spit sink into you and getting redder and redder by the second. This was what you meant, thinking his inexperience added something special to this. He had so little reference for what to do, so he acted on craving and instinct alone. And if his instinct was to slot his tongue into you and moan loud enough to shake the car at your taste, then… well…

“Soaking,” he muttered. Sam’s low, dark eyes glittered up at you, “You loved blowing me, didn't you?”

“I do,” you panted.

Sam brought your knees around the back of his head, then rasped: “Tell me how much.”

Perv. You tried to come up with something to say. Something more sexy than revealing, but it was impossible to think, breathe, or talk when Sam started flickering the tip of his tongue over your clit until his jaw was sore. What drools out of your mouth ends up sounding needy and clingy and possessive:

“I love sucking your dick, baby. F-felt so good… so good and big filling up my mouth, pressing into my cheeks… Chokin’ and gaggin’ on it… God. Fucking fuck , Sammy—”

He pinches both your thighs in one mean singe, but his eyes gleam with playfulness.

“— Sam! ” You correct yourself.

Satisfied, he resumes, nudging the long point of his nose into you just for the fun of it. Sam keeps tossing his head back and forth to feel your thighs around his face, and more than once he uses you as earmuffs to thrive in the crushing softness. You know Sam isn’t trying to coax any confessions out of you. All he wants is to make you feel good. But love glows from his eyes and his mouth and his hands. Sam full-on snarls with relish when you squeeze your knees and ankles together behind his head, so he could get anything out of you right now. All he’d have to do is ask: and you would answer in a heartbeat.

“I’m so… oh, fuck fuck fuck—m’ so happy m’ the only girl who’s blown you, Sam… I wanna be the only girl, I wanna be your only girl…”

Sam’s mouth pops off you in shock. He’s the prettiest silhouette, all gleaming spit-white outlines and red-patched shadows. Real horror drops like a rock into your stomach. Shit. You’d read into all of this wrong. Sam just wanted someone he could trust to do this for him, not some idiot crying over him for closeness.

He catches his breath.

“You can be,” Sam croaks, sweetly. “Y-you are.”

Happiness explodes in your chest, but you don’t trust it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He slides up your body all of a sudden, long limbs and bull-wide chest coming to hang over you. A big, dimply smile smushes into your cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Just like that. Oh my fucking god.

“I’m your girl?” You repeat, feeling stupid and crazily, madly, obsessively, fatally in love with him at the same time. He’s sober. He’s saying it to you like he means it. Definitely a heaven fantasy.

“Not like… you know. Mine . I don’t own you,” Sam flushes into your neck. He’s so shy . “But. Yeah, mine. My girl. If you… want that.”

You feel the dark car get darker, bathed in quiet, sacred night, so all you have left to see him by is your hands. Sam is miles of smooth, warm skin that smells of a buttery home that nobody could ever take from you. When you relax your legs by his hips and hug him against you, Sam drizzles himself over you like oil in a hot pan. He’s careful not to hurt you so the weight is nothing but good. You both linger there, pressing the tension and anxiety out of each other. His hard-on is trapped between your hips and his jeans, but instead of it being just arousing, there’s an element of plain intimacy there that you suddenly love. Sam’s close to you and you’re close to him. Maybe you’re as touch-starved as he is, because you’re just as quick to slide your naked belly flat to his and get your hands on him. It’s hard to pet someone all over and hide how in love with them you are at the same time, and you’re plain awful at it. Sam too.

“M’ all yours,” you find yourself saying, in disbelief. “You know that.”

Sam does that little breathless laugh you’re pretty sure you’re gonna hear a million times in those seven minutes before you die. He makes a soft rumbling sound as he rises onto all fours again, flushing all the blood in your body back between your legs. The blunt pad of his thumb brushes down to stir your clit, so you’re already pliant and boneless for him when Sam melts down to kiss your whining mouth. It’s a soft and open and wanting kiss, like usual, but you both linger in it for so long that it feels like the first time all over again.

You come out of the kiss giddy, over-teased, and flustered beyond your wildest imagination, so you blurt the first obscene thought that comes to mind. Just to throw him off, per routine.

Pushing your hips into his agonizingly slow touch, you purr, “You gonna fuck me, Sam?”

Sam blinks down at you, serene, and doesn’t change pace. He keeps one lazy hand attending to your sobbing, desperate clit. “Mn-mn,” he shakes his head, and there it is—the patented Winchester panty-dropping smirk, 100% effectiveness guaranteed. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

It is embarrassing enough how hard you throb at a promise so sentimental, so it’s downright mortifying that molten-hot butterflies explode through your crush-pumped body at the sureness in Sam’s face. Not fuck. He’s not going to fuck you—it’s clear in his eyes and the slow circle of his thumb how all that’s for later. Sam’s going to make love to you, because apparently he’s from the fucking fifties, and oh my god, he’s in love with you and he actually means it and you’ve been stupidly calling all of this a game.

Shyer than you’d ever been in your life, you murmured around a cheek-aching smile, “...I think I really want that.”

“So she can be shy with me.”

You gave his shoulder a playful little smack, which just spurs Sam into giving you the hottest, smuggest glare he can manage. With his big, rough thumb keeping you sensitive literally anything he does is fuckin’ life-alert worthy. It’s almost getting to be too much, and it shows in how you squirm into his hand harder than before. Sam coos.

“You’ll have to wait a bit to have me that way,” he apologizes, like that’s something to apologize for. “I still want you on my face.”

“M’ not gonna make it,” you swallow. Just the coarseness of his voice brings you closer. “Sam. It feels—nnngh. I-I’m not gonna…”

“Then I’ll make you cum twice,” he says, simply, and how were girls not crawling all fucking over him everywhere you went?

Sam replaces his thumb with his mouth, but not before sucking off your wetness like it’s melted ice cream. He is full of millions of these soft, tender, greedy urges he’s all too eager to chase, and it is stupid-hot.

Sam indulged one of those urges, pulling your folds open with his thumbs and filling them with his tongue. You shrieked. A happy hum sighed out of him. He was an excellent kisser, but, like always, he was even better for you, slurping and licking until you’re lightheaded. The delicious tension in your body ratcheted up and up toward that white-hot end, tearing straight for it on rumbling racecar wheels. Sam drew circles around your pulsing clit with his velvet tongue, then surged it hard into your weeping center, satisfying, for just an instant, the unforgiving emptiness there. Shit. Now he really knew where you wanted him. A long, savage whine hissed out of you. Fucking hell.

