Cheeto Fingers

[lostalioth]

(smut) dbf! jack abbot- this is lowkey a wild ask so it's completely up to you if you want to write it or not but... like soft smut where reader is scared of pelvic floor exams. asked jack about pain with penetration and he said he'd examine them if they wanted that. time passes before reader finally agrees, jack coming over to their apartment- let's just say it ends with stubble burns against their thighs.

— ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ •.°

✶ match box 06 — 3k follower event.ᐟ

✦. ─ cw: dbf!jack abbot x younger fem!reader, 3.2k wc, fluff, smut, medical inaccuracies, nicknames [kid, sweetheart, honey], inappropriate physical pelvic exam turned oral, prob missed some.

— I LOVE WILD ASKS please never ever be afraid to send ‘em i really loved this one. 

⟡ DBF!JACK ABBOT AU M.LIST

As you had gotten older, you allowed your yearly pelvic exam to come and go. Sometimes you would get the courage to make the appointment and tell yourself this year you’re gonna do it. You’re gonna face the music, anxiety be damned and go get checked out. Then as it inched closer and closer to the date you chicken out and cancel.

 

You were beyond scared of getting one. You knew exactly why too, losing your virginity had not been nearly as fun as all your friends made it out to be, sex hurt. When you told your girlfriends this they looked at you a little funny and asked maybe he didn’t do it right, it wasn’t exactly supposed to be painful, not the whole time anyway. So you did a few experiments of your own, cause maybe they were right and the guy just i don’t know did it wrong?

You bought a toy, a not too big but average to smaller sized dildo, online as going in store was too much to handle. And one night when your college roommates were out, you tried using it but it hurt just the same, you even tired just using your fingers but that wasn’t much better. From then on for years, you avoided sex as much as you could. All subsequent boyfriends who managed to persuade you into it just told you it'd be “Much better with me trust me baby” and it never really was. 

When you bring it up to one of your friends again, they point something out that you had been trying to avoid thinking of. “Hey, isn't one of your dads friends a doctor or something? Why haven’t you asked him about it?” oh that guy. Yeah the one you are kinda a little too attracted to who’s not just your fathers friend but his best friend, who makes your brain short circuit each time he calls you sweetheart? That one. Yeah you’d rather not talk about how sex is painful to the older man, who is the closest person to your father. You just might have to though if you ever wanna actually enjoy sex in your life. 

When you see Jack a few days later for your dads weekly dinner night he hosts, you manage to pull him away telling your dad it’s private girly medical related questions, he shuts up shortly after that. 

“What's up kid you okay?” Jack asks, concern evident in his voice. You rarely asked him anything medical and he was a bit worried you’re about to ask him how long is it normal for a woman to go without getting her period. “How…” you squeak out. Oh god here it comes. Before you start again you clear your throat. “How um common is, you know pain during sex…” the word sex leaves your lips in a meek and quiet tone, Jack tries his best not to chuckle as to not embarrass you further, but he’s happy it's not the question he was expecting. “Pretty common kid, at least the first time” he explains calmly, his casual demeanor easing your anxiety only a bit. “And how about every time?”

The idea of you having sex multiple times shouldn't be making Jack's chest ache the way it is, you’re a young beautiful girl after all, he tries telling himself it’s only cause it’s apparently painful and he cares for you. This time he straightens up a bit, “if the guys aren’t being rough, it's less common, it shouldn’t be every time” he watches as your eyes go a little wide and shake your head no in response to the first half of his statement. “Have you had an exam lately kid?” This is a purely professional question so it shouldn’t feel as dirty as it does coming out of his mouth.

“I um normally cancel them” Jack can only sigh out in a bit of frustration. “You should really get them regularly sweetheart” he misses the way your thighs lightly squeeze together at the use of the nickname. “I’m scared s’ all, anything going um inside hurts and doctors offices only make me more nervous” you explain. He smooths a hand over your hair, sympathy lacing his voice. “it’s okay i don’t mean to make you feel bad about it kid i swear” “How-” he stops himself, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was debating something in his head. “What?” you prompt, trying your hardest to not buckle at the knees from the way he’s practically petting your head. Physical touch is a quite rare thing between you too minus a few hugs on birthdays or pats on the back. “How about I give you one?’ oh sweet jesus that sounds wrong. He clears his throat, his face a little flush now at his own words but he doesn’t backtrack. “I’m a doctor, that you know, so it’s less scary” “No appointment needed if that makes you more comfortable” as you are processing his words he continues on. “I could do it at your apartment, where ever you feel most comfortable”

  

Your throat shouldn't feel as dry as it does, but the idea of Jack examining your pussy makes your head spin and slick settle between your legs a little. Maybe you should just see a regular random doctor, not one you have a wildly inappropriate crush on. You leave him with a small “Thank you, I'll think about it” and run off with the excuse of using the bathroom. You leave before Jack that night without much of any goodbye to him, he tries not to dwell on it, he really hopes he didn’t upset you.

You however dwell for days on Jack’s suggestion. Without the underlying nerves you feel because of being attracted to him, it is a good idea. You’d feel far more comfortable, maybe too comfortable being examined by him rather than a doctor you hardly know. You don’t bring it up to anyone as you’re too embarrassed but you think about it for days. When you get a reminder for the last gyno appointment you were brave enough to make, you cancel it without another thought and text Jack. 

All he does is thumbs up your message but for the next few hours you are anxious as all hell while waiting for him to knock on your door. You had given yourself the time both to calm down but also clean your apartment. Even though he was literally coming over to give you a vaginal exam and wouldn't care what your place looked like, you wanted it to be neat. Even if this was going to be probably the weirdest event in your life to date.

You are startled out of your train of thought by a knock at the door, you glance at the clock — 3pm exactly. Damn older men and their punctuality or was it a doctor thing? Shaking your head you nervously make your way to open the door, greeting Jack with a little awkward wave. He chuckles softly, the sound calming you as you step back from the open door to invite him in. “It’ll be alright, i’ll be gentle kid” his voice runs over your skin leaving behind goosebumps. You don’t know what you’re more nervous over, the expected pain of the actual examination or, the idea of Jack's hands on you, his fingers in you. 

Without wasting much time Jack settled into a semi professional but still comforting balance as he puts down the small bag of stuff he needs on the floor of your living room. You appreciate his effectiveness, as he tells you to sit on your couch facing him. You listen and watch as he sits on top of your coffee table. “This will be a little awkward because we are here and not a hospital, so I don't have a few things sweetheart” he starts to explain. “The no gown won’t be too hard, you have a skirt on so if you could just take off your underwear i can have access without-” he paused a moment as if thinking “leaving you too indisposed” the way he snaps a pair of blue latex gloves on shouldn’t be making as wet as it is, fuck. 

“Can-” you stutter out, your face hot but he seems to pick up on what you’re asking, nodding softly he turns his head away to give you some semblance of privacy. Bunching up your skirt you hook your fingers into the waistband of your slightly soaked panties and pull them down your legs. You kick them under the coffee table so they’re out of sight and tap Jack on the shoulder, he shakes his head softly at your shyness before turning to face you again. 

“Put your feet up either side of me on the table, won’t be the same as stirrups but close enough” tugging at the end of your skirt to cover yourself a bit more you do as he says and place your feet up flat on the low table. He adjusts them slightly, grabbing your foot one at a time and slides them a bit so they are more half off not so far back. “Scooh more to the edge of the couch kid, lean back ‘n tilt your hips up a lil more f’ me” the way you listen so well to Jack has him smiling softly at you and muttering out a small “Atta girl” 

He pressed lightly around on your abdomen through your shirt and skirt, eyes glued to your face gauging your reactions. “No pain or tenderness when I do this, right?” when you shake your head no he stops. “My hand is gonna go under your skirt for a second okay?” your face grows hotter and you nod, your voice has yet to find you again but so far nods are an effective enough communication with him. He reaches down between your legs but only presses around again, this time he is much closer to your pussy but he remains on the outside, pressing over the mound of it and on your pubic bone. “No pain?” Once again your head shakes side to side. His hand pulls away, your eyes follow his movements as he reaches down to grab a small bottle out of his bag.

He holds it but doesn’t do anything with it yet, his eyes find yours again “This next part i have to put my fingers inside, that okay sweetheart?” you gulp softly, nodding yes slowly as your nervousness grows again. “That’s the part that us- usually hurts” you explain in a small voice. It’s Jack's turn to nod now, "Penetration?” you let out a ‘mhm’ in agreeance as he squeezes the clear substance onto his pointer finger. “This is lube to make it easier and I’ll go slow, only one finger” his other hand reaches around your leg to touch the back of your calf, rubbing soothing lines up and down the muscle. “If you’re relaxed it might not be as painful” he explains, waiting on your go ahead before reaching down under your skirt once again. 

Pushing his lube coated index finger through your folds the tip of it finds your entrance, he gauges your face, when you nod again he proceeds by pushing it inside. 

Your sharp intake of air makes him stop once only the first bend of his finger is inside. “Come on, relax f’ me sweetheart” his low honey dipped voice makes your body go a bit lax, he inches his finger forward again and when you show no sign of pain he goes all the way til it's completely inside. “How’s that kid?” he sounds as breathless as you feel but you try to ignore it. “A little pain” you squeak out. “Give it a second, relax and it might go away”

“Don’t know how to relax more” you whine out, the sound going straight down Jack’s spine and up again, he shivers a bit and wills it away before it travels further south. “I’m gonna try something…do you trust me sweetheart?” you’re already nodding again in response before he fully finishes his question. 

Bringing his thumb up he parts the lips of your pussy til it finds your clit. You gasp out and slightly scare him, “That hurt?” “No no m’ sorry surprised me is all” you mumble out, biting your lip to hold in any more noises from getting free, like an accidental moan. Jesus christ why did you think this was a good idea again? If you had to bet you’d say you were soaking his gloved finger, even with the sting you felt from it inside, it felt good at the same time. You never even reached this type of feeling with your own fingers.

His thumb on your clit presses down lightly and starts rubbing in circles, you let out a small little sigh that makes Jack smirk a bit. “There you go honey, come on” “Un-tense your shoulders” your body listens almost instantaneously “Good girl” you can’t help the whimper that comes out at his words, he doesn’t say anything in response. “Feel any better?” he prompts, his eyes remain on your face, no matter how bad he wants to peek under your skirt to watch the way your little bud twitches under his touch. “Mhmm a bit” you answer softly, trying to push away the odd feeling bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. 

“Can I put in another finger, we’ll see how that feels?” he whispers, he definitely has enough information that he thinks he knows what’s wrong already but you don’t need to know that. “Yeah” you pant out, shaking your head a little too eagerly, if Jack notices he doesn’t say a word. With ease his middle slips in alongside his pointer, his thumb still circling your clit. “No pain honey?” the motion of your head once again answers his question. “Wanna try something else…can I move my fingers sweetheart?” 

“Please” you plead, head to fuzzy to care how desperate you sound. Slowly pulling his fingers back he watches your face as he pistons them back in, repeating the motion. “That feel good?” “Mhm no pain, fuck! feels really good” you whine out, your hips now bucking up against his fingers. He speeds up, still waiting to see if it hurts or if you stop him. “Jack” you moan out, his cock throbs in response. 

“Yeah kid?” “Need- Mm” you cut yourself off, pinching your lips in a line and tilting your head back. “Nuh-uh come on honey, tell me what ya’ need” he prompts, curling his fingers up to hit a different spot inside you that has you letting out a pornographic noise you didn’t know you were even capable of. “Need-” you huff out, before he stops you “Look at me when you say it, come on kid” “Use your words”

Lifting your head you look into Jack’s eyes, his breath hitches at the sight of your glazed over lust filled eyes, batting your eyelashes you start again. “Need more” you sob. His stomach just about hurts now from how hard he is in his jeans that feels all too tight. “Yeah? What more honey? Another finger or something else?” he asks, consciences be damned he’s not gonna leave you hanging even if your old man would fucking kill him if he ever found out about this. “Somethin’ else please” you whine, not even knowing what more you want. Jack however seems to when he takes his free hand off your calf and lifts your skirt, his head ducking under it. His fingers don’t stop positioning in and out of your slick cunt even if you squeal a bit at his motion. The noise morphs into a moan, your body melting into the couch when his warm tongue pokes out and makes contact with your pussy, licking at your pussy. “Still feel good kid?” he mumbles out, before his thumb leaves your bundle of nerves only to be replaced by his mouth as he sucks at it. 

“Yeah- Yeah feels s’ good” you breathe out, letting go of your skirt, he grabs at your one leg, lifting your foot off the table placing it over his shoulder, prompting you to do the same with your other before his fingers slip out of your pussy. 

You whine at the loss, “Jackkk” making him chuckle softly against you. “Hang on sweetheart” he coos as he uses both hands to grab at your hips, pulling you up and half way off the couch to get you closer to his mouth, lapping at you hard splitting your folds with his pointed tongue before sucking at your clit. “Ah- Ahhh ooh fuck” you wail out, your hands frantic to steady yourself. One finding purchase on his shoulder before sliding down his back under his shirt where your nails scratch at his skin. The other holding on for dear life to the edge of your couch cushion, your legs tighten a bit around his head. 

“Holy shit” you whisper out in breathless disbelief, the odd feeling from before coming back to quickly build in the pit of your stomach. Jack's large hands cupping your waist squeeze at your flesh, as he shakes his head side to side a little, flattening his tongue against you. Your thighs burn a bit at the friction of his stubbly face rubbing against them. He moves back to harshly sucking at your clit, your pussy and his mouth coated in his spit as he practically slurps at your juices.

“Huu- shit” “Wait wait! Jack- mhm feels like m’ gonna pee” you try pushing at his head to stop him, even if you desperately didn’t want his mouth off you. That feeling in your stomach was teetering on the edge. “Ya’ don’t have to pee sweetheart, that’s a orgasm you feel” he grumbles out, the explain making your hand ease up from pushing instead it rakes through his curls “S’ okay cum for me kid” 

“Promse s’ okay” you whine out, staring down at his head between your legs. “Yeah, you can do it” “cum f’ me it’s okay honey” "Promise it’ll feel good, no pain” his reassure is all you need to let your high wash over you, legs shaking on his shoulders, “There we go, fuck” he moans out. Your back arching as you cum on his tongue with a loud wanton moan filling your apartment coupled with his praise, “Atta girl, sweetheart” “Such a good girl f’ me” he laps at your cum. “Taste so fucking sweet, like i knew ya’ would” he mumbles out, that one you think was meant more for himself.  

Managing to reluctantly pull his head from between your soft thighs, Jack used his hold on your hips to place your body back onto the couch. You stare at him wide eyed when you notice his face all wet, covered in you. “Got somethin’ on my face kid?” you nod meekly. He chuckles and pinches at the collar of his shirt to bring it up and wipe at his mouth. “No pain after?” he asks. “No, never done that before” you whisper out, flicking your head down to where your skirt now covered your puffy but satisfied pussy. 

“Just needed an older man huh sweetheart, help ya’ relax a little and the pain melts away” he states, reaching down to rub at your knee. “Fucking little boys” he tsks but your eyes are glued to the large bulge in between his thick thighs. You’d have to be extra relaxed to take that monster on…

— would the position jack eats you out in, be at all comfortable for that old man's back? fuck no and lowkey it’s hard to physically imagine it but jack’s strong s’ fineeeee i got a little too lost in sauce when writing clearly oops…this was also only like half proofread. part two coming eventually!