“Oh my god, please , Sam. More, please please please. Fucking—”

Your toes curled into Sam’s bow-taut back. He smushed himself in even harder, nuzzling his nose into you, stirring the bulb around your clit and god , tongue-fucking you in earnest. It was—holy shit, holy fucking shit, you couldn’t even think. All your body knew was open: your legs, for Sam, your body, for Sam, and your pride. You wailed and sobbed like no other man had ever made you before, reduced to shameless pleasure-drowned scraps. Every fiber of your useless, pliant form was heaved toward the center of the universe where your body met his, the black hole, the singularity, back bent, toes and fingers curled to a snapping point, Sam’s mouth oh god his fucking mouth —

“Tell me you’re mine,” Sam begged, licking and licking and licking until you couldn't think, “ Tell me .”

“I’m yours Sam m’ all yours m’ all fuckin’ yours—”

You were his. You came in great, crashing, seizing waves that rippled hot and harmoniously through your entire body, from the curled tips of your toes to your tingling scalp, so intensely—because you were Sam’s, Sam wanted you, he loved you—that you felt dangled over the most thrilling brink of your life. You’d cum enough times in your life to know it wasn’t possible to feel this good—slippery velvet heat good, oh god his mouth good—so it had to be some kind of magic, something close to death, to heaven, and Sam had killed you. If that was what was happening outside the planet-wide fireworks show sizzling and popping behind your closed eyes, you’d have everything you’d ever wanted and more. Sam keeps lapping between your legs a-and what a way to go it is, because you know, instantly, that no other man could even nudge you in the direction of the orgasm Sam had just brought you through. No one else could ever compare. The moment when it all will slow, you’re sure that you’re never going to be the same person again. You’re his. The words sing through your whole fizzing, flashing spirit.

After what felt like hours of delicious, mind-blowing, heart-stealing pleasure, you curled back into the ice-cold relief of the Impala’s leather and gasped for your life.

Sam was still going. His tongue never stopped, scooping in to taste the fruit of his labor. He slurped your orgasm down like he’d been chasing your peak just as fervently as you had, like it was his favorite part of his fantasies and the real slippery wetness of it was a million times better. You keened. Sam persisted. You squirmed away, groaning at the overload of soft tongue and deep hot breaths on your core. Your sex wept for mercy. Sam had reduced you to a weeping, twitching, floundering mess, yet he still wanted more—and you were dying to give it to him, but it was too much to o much too m—

“Sam,” you choked.

It took a push to the face to get through to him, and even then, Sam retreated with a soft mournful sigh. Jesus. He was obsessed with you. You wanted this, him, the aftertaste of him in your mouth, to never fade. So the feeling is definitely mutual.

The air in the Impala cloyed with sticky sweet warmth, coating the windows and the seat with the smell of you and him. Your throat ached from hoarse moaning. Slowly, your soul started to sink back into your body, reminding you again of your situation. A tacky layer of sweat clung to your skin. Your toes and your belly and the muscles of your legs were raw from clenching so hard, and Sam was blowing hot breaths across your tummy as he gathered himself. His damp hair tickled your hip and jesus , your slick was all over his face, smeared down his chin and his nose and his lips most of all. You realized that happy tears had made tracks down your temples. Sam must’ve realized this too, because he rushed to peel himself off your soaked and sticky inner thigh to scoop you up.

“Honey…” he cooed.

You reached out for him and Sam lifted you up himself, completely changing the bloodflow in your body by seating you on his lap. His whole figure was blazing hot, and watching you cum because of him was definitely not helping him cool off. It was an emotional orgasm as much as it was a physical one, so nothing stopped you from rolling your fingers through his floppy bangs or burning kisses into his grin or digging your nails into his firm back. You could feel the raised scratch marks there, bright red and drawn like wing scars down his shoulder-blades. His skin felt ridiculously nice smushed around your own, and Sam was so big and huggable that you disappear in his arms.

“You did so good , Sam,” you croaked, and didn’t bother to wait until you’re not kissing him to talk. “So good. So fuckin’ good. Never came fucking harder in my entire life —” you seared a kiss into his pink mouth, “—holy—” another, “—fucking—” and a third, even deeper, “—shit.”

Sam met you halfway for each, but the moment your assault was over, one big hand supported your jaw as he plants a sweet, slow, sappy one on you that makes you wonder just how necessary condoms are, anyway. He’s laughing to himself the whole time, gleaming with mole-speckled pride.

Draped in his arms like a damsel, you drawled, “You’re a damn natural.”

“You know that after one round?” Sam smirked. He was all too aware that his lips were all glossy from tongue-fucking you, and he licked them without shame when he offered, “I dunno. Maybe I should give it a second go, just to be sure. What do you think?”

Your pussy is raw with millions of zinging overstimulated pulses, but the question buries you under a cement truck’s worth of pure want.

“...Mmm, I guess you’re right. Better get a bigger testing pool here, Sammy.”

The force of your high is still pulsing in your core, so when Sam growls at you through a laugh, bangs astray, drops onto his back and snaps those man-paws you love around your waist, you throb hard enough to stop your heart. Sam’s hands are beautiful and sinewy in all the right ways, so you can’t help but submit when they, coupled with Sam’s arms, bodily haul you onto his face. You pant, giggle, and try not to crash face-first through the window by catching yourself on the armrest. Sam helps to brace you with a hand curled around your hip and another surged up the flat of your back.

Your thighs aren’t even settled on your calves when his tongue slips into the clutch of your pussy again. The squeal that shocks out of you makes Sam chuckle. (Which you feel up close and personal). His first suckling kisses are so perfect, you swear you could split the leather armrest with your nails. Tense overstimulation ratchets your cramped limbs to a snapping point, until Sam’s insistent lapping draws you… slowly… into rampant pleasure. Your joints melt into the inside-going-out burn just under your skin. All your worries about choking him dissolve like salt into water; the next rapid flicks of his tongue underline in red, please don’t be gentle .