[doveysalt]

hi!!! I was wondering if you have any spn fic recs? I really like your blog so I trust that you have some good ones lol.

OH WOW THANK YOU this is kinda the highest honor for me because i love to yap about the work of others. i haven't read too many spn fics since i'm still very early into the show (just started s3 after a month lol i'm so slow </3) and i'm trying to not get too much spoiled for myself, so... i have to be careful what i dip into :,) but i'll share what i have read and enjoyed immensely!

fair warning: most of these (actually. all of these) are 18+! also, as a side note: i have a blog dedicated just to rbing fics so if you want to be nosy and see other fics i’ve read, please visit my blog @doveyblues !!

rec list below the cut!

c'mon baby, get in - @theedaythatnevercomes

summary: running on adrenaline after a solo hunt, you really, really miss your boyfriend. his voice, his gentle touch, those sweet, dewy puppy eyes… so, you show him just how much you missed him. oh, and why not solve his case while you’re at it?

i'm such a sucker for whiny sub!sam what can i say LOLLL. i read this and kept giggling and kicking my feet like a maniac. i love when i can read dialogue and very clearly hear the character’s voice and that is so apparent in this fic.

cherry waves - @/theedaythatnevercomes

summary: when cramps are really kicking your ass, and a hot bath with your sweet boyfriend isn’t doing the trick… he offers a far more fun solution. (even if things get a little messy.)

i am sexually attracted to nerds. if you are ALSO sexually attracted to nerds, this will be a huge banger for you, too. again, very good characterization of sam!!

you should see the things we do in my dreams - @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows

summary: sam is harbouring a bit more than a major crush on you, and tonight you might just let him show you how important you really are to him.

genuinely life changing work being done here. AND there's an even hotter part two. whenever i need to hone in on writing my own smut, i return to these fics so i can get inspired again <3 also like. super clear descriptions of positions which is nice!

assistance - @chxrrywines

summary: sam and his girlfriend just need to unwind on the phone together.

i had this fic in mind when i was writing a few scenes for i want you to (make a move) because it was so so so hot. i love my number one yearner sam!! the strong, mutual desperation is so deeply enticing to #me.

take what you want - @godmadeaterribleerror

summary: you and dean hate each other. there isn't a moment you aren't fighting, just like there isn't a moment you don't wish he'd love you back, and there isn't a single second he doesn't want you more than you can imagine.

have to throw in one (1) dean fic so i don't get sam favoritism allegations <3 this one hits like crack, i’m so serious. i think this might actually be one of the first spn fics i ever read?? still very much a favorite of mine hehe.

isn’t it all a mess? soon it’ll blow away - gappyswife (ao3)

summary: when the chains on your bike fail, you're left stranded at a gas station in the middle of twin lakes, WI. before you can decide on a plan to get yourself home and out of this mess, a strange, handsome man offers you a ride back- a ride that ends horribly for you.

heed the tags because this fic includes noncon! meg!sam scares me so bad that this one haunts me. it did in fact make me nauseous, so if you want a heavy hurt-no-comfort fic. well. i have just the thing for you! wonderful writing, i always admire authors who can push to make something so deeply disconcerting.

...i'm sure there are plenty more that i'm forgetting, but these are the ones that stuck with me the most!! thank you all for sharing your work + thank you for giving me a chance to publicly praise some of my favorite fics hehe. i've been wanting to make a list of fic recs so this came at the perfect time!

[crowdedimagines]

Top Gun Masterlist

Bradley Bradshaw

One shots:

Next of Kin - You and Rooster have spent years perfecting two things: flying impossible missions with ease and getting under each other's skin. When tragedy strikes and the unthinkable happens, everything changes. You don't agree on anything other than the fact that neither of you really knows how to be a parent, but walking away was never an option. Part Two. Part Three.

Piece of Heaven - Bradley has found his little piece of heaven here on Earth.

Open House - looking at open houses with your boyfriend gets you worked up while you’re still at a house

Mayday - You’re a journalist with the task of writing about the Dagger Squad, when a sudden plane crash leaves you all stranded and fighting to survive.

Here Comes the Ex - Bradley Bradshaw is looking forward to Phoenix’s wedding, until he finds out his ex girlfriend is the maid of honor.

Grounded - Rooster is responsible for ending your career, which then ended your relationship together. You haven’t seen him in years and now, he wants to move forward with his life and make things right.

Cobra - The Dagger Squad gets a new addition to their team, and it seems to be a familiar face for someone on the team… Cobra Part 2

Last Christmas - Bradley gets a 12-month deployment right before Christmas. He hasn’t told you… but you technically aren’t official, so would you even care?

Here for the Holidays - Bradley is used to spending the holidays alone, but this year someone changes that.

Silver Springs (rockstar au) - Bradley Bradshaw and his band are leading a tour with you and your band as his opener. How is your going to go now that you are no longer together?

Is It Too Late? - You’re engaged to someone else, but if you haven’t said the words “I do” yet is it too late for Bradley to do something about it?

Good Morning - lazy morning with Bradley

This is an Ambush - Penny’s niece is a force to be reckoned with in the air and on the ground. You might be the first person to put Maverick in his place.

All My Friends Say - Rooster sees the ex that got away at his favorite bar with a new Navy ma on your arm.

Risk it All - They knew the Uranium mission was going to come with risks, you had a little more to worry about with both Bradley and Maverick in the air.

Series List:

Tailspin (Completed)

Bradley is a single dad and his new neighbor catches his eye. The only thing is, she might have more baggage than what’s in the moving truck…

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V (Finale)

Epilogue

EXTRAS

Bradley (Finally) Proposes

Having Their First Baby

Nick calls Y/n Mom for the first time

Bob Floyd

One shots:

Our Next Mission - Bob gets deployed just after finding out you’re pregnant with your first child. He’s afraid he might miss the birth.

Natasha Trace

COMING SOON! Top Gun Maverick Extras:

Siren Song Series (On hold)

x Bradley Bradshaw x Bob Floyd

Siren is a world class pilot who is fearless, brilliant, and unstoppable, but dodging her feelings might be her most difficult mission yet. Either that or the remote island the Dagger squad is sent where things aren't adding up. A love triangle. A classified mission. A desolate island hiding something. Everyone thinks they can survive Siren's call, until it's too late.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

[pukicho]

Visit Original Link

guys, you should listen to this one. Seriously. Its epic

[inkyppages]

MASTERLIST

Check out my Ao3 for the fun little notes I sometimes leave on certain chapters

Here's a list of my do's and don't for writing

Oneshots

Preadator x afab reader 18+

Various autobots tits, ass, or thighs 18+

Various transformers reacting to cybertronian femme reader with leg tattoo

Decepticons x reader and minicon obsessed with anatomy 18+

Bumblebee x reader: Mission boredom 18+

Tfp Optimus Prime x reader: Partolling gone wrong

Tfp Optimus Prime x reader: Comfort 18+

Optimus Prime x reader: helping with flareups

Megatron x reader: Worship 18+

G1 Hound x gn bird shapeshifter reader

Tfp Optimus Prime x neurodivergent reader: Overstimulation

Tfp knockout x gn afab reader: Guilty pleasure 18+

Transformers prime

Megatron x reader x Soundwave

Chance encounters part 1

Chance encounters part 2

Chance encounters part 3

Chance encounters part 4

Chance encounters part 5

Chance encounters part 6

Chance encounters part 7

Chance encounters part 8

Chance encounters part 9

Chance encounters part 10

Chance encounters part 11

Chance encounters part 12

Chance encounters part 13

Optimus Prime x reader x Ratchet

TW for past abuse

Eyes full of wonder part 1

Eyes full of wonder part 2

Eyes full of wonder part 3

Eyes full of wonder part 4

Eyes full of wonder part 5

Mario games

Bowser x reader [In hiatus]

Fireheart chapter 1

Fireheart chapter 2

Fireheart chapter 3

Fireheart chapter 4

Fireheart chapter 5

Fireheart chapter 6

Fireheart chapter 7

Fireheart chapter 8

Fireheart chapter 9

Fireheart chapter 10

Fireheart chapter 11

Undertale

Swaptale Papyrus x reader (completed)

First the dead rise and now SKELETONS?