And fuck, does he look sexy suffocated by your cunt like that. Your thighs swell around his face so prettily, and he’s already so invested that you can’t see his mouth or nose—just feel them all wedged up against you. He closes his eyes to savor that first taste of you again, giving you a flash of soft dark lashes on cheeks flushed hot enough to melt ice. His happy groan vibrates right to your core. Sam is already intimately educated in ways to drive you crazy, so he returns to them straight away. He licks you soft between your folds then darts his tongue hard into your center. If he wants to make you gasp a certain way, he knows where to lay open-mouthed kisses. But above all else, Sam fucks your clit good and sloppy, whorling and flicking his tongue in all the right ways. There's a dim, pussy-throbbing idea in your mind that if this is Sam on round two, you hope you survive this to see round fifty. Or round one hundred. Fuck. You were his.

Silently, you pray to the universe that someone won’t walk past and think you’re being murdered. Heavenly, loudly, hands-to-the-glass murdered.

You burst into tears, it’s so hot all at once. There are big hands kneading you all over and lips sealing warm and familiar around your clit right away—it’s fucking maddening. Dots start to fuzz in the ends of your vision.

Hoarse, you plead, “H-holy, holy fuck, Sammy, please.”

“So sensitive for me,” he hushes. It’s more than true; he parts your soaking folds with one big lave of his tongue, instantly making you sob.

When you’re not being eaten out like a four-course meal, you’re a tough, unshakable hunter, so all this whining desperation makes you yearn for a bit of leverage. Scrambling for something to say that will affect Sam how he’s affecting you, you hiss through a sultry moan and look him straight in the eyes: “Imagine how sensitive I'll be on your cock, Sam.”

Sam smiles dirtily. “I have been.”

An unbidden mewl seeps from your mouth just hearing that, confirming, once and for all, that you’re done for. It's half a moan of pleasure and half a moan of indignation. Of course Sam is better at this than you already. Of course he, of all people, can make you miserably horny with just one sly smile. Fuck him. Hopefully.

For your own survival, your brain filters out everything but him for just an instant. Your own fiery arousal fades to background noise, so you’re left swamped by the sight of him, lips puffy from kissing, his chin glittering, his brow furrowed into cute little creases, the light playing on the low slits of his green-brown-whiskey eyes. Nothing but bliss glowed from his face. Two coarse palms surge down on your trembling hips, pushing your pussy onto Sam’s velvet-wet mouth. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to. He has to be an angel, because these feelings gushing from your vessel are too good to contain or understand.

It was so fucking much but somehow, to your most primal instincts, it’s not enough. Dire need exploded through your every pore. You forgot about holding yourself up straight and root both hands into Sam’s thick, sweaty hair, flushing your blazing cheek and nose against the cold window in the process. Hoarse, ragged moans poured from your mouth. The instant you started to roll across his face, a harsh, lewd noise escaped Sam and he followed those magnificent instincts straight to your next climax. His lips parted and then his whole mouth splayed open, giving you something to rock properly against. Take it, his eyes urged. Take what you want from me.

You do. You roll and grind on his tongue until your pulse is throbbing in your cheeks and echoing in your ears, until Sam’s fingers are bruising your thighs, until he’s just as wild-eyed and lust-crazed as you are, chasing the circle of your hips. Looking down, all the pictures and white noise floating around your mind coalesce into the realization that you’re riding Sam Winchester’s face. A flood of heat burns through your sopping core. If he’d made a mess of you before, then you made the same of him now, your bodies meeting with obscene shlicks and slurps that Sam revels in. He groans like an animal with each slide, only adding to the filthy music.

“ C’mon,” Sam swallows.

The next peak comes even faster than the last, slamming your accelerator hard, tearing faster, faster, faster through you, the dial inside you climbing higher with every mewling breath. And just like before, you’re brought to a place that no other man could even hope to take you. Your sobs were interrupted by a sharp gasp of pleasure. Sam is big, safe, enveloping arms and loving hands and fuck—fucking hell, that perfect tongue, just as wet as your sex, flickering so fast over your clit you swear he’s vibrating. Y-you can’t… god, you can’t even think. You’re so close, so close—so close for Sam, fucking fuck—

“—am Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam please please Sam please— ”

Just as that thrilling rush of throbbing, ecstatic pressure punches through you, Sam takes over, riding you through it. He coasts your hips over his face, sealing his mouth around you and just going for it. Your mind—explodes, just as sweetly as the first time. It does always feel like the first time with him. With Sam taking care of you, your hands scramble for purchase on the sex-fogged window but miss terribly and you end up flushed to it by the forearms, huffing brainless, helpless, wordless nothings into the glass. Your thighs quake, your toes curl, your hips ache, every molecule of tissue in your feeble body surged toward him in ecstasy. Perfect rippling pulses hammered between your legs. You were there.

“Sam,” you sobbed, “Oh god, Sam.”

You came with a voiceless wail. Sam was still his insatiable self, drinking up your slick until you’re squirming and spent. He learned to let you go eventually, as much as it dissapointed him. When he does you feel the outline of huge handprints bruised into your hips, and combined with everything else, with the sticky spit in the creases of your thighs, with being in love with him, you knew if you looked him in the eye right then you could cum all over again.

You do anyway. Sam is already smiling up at you, sex-dazed and shining with spit. There’s so much of it—that special concoction of your slick and his saliva—that it drools down his neck and glitters on his cheeks. He sucks your taste off his swollen lip like it’s the last cool drink of water he’ll ever have. Your fingers had made his hair into a crazy, sultry mess, and behind his bangs, his dark eyes are charged with something hot and powerful. To make matters worse, Sam knows how devastatingly sexy he looks. Between sharp gasps for air, he swirls his tongue across his chin to get another taste of you, and when you’re sitting thick and good in his mouth, the fucker grins. A sly, unsubtle grin. This is everything he’d ever fantasized about.

He’s gonna be the fucking end of you. God.

“You did so good,” Sam murmurs, like you’d been the one to dig in and do all the intense, mind-whiting work. He swallows. ‘Cause he’s only on round two, and nothing in this world could slow Sam Winchester down.

Holy fucking shit. You pressed your forearms into the stinging-cold window to remind yourself that all this was real, then made an attempt to roll off him. It ends before it even starts.