Heavy TW for blood and gore

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Read the finished story on my Ao3

[simpforrooster]

masterlist

TOPGUN: MAVERICK

Jake Seresin

easy, girl

the princess and the hangman

the princess and the hangman pt.2

hangman's girl

your world or hangman's

who's dawson and amanda?

earth angel

howdy darlin'.

howdy darlin' pt.2

kissin' strangers.

like I loved you.

somethin' like that.

do you want me to lie, sir?

do you want me to lie, sir? pt.2

nothing but a gentleman.

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

i gotta take you home.

bullseye.

in fifteen minutes.

you look like you love me.

you're literally about to faint.

this is so much better.

green looks good on you, babe.

did i get it right.

a year, three months, seven days, and fifteen hours.

seven minutes in heaven.

Bradley Bradshaw

break up in the end

lieutenant bradshaw

but she's my best friend

stand in my way.

stand in my way. pt2

for her

greatest love story.

that damned flight suit.

you don't see it.

be careful with my baby.

be careful with my baby pt 2.

I'm obsessed with you.

needed a little discourse.

get a room.

he didn't stand a chance.

a very important meeting.

heard it all.

someone like me.

to the left.

actually, it's captain.

it is the perfect direction.

it's always the same with us.

Pete Mitchell

captain.

game on.

miss me baby.

let's order Chinese.

don't you dare.

i'll let you know tomorrow.

i love when you call me pete.

the best pilot in the navy.

Robert Floyd

exactly what i was texting her.

CRIMINAL MINDS

Aaron Hotchner

then why don't you, hotchner.

i fucking knew it.

take one more step toward her.

once we cross this line, it's done.

please don't lie to me, baby.

i am a profiler, after all.

five minutes and a hair tie.

please don't leave with him.

we have a case.

bad cop, beautiful cop.

noted.

[silverlullabies]

𝐆ɦⱺ𝗌𝗍

❦ (Smut; 18+, MDNI) | ★ (Humor) | ☁︎(Angst) | ❀ (Fluff)| 𓅃 (Dead Dove/Dark Content)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⤷ One shots:

[Body Language]❦

[Last Appointment]❦

[Noise Complaint] ❦

[Marrow Sweet] ❦𓅃

[Fucking Enemy!Ghost When You Have Amnesia]❦𓅃

[Ghost is stuck in a doomed timeloop]☁︎

[Ghost fell in love with you when you broke his nose]★❀

[Undercover!Mafia Ghost]❦

[Ghost wears gray sweatpants]❦★

[Ghost quits smoking and develops an oral fixation]❦

[Ghost has two broken arms and is sexually frustrated]❦

[Ghost puts Reader in a headlock] [part two]❦

[Ghost is haunting Reader] ❦

[Reader fucks Ghost to get him to stop being annoying] ❦ with 🌽 link

[Ghost putting you in a triangle hold]

[Wearing Ghost's shirt] ❦

[Ghost doesn't want to date someone attractive] (character study)

[There's a knife pressed to Ghost's cock] ❦

[Ghost whine for your attention after an argument] ❦

[Alpha!Ghost who gets migraines from scents being attracted only to Beta!Reader]

[Knight!Ghost with horny Maiden!Reader] ❦

[Ghost purposely antagonizes you so you yell at him] ★

[Ghost's tattoos] ❀

[You accidentally shot Ghost and he kind of likes it] ❦

[Ghost gets turned on during a fight] ❦

[Character Study on Ghost as a parent] ☁︎

[Ghost fucks you in an alleyway after picking you up at a pub] ❦

[Ghost buys an engagement ring for you despite only having one convo] ❀★

[Ghost liked you better when you were trying to slit his throat] ❦𓅃

[Ghost turned on when you tell him he has a vulnerable throat] ❦

[Being Ghost's passenger Princess] ❦

[Threatening Ghost with a knife] ❦

[Ghost with an oral fixation using your pussy portal] ❦

[You fuck this masked guy at the bar]❦𓅃

[Ghost gets taken hostage]

[Ghost only fucks plus sized people] ❦

[Ghost helps you through sex pollen]❦ (male reader)

⤷ Drabbles:

[Ghost likes you soft and squishy]❀

[Trapped In An Abandoned Church With Ghost]

[Ghost Is An Accidental Shitposter]★

[ToxicEx!Ghost with ToxicEx!Reader]❦

[Ghost Has Chapped Lips]❦

[Ghost Is Scared Of His Wife and It Lowkey Turns Him On]❦★

[Cuddles Fix Everything Wrong With Ghost]❀

[HybridDragon!Ghost who hoards people]❀

[Ghost works in a haunted maze]★

[PussyDrunk!Ghost]❦

[PussyDrunk!Ghost pt 2]❦

[You and Ghost match each other's freak]❦

[What I think Ghost looks like under his mask]

[Repressed Alpha Reader with Omega Ghost]

[Simon buys you lipstick] ❦

[Ghost misses his wife]

[silverlullabies]

❦ (Smut; 18+, MDNI) | ★ (Humor) | ☁︎(Angst) | ❀ (Fluff)| 𓅃 (Dead Dove/Dark Content)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⤷ Multi:

[How the COD men are in bed]❦ (Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, Alejandro, Graves, Rudy, and König)

[Bodyguard TaskForce 141]❦

[Beta!Price setting his Alpha!Men on Omega!Reader]❦

[Trapped in a cabin during a snowstorm with 141]❦

[Historical AU]❦

[The way the boys show they love you❀]

[The boys don't care what your vag looks like]❦

[Doppelgänger AU]★ (A reader crash out fic)

[You wake up alone in a hospital room]☁︎❀

[COD men as text between my husband and me]★

[Hybrid!141 and hunting reader] (plot twist ending)

[Boys will be boys but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned]★ (A reader crash out fic)

[Toxic!Price/Ghost/Soap/Gaz head canons]

[Predators Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz hunting Reader but there's something off about her...] ☁︎𓅃 (based on a true story/plot twist ending/psychological thriller)

[Farah is the only person Price is scared of]

[Soap vs Gaz in how they get you off] ❦

[Price vs Ghost and using the Sergeants against each other] ❦

[Price wants Ghost and Ghost is willing to do anything to be wanted] ❦☁︎

[Price wants to open the relationship so he can bang other women vs his men who have wanted to fuck you] ❦

[Nikolai and Price keep you warm during a winter storm] ❦

[Price controls what you wear vs Hype-man Gaz]

[Toxic!Price vs Ghost during your pregnancy] ☁︎ ❀

[Toxic!Price/Laswell/Nikolai cabin] ❦☁︎

[Toxic!Price vs Ghost when you have a migraine] ☁︎❀

[Toxic!Price vs his men giving gifts]

[Price realizing he's in love with Nikolai in a homophobic time period] ☁︎

[Captain MacTavish and Captain Price share you] ❦

[Nikolai gets a gag gift for Price] ★

[Royal guard Gaz with King Simon (drabble)] ❦

[Nikolai finds Price struggling to put on a shirt] ❦

[Captain MacTavish, Price, and Nikolai make you fuck them] ❦

⤷ König:

[König fucks the same way he fights] ❦

[Pathetic!König] ❦

[PervyLoser!König] ❦

[König treats you like a fuck doll (with🌽 links)]❦

[König's dick doesn't fit- trope subversion] ❦

[König giving you a stomach bulge (with🌽 links)]❦

[König likes women who can manhandle him]

[Konig definitely runs hot] ❀

[Prince Konig losing his virginity to his maid] ❦

[Konig finds an inactive pussy portal] ❦

⤷ Others:

[Pegging Graves] ❦

[Graves likes a good crybaby]❦

[Nikto fucks you to drown out the voices in his head]❦

[Nikolai with a kink to get people to cheat on their SO with him] ❦

[Graves finds out Price killed Shepherd and he's insufferable about it] ★

[Nikolai takes Price's daughter home from the bar] ❦𓅃

⤷ One shots:

[ Paper Wings ☁︎] Ghost x Soap

[harddeckstories]

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 “𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑴𝑨𝑵” 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂 :

Sleepy sex with Jake ✦ 640 | smut

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 :

Slow Ride, Take It Easy

↳ Jake is known for driving like he flies, fast, reckless, fearless… Except apparently when you are in the car with him ✦ 2.4k | fluff

GOLDEN

↳ Jake finds a lost puppy on base, a sweet golden retriever and the sight is physically too much for you to handle ✦ 3.7k | fluff

Saltwater Monster

↳ You get stung by a stingray on a squad outing at the beach, to everyone’s surprise — including yours — Jake is the first one at your side ✦ 5.1k | fluff

Lost And Found

↳ Despite how much he irritates you, when Jake loses his father's watch, you go to the moon and back to bring it back to him ✦ 5.5k | fluff

Morning Incentive

↳ The only place you seem to tolerate Jake is in the sheets. And he uses it to his advantage when you refuse to get out of bed on a squad vacation ✦ 4.1k | smut

CRIMSON

↳ There wasn’t anything in this world you feared more than the sight of blood. And when Jake gets hurt during a mission, despite everything, he’s the one who steps up to calm you down ✦ 6.5k | hurt/comfort

𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 :

Pleasure Is No Shame - Part I Part II Part III (completed)

↳ Walking into a sex shop to buy your first toy at your age was a humiliating enough experience, but running into your arch nemesis there ? Was enough to send you into an early grave ✦ 5.1k | suggestive

8-Pool Meltdown - Part I Part II (completed)

↳ After too many drinks at the Hard Deck, your emotions are running high and witnessing everyone reject Jake when all he wanted to do was play pool, was your last straw ✦ 6.1k | fluff

[harddeckstories]

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 “𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑴𝑨𝑵” 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂 :

Sleepy sex with Jake ✦ 640 | smut

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 :

Slow Ride, Take It Easy

↳ Jake is known for driving like he flies, fast, reckless, fearless… Except apparently when you are in the car with him ✦ 2.4k | fluff

GOLDEN

↳ Jake finds a lost puppy on base, a sweet golden retriever and the sight is physically too much for you to handle ✦ 3.7k | fluff

Saltwater Monster

↳ You get stung by a stingray on a squad outing at the beach, to everyone’s surprise — including yours — Jake is the first one at your side ✦ 5.1k | fluff

Lost And Found

↳ Despite how much he irritates you, when Jake loses his father's watch, you go to the moon and back to bring it back to him ✦ 5.5k | fluff

Morning Incentive

↳ The only place you seem to tolerate Jake is in the sheets. And he uses it to his advantage when you refuse to get out of bed on a squad vacation ✦ 4.1k | smut

CRIMSON

↳ There wasn’t anything in this world you feared more than the sight of blood. And when Jake gets hurt during a mission, despite everything, he’s the one who steps up to calm you down ✦ 6.5k | hurt/comfort

𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 :

Pleasure Is No Shame - Part I Part II Part III (completed)

↳ Walking into a sex shop to buy your first toy at your age was a humiliating enough experience, but running into your arch nemesis there ? Was enough to send you into an early grave ✦ 5.1k | suggestive

8-Pool Meltdown - Part I Part II (completed)

↳ After too many drinks at the Hard Deck, your emotions are running high and witnessing everyone reject Jake when all he wanted to do was play pool, was your last straw ✦ 6.1k | fluff

[inkmonster21]

"They say you fall in love three times in your life," you said finally. Your voice was quiet, but it did not shake. "You ever heard that?"

Arthur huffed a breath. "Can’t say I have."

"The first is young and foolish. That kind that feels like the whole world, because you do not know how big the world really is yet. Everything is bright and easy, and you think every ache is the worst one you will ever feel."

"The second is fierce," you said. "All joy and heartbreak tangled together. The fire, you know? The kind that burns hot enough to light up everything in you you did not know you had."

Arthur looked up at you then. His eyes were soft and wrecked at the same time.

"The third," you said, "is deep. Unshakable. It is the one that never burns out. It might glow softer. It might hurt different. But it is the one that does not go away when the firewood runs low."

"I have met you three times in my life, Arthur Morgan," you said. "And every single time, you have made me fall in love with you all over again. You’re the only way I know how to love."

You sat down beside him, close enough that your thighs brushed. You did not look at him yet. You looked at your hands.

"That third kind is the one you are supposed to build your life on," you said. "The one you are supposed to protect. Not keep throwin' into fires to see if it survives."

You finally met his eyes. "Do not make me fall for you a fourth time, Arthur."

🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷

🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷

1. The Thompson Family

2. Weeding the Flowers

3. Yearning for Freedom

4. If I Were A Man

5. Wishing on the Stars

6. She Don’t Smile Like That

7. Drawn to You

8. Sometime is Now

9. A Parent’s Choice

10. A Lost Moment

11. Back to the Dollhouse

12. Made of Glass

13. Escape the Dollmaker

14. Bruised Soul, Healing Heart

15. To The Rescue

16. Stargazing with Ulterior Motives

17. Midnight Company

18. Hands On

19. Maid of Honor

20. The Blessing

21. Summer Lovin’

22. Under the Sunset

23. Suspected

24. Dreamin’ of Our Future

25. Our Last Act

26. Good Morning, Goodbye

27. Caught in the Line of Fire

28. A Helping Hand

29. A Sense of Normalcy

30. In Search of You

31. The Year 1899

32. Left Speeches

33. The Show of a Lifetime

34. Just a Beer or Two

35. An Awkward Breakfast

36. Back to You

37. 100 Questions

38. Horseshoe Overlook

39. What I Am and What I Want

40. Return to Camp

41. Protect and Provide

42. Not Property

43. The Letter

44. The Betrayal

45. Collecting at Death’s Door

46. A Wanted Man

47. A Wanted Woman

48. On the Run

49. Home is Where You Are

50. Shopping and Shooting

51. Everybody Works

52. Votes, Votes, and Vexed Cowboys

53. The Way She Looked Today

54. Run for Love

55. Fiddles and Fool Talk

56. The Trail After Trelawny

57. Ash and Lantern Light

58. They Want Peace or a Peice of Me

59. Resting Ain’t So Bad

60. A Short Walk in Pretty Town

61. A Day to Breathe

62. Unfinished Business

63. A Mother’s Fury

64. A Long Way from Camp

65. Ashes to Ashes

66. A Real City

67. The Right Side of Me

68. Kept Safe

69. Where The Morning Finally Finds Us

70. A Stitch from the Past

71. A Door Left Open

72. Home Isn’t a Building

73. Hole in the Wall

74. The Trolley Job

75. The Trial

76. What The Bayou Took

78. One More Job

79. The Price of Promises

80. The Water Takes You

81. The Shore After the Storm

82. The Weight of the Future

83. The Choice Already Made

84. The Rope Begins to Fray

85. The Choice at Sea

🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷

The Vibe

🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷💛 🌾🌷

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in Sand [rewritten] - Masterlist

While visiting your friend, you accidentally manage to go back in time and find yourself stranded on a mountain with a group of outlaws. As you make your name known in the history books for your friend to find you, you try to navigate through the sudden change in your life, all the new dangers and your blooming feelings for a certain outlaw.

Tags: spoilers for rdr2, graphic depiction of violence, fem!reader, modern!reader, low honor Arthur to high honor, slow burn, time travel, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, angst, sexual harassment, smoking, drinking, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence, Arthur has no TB

Ao3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 -

Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 -

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 -

Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16-

Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20-

Chapter 21 - Chapter 22 - Chapter 23 - Chapter 24-

Chapter 25 - Chapter 26 - Chapter 27 - Chapter 28-

Chapter 29 - Chapter 30 - Chapter 31 - Chapter 32 -

Chapter 33 - Chapter 34 - Chapter 35 - Chapter 36 -

Chapter 37 - Chapter 38 - Chapter 39 - Chapter 40 -

Chapter 41 - ...

[pencil-n-pen]

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

requests: closed!

request guidelines

fics linked in bolded text are drabbles!

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

──────────────────────

leon kennedy ⋆౨ৎ₊˚⊹

princess : burn out comfort, college au, slight rivals to lovers, eldest daughter! reader- Leon, your rival, just wants you to take care of yourself

overworked : sequel to Princess, enjoying have boyfriend brain with Leon, Leon shows you when to take a break

not so messy : depression/overwhelm comfort, in the princess universe, Leon being a good boyfriend, the magic of cleaning your room (with a hot man)

study or date: a study date with Leon goes awry when an old friend shows up. Luckily, things work out in the end :)

eddie munson .・。.・゜✭

spill your guts : anxiety comfort, love confessions, fake/practice dating au- Eddie gets upset, fear responses die hard

music boyfriend i’m your yum-yum: post highschool! eddie x weird girl! reader, weirdos to lovers- coming soon!

spencer reid ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

all i do is try, try, try : post prison! spencer x new to the team genius! reader, you’ve always been second best, the second choice- he shows you what it’s like to be first

i’m still trying everything : post prison! spencer x fem reader, in the mirrorball universe (the above fic) now that you and spencer started dating, insecurities start to rear their head- spencer knows just what help you need

buzz : spencer x autistic! reader, having a meltdown isn’t fun, but spencer knows how to help :)

suddenly i had a valentine: spencer x hopeless romantic! reader, you’re not sure you have a chance with the hot guy who frequents your cafe, but he shows you otherwise

aaron hotchner ˙⋆✮

handle with care: aaron x fem! reader, when breaking a mug leads to a flashback, aaron is there to bring you back.

joel miller (hbo) 𓂃⋆.˚

tongues and teeth : jackson! joel is a protector in his heart. too bad you’re having a hard time letting him after everything you’ve gone through, you’re having a hard time letting him. no ellie au (I’M SORRY)

rafe cameron ₊˚⊹ .

youngblood: rafe x black cat! pogue! reader, rafe wants to give the stubborn pogue no guy has ever dated the princess treatment, but she won’t stand for it.

eye to eye, thigh to thigh: sequel to youngblood- you’re having a hard time adjusting to having Rafe of a boyfriend, but thankfully Rafe (and his wallet) are happy to help

evan buckley ๋࣭ ⋆｡ °✩

reduced to skin and bone: buck x fem! coworker! reader- you’re a people pleaser, too good at what you do. It’s a shame Evan “Buck” Buckley sees right through you.

rick grimes .☘︎ ݁˖

i want an innocent love : alexandria leader! rick x fawn (not literally) reader- you’re a soft, sweet little thing- and Rick can’t figure out why he wants you so bad.

couldn’t make it harder: sequel to the fawn reader- some habits are hard to break, but luckily rick can be a patient man

plush: rick x fem! reader- since arriving to alexandria, you’ve put on some weight. rick happens to like it very much

benedict bridgerton ✧˖°.

you bewitch me- benedict x eldest daughter! reader (NOT INCEST)- You’re a spinster in the making, and really, have no business entertaining the likes of Benedict Bridgerton. It’s a shame you both find arguing so invigorating.

jack abbot ⋆ . ࿔ ˚

too sweet: jack x chronically ill! reader- as a chronically ill person, you’ve had your fair share of problems with the medical system. jack abbot fixes that and ends up showing you what truly being taken care looks like

you’ve ruined my life: jack x eldest daughter! reader: as an intern —robby’s chosen one, specifically— you’re used to doing everything on your own and doing it well. Jack takes issue with this.

i’m always on my own: fake dating au! jack x eldest daughter! reader- when your family comes to town for their annual visit, jack offers his services as your fake boyfriend to get your family off your back. you weren’t expecting the line between fake and real to become so blurred.

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[ohangeleyes]

tina's fanfic recommendations

i wanted to do this for so long and then i saw my beloved taggie doing this and it felt like a sign. below are my absolute favorite authors and their works of art. shakespeare aint got shit on yall.

(considering i 99% times read about sam, the list below features only sam fics) 18+ !! mdni probably gonna update overtime !!

@thesundontshineontheseeyebrows

"you should see the things we do in my dreams"

gotta start with my absolute favorite fanfic oat i'm not even kidding. i've read this at least 4 times, never get bored of it.

@theedaythatnevercomes

"breathe out, so i can breathe you in"

"revelations"

"cherry waves"

"hold me 'til i die"

i thank the universe every day for introducing me to this blog. literally EVERYTHING is amazing but these are my absolute favorite ones.

@sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

"record" has a pt 2 on ao3 (my absolute favorite)

"pretty as a vine, sweet as a grape"

"I dreamed of the places I’ve been with you"

"you got me good (I knew you would)"

"squeaky clean"

writing genuinely feels like "home" idk how to even describe it. so so many amazing fics, if i start listing all of them i'm gonna run out of room lol.

@southernimpala

"you know i'd do anything for you"

"midnight swim"

"backseat" "frontseat"

"all that's left are your walls..."

mia=shakespeare. such beautiful writing i can never get enough.

@wvyik

"the virgin problem"

you'll always be in my mind my sweet sofi </3

@holdinggrudges

"what's my flavor?" "dripping in my favor"

old but gold. never knew i needed vampire!sam this much until i read this.

@sacr1ficialang3l

"these crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be"

my roman empire. i still think about this fic to this day.

@kblognar

"gorgeous morning"

"cereal and coffee"

@plasticflowersinahistorycemetery

"strange eyes" pt I pt II

@chxrrywines

"mean"

"assistance"

"sexxx dreams"

other amazing authors:

@violained LOVE the fluff fics

@filthgf my fav freak

there are so many other amazing authors here that i still haven't stumbled upon on. love every one of you for taking your time and doing this. you all are amazing im so proud of each and every single one of yall. never stop doing what you love.🤍

[theedaythatnevercomes]

Cherry Waves 𑣲

(Stanford!Sam Winchester x f!reader)

Summary: When cramps are really kicking your ass, and a hot bath with your sweet boyfriend isn’t doing the trick… he offers a far more fun solution. (Even if things get a little messy.)

CW: Period sex/blood kink (this is Sam, guys. Are we surprised?), soft dom!Sam, fingering, oral (f!rec), no piv, praise kink, hurt/comfort, Sam’s a nerd, a really sweet nerd, caring Sammy turned filthy Sammy (this is really explicit. I’m not sure if I should apologize for that or not…)

WC: 4.2k

Based on this request!