Sam, your quick study, realizes that he’s fucked your legs numb, and helps you unsaddle his face—not before stealing one last kiss between your legs, though. A thready cry squeaks out of you. He coos you through it, and knowing Sam, he is more than willing to have you again, so you’re only half-surprised when he guides you to lay down beside him instead. Big, sweet hands thread through your hair. Sam’s sex-rasped voice satisfies the greatest itch in your mind, and you can hear it through his chest where your cheek is lazily smushed on his skin. Without looking you know that those lanky legs are bent up uncomfortably against the opposite door, so you scooch up and roll Sam onto his side to face you. Because he’s still sensitive, considerate Sam, who can apparently eat pussy for ages, he tries not to suffocate you between him and the seat. You really want him to. After a bit of lazy adjusting and prying your hot skin off the leather bench, you’re sandwiched happily just like that.

And while you’ve shared a bed with Sam before, not once had you even had a taste of what it’s like to snuggle with him. No gap is spared when he closes in, so you’re pressed together in every possible way—your belly against his toned stomach, your face into his cheek, your legs smoothed between his. There’s so much skin and muscle and Sam that you just drown in it. The best part of it is easily his arms. You don’t remember how Sam got one smushed around your head, but his bicep is the perfect pillow and his hand curls around to run his fingers down the side of your neck. His other arm has you in a comfortable vice, hooked around your waist, and for no reason at all his palm comes up to spread between your shoulder blades. Just one of his hands feels like it could cover your entire back. Fucked out as you are, just the notion makes your core feel tight and hot.

Your first dose of clarity after Sam has tongue-fucked you into not one, but two full-body orgasms, drops the most glorious realization on you of all fucking time: all that? All, what? Two hours of being all over each other? That was just the fucking foreplay.

Into your cheek, Sam whispers, “Th’nk you. M’ real glad it was you, _____.” His whole body swells up with easy happiness, and he teases in a sigh, “My girl…”

Your mind floats back into your body as he says this to you, soft and loving in your ear. Sam keeps going, mumbling about how much he appreciates you, how grateful he is that you’re his first time, and all you can do to keep yourself from blurting out three dangerous words to him is kiss him. Sam moans. You get your fingers into his hair and sear your lips to his, over and over again until Sam’s tilting so far into it that he’s half on top of you. Each kiss is barely a kiss at all, open-mouthed and mostly tongue. It was your turn to be a quick study: when his need for air hits a breaking point, you let him go and drag your tongue from his chin to his jaw, tasting yourself on him with a giddy moan.

Sam stutters your name.

“Too fuckin’ good to me, sweetheart,” you curse, hoarse, “Can’t even—nngh, can’t even think, you made me cum so good.”

Sam hums. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. So fuckin’ good,” you repeat. Riding a wave of possessive desire, you plant a sloppy kiss on him and gush, “You’re all mine. Gonna hoard you like gold, Sammy.” Cupping his jaw in your palm, you hiss for the second time, “Wanna be the only girl you fuck like this,” you pop off his mouth to gasp, “wanna shout in the fuckin’ street that I took your virginity.”

He starts laughing, which dissolves into a deep, bassy moan when Sam meets your next kiss. Coy, he grumbles behind a smile, “Haven’t taken it yet.”

You slither the flats of your hands down on his chest, which is a bit of a squeeze, but feeling the heft of his pecs in each palm is easily worth it. “Then get on your damn back already so I can ride you til’ I pass out.”

Sam groans at the thought. “You’re so vulgar,” he blushes.

“Sammy,” you say near his face, smirking. “You’ve got no idea the kind of dirty shit I’m keeping myself from saying right now.”

His face makes an interesting journey from horny to hornier. “...Well. C’mon. Don’t leave it to my imagination.”

That invitation just begs for you to drool out every disconnected filthy thought you’ve ever had of him in the past year. A buzz of embarrassment seats itself in your gut, but it sits in the skyscraper shadow of your post-three-orgasm arousal, which conquers everything in a hundred-mile radius. You’re easily convinced.

“I’ve had the stupidest, biggest crush on you for the longest time, Sam,” you said. “And since you’ve got back from Stanford, s’ gotten a million times worse. Half the reason m’ so fuckin’ turned on right now is because this is you, not anyone else. Every time I’ve touched myself in the past year, I’ve thought of you, of that fuckin’ horsecock in your pants, of you splitting me open til’ I’m ruined for any other man. I wanna fuck you so hard that we break the shocks on the car and have to explain it to your brother. Wanna fuck you so hard we pass out. But the dumbest, hottest part of it all is that you don’t want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, and I’d totally let you just cause’ you’re you.”

He sucks in a breath.

Sam covers his face, eyes gleaming with love and boiling hot flattery, “You’re—y-you’re shameless.”

You’re kissed so hard that you think you see stars. In agreement, you sigh, and Sam swallows that too, his kiss wet and devouring. “I love it,” he swears.

Sex should be a pretty passionate activity, but Sam turns it into something beyond. He reduces your body to it’s rawest, most honest instincts, so it’s more than easy to lay out all your feelings on a platter for him. A set of calloused fingers splay around the hinge of your jaw, and Sam’s thumb pushes up your chin so he can take his time with you. The jet-engine lust pumping into the kiss slows. He takes it somewhere else, somewhere you’ve never been with anyone before. Sam punctuates his ragged breathing with sweet, chaste kisses, dipping his head so your lips brush together feather-light, your noses bumping.

“In fact, ‘got a big crush on you too, pretty girl,” Sam husks. His fawn-brown eyes are blown black, like a doe’s. “...You wanna see what I do for the women I crush on?”

Your cheeks hurt from sly smiling. “Funny. You Winchesters think you’re so clever—”

His hand scrambles across your back, cupping your ribs, then skipping all pretense and shooting straight for the bend of your knee. You assume he’s just aiming to get you closer when he needily jerks your leg over his hip—then the full shape of Sam’s thick, panty-dropping hard-on grinds between your legs, crystal-hard and eager in his boxers.

“Sam!” You squeal.

He’s harder than a guy has ever been for you, and so, so much bigger. Sam’s dick makes a huge, handsome outline in his ridiculously tight jeans.

“Can’t wait any longer,” Sam confesses, shaking all over with restraint, “want you—now. Right now. Please—_____—please please please—”

That desperate, gluttonous emptiness from before rules over you again, and your brain is so fucked out and needy and desperate already that just the thought rearranges the atoms in your body. Having Sam inside you. Before, it was just some fantasy—pasting a Sam mask over sensations that other people had given you. But Sam wasn’t the guy who’d taken your virginity or the others that’d followed. Regardless if it’s the same equation as always, it will be Sam pounding you into the seat and it’ll be Sam losing the rhythm of his thrusts as he cums inside you. He’ll make the prettiest noises buried in you to the hilt. He’ll fuck you—make love to you—good and right. The emptiness in your core is so all-consuming that your muscles twitch and tremble of their own accord, and only Sam, your Sam, could fix that.

The hand by your face gathers your hair out of your eyes and groups it in one fist, not quite pulling, but holding, as Sam starts to saw himself against you recklessly. “Can I?” He slathers your abused throat with kisses, “Please, _____ please can I—?”

“Fuck yes,” you gasp, sinking your nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sammy, baby, god fucking drill me through the seat—”

“Show me how,” Sam demands, wiped of all shame, and holy mary mother of fucking god is it the sexiest thing he’s ever said.

You order him onto his back, and Sam, your dutiful student, immediately listens. He adjusts so his head is propped up on the armrest, reminding you of his fixation with watching you during sex. Each new thing you discover about Sam’s sexual tendencies flies straight into a special locker in your mind, safe where you can (hopefully) revisit them. He’s a whiny, noisy bed partner. His appetite for cunnilingus is bottomless. He feels even bigger than he looks, especially when you wobble up into a kneel on either side of his shuddering thighs.

“Gonna ride you,” you tell him, swallowing down the rush of drool that follows the idea. “You're gonna hold my hips to keep me steady, ‘kay? Pull n’ push with me.”

The thought of any pushing or pulling at all in your position makes something deep in your hollow gut blaze. Twitching with desire, Sam nods. His palms have this coarseness from labor that feels way too sexy on your waist.

Sam squirms under your shadow. His legs are too long to lay vertically along the seat, so they prop up a bit behind you to give your back a comfortable rest. Sam’s blush has graduated in rosy patches down his neck, and holy shit you’d almost forgotten about the freckles underneath. They’re sprinkled all around Sam’s big, trusting doe-eyes and spiral down the center seam of his body. If you think about Sam’s muscles—the miles of tension-squeezed abs and corded ribs, the… fuck, the heavy rise and fall of his pecs… and just… everything, you’ll probably forget a couple of important phone numbers. His chest is peppered with moles too. But in the process of riding his face and sucking his dick, you’d painted Sam’s whole torso with pinkened nail marks. They’re scratched down his abs and pressed in little crescents along his hips. His back being flat to the seat means nothing. Some of the lines there, the epicenter of your marks, creep over his shoulders. No wonder he looks so pleasantly lovesick. You’d really made it clear that he was yours.

He outlines one precious keepsake with his finger as you hang over him. It feels good, being in control again. You’d forgotten Sam was a virgin, since God didn’t give skilled mouths like his to just anybody.

Balancing yourself with a hand on the ceiling, you throw him your sexiest grin and wiggle your hips for him, “I look pretty like this?”

“As a picture,” Sam rasps, fondly.

“Hold that picture in your mind a second, then.”

Halfway between awkwardly bending over the front seat to dig around for the condoms Dean must keep in here, you realize how unsexy you probably look. Then one of Sam’s hands drops onto your thigh, lazily hooked around it for no reason other than to touch you, and you stop worrying altogether about any problem you've ever had.

“Holding…” Sam murmurs, tapping your leg.

After a bit of fishing around the glovebox, you uncover an untouched condom. You turn the wrapper over in your hand, checking it for punctures, and once you’re sure it’s safe, your libido shoves your brain aside and takes the wheel.

You could be sexy about it. You could pounce low on him, ass in the air, and take your time pulling his jeans off til’ he’s truly starving for it. But Sam already is—he’s so desperate to feel you that he keeps rasping it, over and over. Please _____ inside please please, he chokes. Hours and hours of his sweet soft pleading has made you just as rabid, so you tear the condom open with your teeth and jerk his jeans and boxers down in one tug. Your free hand is trembling so hard that you’re thankful Sam lifts his hips to help. His cock slips free and arcs up toward his navel. It’s flushed and handsome, just like before, and seeing it instantly makes the ache in your core fucking starve. The itch crawls within you, fierce with need.

Sam takes one look at you eyeing his cock like that and drags you down to steal a dizzying kiss. His hand covers the whole back of your neck. You get one deep, shattering taste of him before you’re reminded how insanely lucky you are.

“M’ not gonna last, seein’ you on me like this,” he warns the second his lips pop off yours, “Please, _____—”

“Shh, baby,” you soothe. Sam lets you push yourself up again. “Let me go first. I promise you’ll get your chance. Just enjoy yourself, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

Sam slumps back, relieved. His hands slump similarly on your thighs, wasted by exertion, but his eyes gleam with trust and humor and lust in ways that you’ll never forget. The familiar sparks of a Sam rush roll through you, happily married to feelings so new they’re still pounding hard through your chest. He’s gazing up at you and all you can think on loop is, I’m his girl. I’m his girl cause’ he wants me to be his, cause’ he’s thought about it before, wanted me before.

Your legs are jelly. But you’ve never needed anything more than you’ve needed him right now, so you haul yourself up onto your shuddering knees, notch the condom around Sam’s flushed head, and drag it down with you as you saddle him—

—filling yourself with Sam’s cock.

You’re so wet and so needy for him that you just slip right on, almost to the hilt. You settle on him completely when your fucking legs give out. Because. Holy shit. Holy fuck—fucking. God. Holy fucking shit.

Sam’s ragged chant of your name becomes a belly-deep groan.

Stars spin behind your eyes. Jesus, it’s a stretch, but he more than prepared you for it. The pressure is too blinding for you to blink your spotting vision clear. You’re thrust full-throttle into your other senses instead, which are flooded with nothing but your singularity, the center of your universe, Sam, Sam, Sam. The burn of the first push is barely a thought in the sloppy pile of feelings, pictures, and undeniable want that he’s reduced your mind to. Fuck, does he fill you good. Fuckin’ perfectly. You think your weight drops all the way on his lap, but there’s so much to take that you can’t be sure. His breath catches. His hands claw, scratch, grope around for your hips. When he finds them, you’re ground down on him deep, and—and—gggoddd, that itch. A genuine wail sputters out of you. The spot deep within your core that’s been dying to be just fucking reamed explodes with slippery pleasure. And Sam is so absolutely massive that he brushes up into it with every breath, making you sob with want before either of you even moves.