Steam curls lazily towards the ceiling, softening the edges of the small bathroom in a way that makes everything look a little fuzzy, like you’re floating through a dream. The water’s hot, almost too hot, but you don’t complain. Heat helps. 

Or, heat is supposed to help. That’s how it works. And maybe, if you keep telling yourself it’s helping, it actually will.

You sink further into the tub, or, more accurately, further into Sam, your knees tucked up in a way that has them poking out from beneath the lavender-scented bubbles. You lean back into him, letting your head tilt to rest on his shoulder, your back pressed against the hard plains of his muscled chest, that still manage to be so soft. 

He smells like your shampoo. It’s comforting, in a way. Distracting, too. Distracting enough that for one blissful second, you’re not lost in the dull, twisting ache low in your abdomen, that drums and pulses in slow waves. It feels like a gut punch—if a gut punch involved those metaphorical fingers curling around your uterus, and clenching it hard enough to burst.

The thought makes you grimace. 

“…You okay?”

His soft voice cuts through the silence, warm, dripping with syrupy-thick concern, his chin tucked around your neck. Behind you, he shifts, careful to not let water slosh over the edge, trailing the palm that was stationed on your ribs across your body in a steady caress. One strong arm drapes around your middle, hesitant at first, like he’s trying to gauge where it hurts, or if his touch could make it worse.

It doesn’t. The pressure is nothing but welcome. You hum, a quiet sound, and he responds by rubbing slow, methodical circles over your abdomen.

“Could be better,” you say, letting out a sullen exhale that tells Sam everything he needs to know. His thumb presses into your side, right where the ache sits its deepest. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low with sympathy. Sympathy that would usually make you scowl, or maybe even deck someone, but coming from him? It just feels sweet. “I know, baby.”

The pain seems to pause for a second with those soft, rhythmic motions; before rearing its ugly head right when you start to think you’ve caught a break. It’s small at first. Easy to ignore.

Then it deepens.

You’re pretty sure day two is designed to find out who the strongest links are, and kill off the rest. ‘Aunt Flo’ must’ve been a bitch. The pressure builds, coiling inwards, slow, almost like some kind of warning, before sharpening in a way that makes you hiss. 

You try to shift, to breathe, Sam’s hand pausing on your abdomen. Pain radiates towards your back, settling at the tail of your spine, rippling in wince-inducing waves. You stretch one leg out, tucking the other further in, like your body can’t decide whether it needs space, or to be curled in so tight that it’s just about impossible for your lungs to contract. 

Behind you, Sam sits frozen. Unsure. His palm is warm on your lower belly, his brows furrowed into a worried frown. He feels your muscles clench, then relax, then squeeze again in a way that he can almost feel, and suddenly, he’s massaging you all over again.

“Hey, shh…” he whispers, a gentle coo, peppering a kiss to your shoulder that’s so soft it just about makes you want to cry. “Do you want me to grab you some ibuprofen? Or… I can make you some tea.” Another kiss. Your throat tightens. “Made that ginger stuff last time. You said it wasn’t half bad.”

His question, while thoughtful, has the opposite effect than he intended, resulting in a frown pulling at your lips.

“No. I’m sick of tea. And pills. And heating pads, and chocolate, and everything else that’ll just disappoint me.” It comes out as a grumble, and you know you’re being a bit of a bitch. But you can’t help it. And Sam, the sweetheart, doesn’t hold it against you. He never does. “I just want you. Here.”

“Okay.” His mouth curves into a gentle smile despite himself, just as he shifts, placing a hot, hard kiss to the column of your throat. Then another. And another. “That’s okay, honey.”

Those kisses, while simply affectionate, manufactured to soothe, have your heart fluttering in your chest. One hand stays heavy on your stomach, fingertips pressing against aches, the other dispatching on its own mission. His palm trails down your side, across the dip of your hip, smoothing along your thigh. So soft, so gentle.

Everything feels slower beneath the water. Warmer. Your body is already so sensitive all over, so when his thumb swipes innocently in a sweet circle on the inside of your thigh, you have to bite back a whine.

But Sam hears it. 

And oh, does he love it.

His eyes widen, not that you can see, but the picture of his face in the back of your mind is one of Sam-Winchester-curiosity, his careful exploration stopping as he studies you. That smart, law-boy brain of his working hard, gears turning, deciding just how much to push. How you’re feeling. What you’re feeling. Because if there’s one thing Sam will never do, it’s make your discomfort worse. 

For a moment, you’re both quiet. Quiet enough that the only sound filling the room is the drip of the faucet you never quite turned all the way off. But when you shift, letting out a shaky sigh, he speaks, voice dropping an octave. “I could… take your mind off things. If you want.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he’s hinting at, and when it clicks, your brain seems to short circuit. 

Oh.

You can’t say you hate the idea. Not at all. In fact, if anything, your hormones fluctuating like some fucked-up seesaw only has you craving Sam like goddamn oxygen. And the way he’s been smoothing those greedy hands all over you in that stupidly comforting way for the last half an hour is certainly not helping your case.

But the blood…

“…What?” you whisper, voice coming out in a barely audible squeak.

“You’re hurting,” he says, simply, in that ‘duh’ tone of his that usually has you rolling your eyes. “And… I’ve done some research. Endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine… the best natural pain killers, baby. It can help blood flow, too. Lots of benefits.” He pitches the idea in that passionate way he explains his case studies, all smiles and a sweet, hushed tone. You feel a wave of warmth in your chest.  “And, y’know. I just happen to know a really great way to get ‘em flowing…”

“You’ve done.. research? When, between Economics and Criminal Justice?”

“I have my priorities.”

His hand wanders, just a little lower, skimming along the sensitive expanse of your inner thigh, and the way you squirm is entirely involuntary. Still, it does nothing to melt that tense expression on your face (that, let’s be honest, hasn’t left since the moment you saw the first spot of red on your favourite panties), your next breath coming out shaky.

“Don’t you—I don’t know. Think that’s… gross?”

His fingers stop their path immediately, curling lightly against your soft flesh. It’s a gentle press, just enough to leave pretty dimples, and if it’s designed to distract you, it absolutely works. His hand is big, so damn big, the heel of his palm to the tips of his fingers covering most of your thigh. He huffs, which you’re sure is meant to sound scrutinizing, but the Sam equivalent is so stupidly soft that it just makes your chest hurt instead. He certainly doesn’t sound disgusted, but, almost… offended? 

“Gross?” His voice comes out rough, incredulous. “Honey.” He scoffs, lips pressing hard against your shoulder, once, twice, before he trails up to press a kiss to your temple. Softer than the rest. “No. There’s not one thing about you that’s gross, ‘specially not this.”

“Are you sure? I mean, that sounds… it’s messy, Sam.” You tilt your head from where it’s fallen against his shoulder, and his expression is nothing short of sincere. 

“I brought it up. I’m more than sure,” he says, just a touch cheeky, but you know it’s only to soothe your nerves. And, well. It works. “…‘M not gonna make you do anything you don’t want. But… I love you. I love makin’ you feel good. And if it’s going to help…” he trails off, shrugging, bubbles fizzing beneath his elbows. “…Tell me why I wouldn’t want to.”

You can’t quite argue with that.

Not that you’d really want to, anyway. Little pulses of arousal prickle in your lower belly, sparking like embers in a fire that’s just begun to burn. You bite your lip, the rational part of your brain rivaling the more primitive parts, but in the end: the latter wins.

“…Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he presses, a little surprised, but you don’t miss the hint of excitement there. Cute. 

“Please.”

His hand shifts, far less innocent now, nudging your legs apart carefully, and you suck in a breath. “Just maybe not, y’know. Here.”

He stops, immediately, huffing a laugh against your neck, the sound low enough to have a shiver racing down your spine. He presses one last kiss to your shoulder, then pulls away, hands sliding across your body as he holds you in a sweet embrace.