You bite down on your knuckles, keening, “Sam.”

So full. So full of Sam’s cock. Holy fuck.

Below you Sam is flushed scarlet, his head lolled back, his dark lashes squeezed shut against every perfect rippling pulse squeezing around him. Rough gulps of air drain into his chest. You balance both palms flat to it and dizzily glance between you, where your cunt has greedily swallowed every inch of him you can get. The massive length of him looks like it's disappeared, but for… f-for you, fuck, it's done anything but, twitching in you and filling you snug as a glove. Smaller guys were usually easier to track inside you, so you figured it'd be twice that with someone as big as Sam. He'd be so big that you couldn't not feel every inch of him. Instead, you're turned into a star, a mess of heat and light and energy radiating around a single point too powerful to feel through mortal senses. There's no separation between what's you and what's him. He becomes you.

Sam stares at the spot where you're stretched tight around him, transfixed and panting and hornier than he's ever been in his entire life. Gazing at him in a haze, you remember what you’d planned to do.

You could sit there until the car was rusted and the asphalt was gray instead of black, just breathing, and with every breath soaking up each twitch and flutter Sam gave you. He moans and shuffles his legs further apart like he’d kill for the same thing. But as fucking delectable as it would be to just grind yourself down on his willing cock forever, Sam deserves more than that his first time. If it was someone else in your position, you’d hope they’d give him a good time—but this responsibility was yours, and you were determined to prove that not one other person in the history of dick-riding could blow Sam’s mind like you could.

“Gonna move, Sammy,” you warn him, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even snipe at you for the nickname.

Squeezing him inside you, you caress the hands on your thighs and follow them down to Sam’s shoulders, really kneading him, feeling him, with your hands. The lightest of touches has him squirming with need, so a few piercing clenches one after the other makes him groan open-mouthed. It’s when you lean some of your weight onto your toes and tilt yourself off him that Sam’s breath stalls. He finds it again the moment you drop yourself back on those last few inches, gasping as you start a pattern. Elastic pleasure pools fiery-hot down your inner thighs. You could feel the rolling pulse of Sam's cock as you rocked on his lap, the throb of it filling your whole sparkling body.

Sam curses. “G’nna cum s’ deep inside you, baby…”

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to make you any wetter, but he manages it. Again, you see-saw off and on him, “—shit, s-so deep,” Sam snarls. His neck chords with handsome muscle. Slow pulls turn into rocks. “So deeeeep—”

The pleasure is incomprehensible, whiting out all other pitiful, useless sensations. There’s nothing else but him and his big hands on your back and the curve of his dick swelling thick and hard between your quaking legs. There’s a big difference between him and the other men you’ve had, and already you know exactly what it is—the feeling of him is going to sit hot and satisfied in your gut for damn weeks. Tomorrow you’re going to feel so thoroughly fucked and empty that you’ll never think of anything but Sam ever again. You bite down on your lip and add a little swish to the end of each bounce, and sure enough, Sam chokes on his last groan.

“You fill me up s’ good, Sammy,” you rasp, curling your fingers on his twitching stomach.

“Mm-mm. S’ you,” he echoes, swallowing, “god, s’ all you. Takin’ me perfect.”

He is so fucking wonderful. When you rake your palms down the soft yielding flesh of his middle, Sam’s head thrashes back and he clamps down hard on his tongue, whimpering and keening through his teeth. You get enough leverage on your hands to really start screwing yourself down on him, and every drive is a full-body taste of silky throbbing euphoria. There’s no plan beyond fucking him senseless, yet your hands and your mind are more connected than ever. Fuck, he’s perfect pinned down like that, your brain thinks. Your hands hear this and suddenly you’re pressing Sam’s wrists into the seat beside his head—

“Yes!” He squeals.

Over an hour of foreplay has rid Sam of his last shred of embarrassment. His face, upturned and so pretty that way, advertises a swath of open throat for your taking. His bangs are a sweaty mess all tangled up in his face too, but you can’t get your fingers through them without sacrificing the fuckin’ renaissance painting underneath you. He drapes himself out for you like a girl, his jaw slack and his wrists daintily posed beside his face.

He is so, so generous and just as smart, since the second he realizes how you want him Sam gives you exactly that.

His wrists pry free from yours with embarrassing ease. You don’t waste a second sealing the fingers of one hand around them both, and from there it’s just instinct to slam Sam’s bound hands overhead and kiss him stupid. His excited squeak melts from your crown to your toes, adding this electric edge to the mind-numbing heat exploding inside you. This is only the second time you’ve ever felt it, but Sam is long enough to jumpstart the sparkling glittering radiation feeling that makes your pussy see stars. The sharp percussive mewls jumping out of you spiral into something purely animal. When you finally get to brush back Sam’s rain-tangled hair, the dirtiest, happiest grin is waiting for you there.

“____—yes, yes oh my god ____ yes —” Sam drawls between searing kisses. His head lolls at each vicious bounce.

“So noisy,” you grin.

Sam melts at this small praise, as well as your next kiss. “You like it,” he dizzily smiles.

Of course. Clenching on him hard, you drop into a few mean, fulfilling grinds and tease into his sensitive ear, “Love it when you won’t shut up, Sammy.”

Sam laughs, and despite your experience, you’ve never made a guy laugh during sex, so. Wow. You only have a bit to enjoy it before Sam’s getting his revenge. You feel him plant his heels in the door and then—oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he’s slamming up into you, the huge line of his cock sawing without end against the spot tha—t-that… the spot… Your whole body explodes with happy flashes of light. It spurs from you the filthiest, most obscene kinds of moans a man has ever made you make, almost weeping for joy at the perfect velvety pressure flash-flooding your cunt.

“So noisy,” Sam husks back.

That’s the last thing he says for a while, because everything after that dissolves into delectable broken noise. Since he knows you love it so much, Sam chokes and moans until he’s out of breath and slack-jawed. His face fixes up like—well—like he’s being ridden all the way to Texas, sweaty temples lolling against his raised arms. You usually fixated on your partners during sex like this, but only because there wasn’t typically much on your end. Now there’s so much packed into every acute shift that you take it greedily by the handfuls. It’s the sloppiest, hottest, most delectable sex of your entire life. Sam’s brain apparently remains intact despite the nuclear meltdown sizzling through you both, because your low bounces start to be met by fierce upward twists of his hips. New colors join the stars spinning behind your eyes and your pussy throbs with new intensity.

“Mnmmn yes yes yes fucking yes—” you rattle in a sob.

And when your lungs are empty Sam’s still cork-screwing hard against that raw bundle of nerves inside you, stealing the rest of your breath so you’re left hanging there with your mouth open, thunderstruck. For a few breathless beats all you can hear is the percussive wet pull of him plunging into you. He seethes in absolute delight, back curling, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Sam enjoy something that much. Somebody. You.

A few more heavy grinds and you know you’ll be done with. Your legs burn thigh-to-toe with weighty exhaustion, and even the sweaty muscles in your belly are knotted to a breaking point. Sam’s losing his patience. Most of his writhing is playful, until his wrists really start to twist in your grip for freedom. It would be easy to give Sam what he wants, especially when that means immediately being flipped over, spread apart and fucked senseless, but your tank’s not empty yet.

With the last of your strength, you slam Sam’s hips down onto the seat to keep him in place. (So full so full so fulllll.) A good rippling squeeze lets you feel just how deep he is. He’s not trapped a second before he’s trying to earn back enough room to meet you bounce for thrust. But, again, Sam is a damn genius. You sink him into a kiss that leaves your ribcage singing with love and stir your hips around his lap, murmuring between breaths, you’re perfect Sammy. Every starved inch of him calms for just a moment. When the tension roped in his wrists relaxes, you release them, and Sam melts into everything you give him: the slow, soft kissing, your hands caressing from his forearms to his triceps to his chest, and the heat of him radiating inside you in more ways than one.

On the next circle of your hips, you see it on the horizon: the finish line. Your whole body sings with the urge to fuck yourself on Sam til’ you’re spent, and orgasm number three has made your already thin self-control grow microscopic. Sam takes one look at you, crawling inside and out with fever, and asks to take over.

“Baby,” is all he says, pleading. His voice is so stringy with worn patience that it cracks.

“Yeah,” you rasp. “Please.”

On top of being beautiful and smart and patient, Sam is incredibly merciful. Instead of ruining your life by pulling out and leaving you empty as he fucks around positioning you, Sam sits up, shifts you into the safe bowl of his lap, and lays you both across the slick seat while you’re still connected. Then he does what your Sam apparently does best, and makes love to you.

There’s no shyness this time. Sam greets you with a happy, sloppy, moaning kiss that fills your gut like fire. He drapes over you like a new sky, too broad and big for his own damn good. Then he fills you like fire, until you're a pathetic, keening mess greedily writhing down on the cock you're already full of. Riding him had put into perspective just how long he is, while this position made it jaw-droppingly clear how thick. And vieny. And perfectly curved. One little jostle rubbed all the happy places in your pussy that made your brain melt out of your ears. Sam hasn't even started and the fabric of your reality is already twisting and unknotting. You're drooling and your hair is a nest and your lipgloss smeared off ages ago, dried on Sam's throat and probably Sam's dick, but you can't be bothered to care. One broad palm rakes soft down your belly. Sam coos as he pushes into you, murmuring apologies like you’re not spreading your legs for him as wide as they’ll go. He loves you.

“Always wanted this,” Sam prays, and decides at that moment, for no tactful reason, to start petting your swollen clit with his thumb. “Always wanted you.”

“Mmnn—mee too,” you hiccup. “Ssso muh—much, baby.”

The swath of hot-hot skin previously only available to your hands squishes you against the leather head-to-toe. Sam's arms tremble just trying to hold himself up on his hands, so he gives up all together and smushes himself all over you, especially where it really matters. His hips stir in and in and thank god they never stop. It's almost embarrassing how easily you disappear in Sam's shadow, until you think about it a little harder… get that image of yourself absolutely dwarfed by Sam's back, or Sam's hands, or Sam's fingers… Sam's huge cock… and suddenly... Something deeper than your gut tells you to dig your nails and knees into him for dear life, and that instinct finds its ground fast.

It only takes a few experimental drags for Sam and Sam's sexy ragged breathing to get you where you need to be. With his face nestled in your neck and the powerful line of his body curled over you, he has room to get a hand splayed on your bare thigh—pinning it back for himself—to fuck you honest. You think/hope/pray that Sam is winding up to do just that. He pulls out in a way that makes you both take in a breath, then sinks home with the kind of thorough, aching, agonizing focus that makes you sob openly in the backseat. Because he's well and truly evil he nuzzles in close to your neck with noisy kisses as he goes, and never once closes that perfect mouth.

“So tight,” Sam groans. “Take the whole thing so good,” he praises, genuinely impressed, and you can't help the tingly pride that sits hot in your gut when he says that.

“I do?” You ask, just because you're a cocky asshole.

Entertaining your cockiness, Sam thinks for a minute. “Yeah,” he breathes, then suddenly all that delicious heat sitting pretty inside of you draws out in one pull. Sam shushes your frustrated whining and drawls a single request: “Feel it again.”

At first you're not sure what he means, and no one can exactly blame you, since that's what Sam Winchester and three orgasms can do to the human psyche. He's also fucking pulled out of you, which you rightfully react to like he's just dropped you naked in the Australian wilds and flown off. You haven’t been lonely and empty for more than a second when Sam returns every inch he stole. His bulbous tip spoons through your folds, and everything after that is filling, surging, slick velvet heat so stellar your limbs go numb.

“Hah—ah—hoollee—holy shit,” you stammer.

“Feel it?” Sam hums.

Brain melted, you answer, “Feeeel—?”

“This, _____,” Sam replies, all sweet and patient.

Knowing exactly the kind of puddle he’s reducing you to, Sam does it again. He pulls out fast and sinkssss in, slow and hot while making all sorts of pretty sounds. This time he kisses you as he blows your mind. Considering how Sam’s already mastered staring hungrily at your cunt stretched tight around his base as he sinks in, it’s an uncoordinated kiss. All of his student ambition has been poured by the truckload into fucking you—and reminding you that he is.

“You n’ me,” he whispers, starry-eyed. “Perfect fit.”

In a daze, your hands clamber for something to cling to besides Sam’s poor, abused back. They end up smoothing soft and needily through his silky hair, so it’s a matter of circumstance when Sam starts pumping his hips and you pull so hard that he howls with pleasure. A very happy circumstance.

Somehow, Sam is lucid enough to still be thinking about the how in all of this. He tests. Slow, stomach-deep, thorough thrusts that blend into wild snapping ones that jellify your surviving senses. Because he apparently doesn’t understand that fucked-out squeals of his name mean harder, Sam asks:

“Want me gentle?” He mumbles pretty against your cheek. “Or more?”

“Plea— please sah—Sammy,” you sob into his hair. “Please go harder. Hard s’ you want. Won’t hurt.”

“Mn—m’ not gonna—can’t hold—” Sam chokes, and whatever he’s trying to say dissolves when he shamelessly licks open your mouth. You’re lovingly kissed, put nose to nose with him, and made victim to Sam’s warm whiskey eyes—

—then you're fucked inside out.

Before you can even suck in a full breath, you’re being deliriously pounded into the trench you and Sam have dug into the seat. Viciously, beautifully pounded, too-good-to-make-noise pounded, arms-locked-still pounded, jaw dropped and toes curling. The kind of sex that’s born from years of wound-up, silent frustration that erupts all at once. Sam’s fingers curl into your thighs like he needs this. Every stroke is life or death, consuming him with an insatiable, maddening craving for more more baby closer s-squeeze me harder so fuckin' pretty n’ warm . Thready sobbing gasps punctuate each thrust, but you're too busy being disassembled atom by erotic atom to know if it's you or him. His dick starts to blaze deliciously hot inside you, closer, closer…

Sam’s teeth snap together. “Oh shit oh shit yes—can’t—get—enough a’ you.”

Your hands are jostled back down to his shoulders, and you feel like if you don’t hold on you might be drilled straight through the crust of the earth. The second you sink your nails into Sam’s back, that’s it. Something in him splits, then his hands are clamping down under your thighs and you’re being bent in half. Knees to your chest, hips curved up, pussy spread for him—everything. Every one of his breaths is coarse with a throaty whimper. He could’ve given out ages ago, but Sam just keeps going, hips pistoning, nails digging, until sweat is beading down his flushed neck and he’s panting with his tongue splayed like a dog. Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow morning.

Of course, it’s when you can’t feel your legs and your blazing lungs stop working that the whole Impala starts to rock. The leather seat squeaks on beat and the carriage bounces harder and harder on its shocks. You swear the damn car’s going to flip when Sam’s thrusts stutter, losing their tempo. Sam twists his hand to get two fingers rubbing like lightning at your clit and you’re gone, too exhausted to do anything but cry, blissed-out tears pooling in your collarbones.

“Sammy please,” you weep.

He pants, “Gonna—gonna—”

You're pretty sure that's when the orgasms start. Maybe it’s not just one of them, but a million little zinging ones blending together in one deliciously long stroke. Slick is rolling down your ass and Sam’s cramping thighs, and his voice is muffled in your neck, cursing filthy half-words like he does in your fantasies. You melt helplessly at the seams through it all, clenching on him without end. Sam moans hoarsely through his broken voice and fills you for good. The last of his weight comes crashing down on top of you, beautifully squishing you between a swath of broad chest and the seat. Pinned down, fucked open, and flattened to the leather, you try to stay conscious as Sam’s climax wracks through his whole body—and yours, fused to him in a sloppy puppy-love kiss. Together, your finales hit a fever pitch too fantastic for mortal bodies to handle. It sings through you to him, where Sam’s skin meets your skin, his lips to your lips, the two of you ringing like bells until finally, finally, finally they coalesce into the same vibrating frequency. You’re him and he’s you and holy fuck, Sam Winchester just made stupid, crazy love to you.

Two heaps of clay, you collapse into each other. Sam’s mussed hair tickles your neck where he’s gulping down deep, rattling breaths. It’s the first thing you notice when you regain your sense of what-fucking-dimension-am-I-in. Each filling inhale presses you down a little, and god should it not be as awesome as it feels. A couple more minutes and Sam could easily suffocate you, which is why you don’t move, content to die as you lived: utterly obsessed with him.

Somehow your brain is still capable of drawing connections to your body, because your fingers are curling into the soft tuft at the back of Sam’s neck of their own accord. An obscenely happy cocktail of endorphins throbs between your spent legs and swirls around in your brain, blissed out.

Sam pets your waist with just the tips of his fingers. After a long, euphoric sigh, he murmurs with a dizzy smile, “How’s my girl?”

You’re too out of your mind to speak. All you can think to do is throw your arms around his neck, and Sam, your genius, just gets it. With a lazy pull of his hips, his warmth leaves your very happy core. That itching sense of emptiness starts to ghost through your system the moment he’s gone, though, and you can’t help but sigh at yourself. This is not over. You’re never gonna get enough of him.

Sam handles the condom, then, to your delight, returns to his earlier spot cuddled up between your legs. This time, he’s brought blankets with him. In moments (that fly by even faster in your cum-drunkness), you’ve got a fluffy one propped up under your head and a big, warm body at your front, who squeezes you closer the same way he had before. Sam doesn’t wait a second to squirm his arms under and around you. He gets you all wrapped up in an cozy embrace, only to be consumed by cuddles himself. Greedy and unafraid, you haul the other blanket over you both and hug Sam tight enough to squeeze out a few giggles.

“That was—” Sam starts, grinning all handsome and sleepy-like.

“Wait, shh,” you stop him. “You hear that?”

Sam tilts his head to listen. He studies you, intent, his whole face swimming with satisfaction. “Huh?”

You twist up in the mess of blankets to kiss Sam’s ear, snickering to yourself. “S’ your brother, revving a chainsaw,” you tell him, dryly, “cause’ he’s gonna fuckin’ kill us for doing this in his car.”

Sam’s eyes drifted peacefully shut. Since he is forever out to get you, one pretty hand of his smooths between your own. He confesses, grinning, “____. Not even that could ruin this for me right now.”

You can’t help it. He flushes your whole body with love in the dumbest way. In a moment of glorious, beautiful weakness, you brush the hair from Sam’s face and murmur, “Guess you are a quick study, then, Sammy, cause' that's how I've felt this whole time…”

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