“Okay,” he murmurs, breath hovering by your ear. “Bed. I’ll grab a towel.”

All that newfound confidence dissipates the second you watch Sam place that dark, navy blue towel over the covers, slow and careful, like he’s not just protecting the sheets, but setting a stage. 

The movement pulls at his shoulders just right, every shift of those perfect muscles in his back catching in the dim light. He’s broad, beautiful, like he’s sculpted from the Gods in a way that’s downright unfair. You stare, of course you do—ogle, even—and the heat that pools low in your stomach dances right along with those insistent nerves, and that uncomfortable twisting feeling that won’t quite give you a rest.

By the time he’s finished smoothing the corners of that damned towel just right, your heart feels about ready to beat out of your chest. Your legs carry you to the bed without a lick of help from your brain, and when you finally sit, you almost feel… stiff. Not because of him. Never because of him. But because of, well. Everything else.

Still, you stay where you are. Reclined, waiting, and acutely aware of everything.

Like the way the sheets are cool under your back when you shift, lying reclined against the plush covers. Or the way the towel is softer beneath your hips, warmer where it brushes your bare skin. Your still-damp hair fans out across the pillow like a halo, ends tickling your shoulders, making every tiny movement send a spark down your spine. Your knees stay drawn in, thighs pressing together like that’ll do anything to quiet the pulse between them.

It doesn’t. Not when Sam turns, and looks at you like that.

He exhales, slow and measured, his gaze dragging over you in a quiet, almost languid way, like he’s savouring the view. There’s nothing rushed in it, and absolutely nothing careless. He takes his time, committing every detail to memory, filing back the way your fingers curl nervously into the blankets, the subtle tremble to your thighs.

His fingers flex at his sides like he’s fighting some internal battle to hold himself back, before he finally steps closer. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he leans in, the shift subtle, but enough to make your breath stutter. 

Then his eyes find yours, and they soften.

Maybe not completely. The hunger is still there, unmistakable, burning just beneath the surface, but it slows. It turns careful in a way that makes your chest ache, and has your muscles releasing tension you weren’t even aware was present.

“Still okay?” he asks, quiet, hovering over you, his bangs tickling your forehead, and there’s something about the sound of his voice that has arousal twisting in your core like a cord about to snap. You swallow, nodding; more to keep yourself from letting out an embarrassingly blissful whine than anything. But oh, that’s not enough for him. He tuts at you, a slow exhale and ridiculous shake of his head, but his expression stays sweet enough to drown in.

“Words.”

“Yes, Sam. More than okay,” you breathe, and that’s the A-plus answer. One of his hands comes to rest over your knee, large and warm and oh so grounding. His thumb moves absentmindedly at first, soothing little circles over the swell of your thigh. Slowly, so damn slowly, it becomes more deliberate, dipping into the crease between your legs, fingertips brushing your inner thighs. Each pass is lighter than the last, like he’s coaxing you to melt, rather than just pulling them apart.

“Just relax…” he croons, his voice low, threaded with something so sweet, so him, that it just about hurts.

He bends over you then, careful of his weight, his body enveloping you completely, but without crowding. His lips press to your forehead first, gentle and lingering. Then to your temple. Your cheek. The tip of your nose. 

And when he finally reaches your lips, it isn’t rushed. It’s slow. Almost restrained at first, just the faintest brush, before deepening in a way that feels inevitable.

His lips slot against yours like they were made to, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw, long fingers spanning over the expanse of your cheek. Sam’s kisses never feel confined to his lips, when he kisses: you feel it everywhere. That massive hand tilting your head back to give him more access, his nose smushing against your cheek when he presses you into the pillows, his bare chest brushing against yours as his lips move with a slow kind of fever. His hot tongue swipes at the seam of your lips, asking permission, and when you open up for him, he groans like it’s tearing him apart.

When your legs fall open, it’s of their own accord, your body melting into the kiss entirely, and it’s about the most ‘yes please’ response Sam could’ve asked for. His hand slips, dipping from your thighs to the pretty jut of your hip, shifting to your belly to take a needy handful of the softness there. He lets out a panty dropping hum of approval against your lips, sucking spit back through his teeth. “That’s it, beautiful. Openin’ up for me,” he murmurs, dropping an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, hot and wet with just a touch of perfect suction.

He pulls away only enough to blow a cool puff of air over that shiny little circle his lips left behind, making your body give a happy jolt, a gasp tumbling from your lips at the prickling sensation. He snickers at your shiver, the bastard, but then his fingers are wandering again. Lower this time. 

The first brush over the swell of your mound is featherlight, testing, but you’re so sensitive, that it already feels like you’re seconds away from falling apart (pathetic? Maybe. Not that he minds). His thumb brushes your clit, the softest of circles, and you’re pretty sure every coherent thought you’ve ever had falls straight out of your head. You must look a little stupid, going slack jawed, eyes glazed over, brows pulled in silent pleasure, but he doesn’t tease. Those thick fingers glide through your folds, spreading you open with his middle and index digits, his eyes trained on your cunt like it’s the prettiest view he’s ever seen.

You’re wet. Real fucking wet. A string of slick connects your pussy to his fingers as he pulls away just to shuffle himself back, and… oh. That pale, milky red hue clings to his fingers, glistening in the low light, your face growing hot in an instant. It’s just as mortifying as it is, put lightly, completely fucking erotic. Your expression twists into that of an embarrassed frown, just as Sam exhales roughly. But his expression… yeah. Not repulsed. Not even close. 

His jaw seems to tighten at the sight of that pink-streaked slick on his fingers, and you swear his pupils only dilate even further. His thumb finds your clit again, thick ripples of pleasure sparking from your core, rubbing precise and firm as his gaze finds yours. And when he sees that less than amused expression, you swear he bites back a grin. 

“It’s natural, baby.” His voice comes out butter-smooth, dripping with lust, damn near sultry. 

“It’s blood.”

Sam simply mm-hmm’s at that, unphased, free hand moving to splay over your thigh, nudging your legs further apart. Spreading you open for him, wide open, just as he goes right back to practically eye-fucking your dripping cunt. His fingers slide back through your folds, gathering more slick, spreading it slow and filthy. Coating you in your own wetness like he just needs to feel how soaked you really are. “Just makes you even more wet for me. So needy.”

You don’t get to think, let alone respond, before he dips lower and slides one thick finger inside, stretching you out just right, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit when he reaches the last knuckle. Your lashes flutter, eyes fighting to not roll straight back into your head as fire sparks and pulls at your core. “You think I give a damn about a little mess?” he pulls back, letting out a huff, just to thrust right back home with a second long digit to stuff you full. “Y’don’t gotta be nervous, honey. ‘M just gonna take good care of you, yeah? Make you feel alll better...”

You let out a whine at that, one that comes entirely involuntarily, slipping through parted lips. And oh, Sam loves it so much—he makes it his personal mission to hear a thousand more. Your legs fall further apart, knees thumping against the soft towel below, his tongue darting out to lick his lips like the sight of you spread before him has his mouth watering. His fingers pump in slow, rhythmic thrusts that squelch in the quiet room, just as he drags himself back just enough to lower himself between your parted thighs like he’s been waiting to do so all damn day.

His mouth drops to your ribs first, lips tickling just beneath your breasts, before drifting lower, lower, lower, until he’s smudging a sloppy-wet kiss below your navel. He groans, his breath hot and ragged against your belly, butterflies twisting deep in your core. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, smushing his lips against the inside of your thighs, sucking sweet red splotches, his shoulders spreading you impossibly wider. 

Those perfect, leather tough fingertips drag over that spot deep inside your pussy that makes your vision go white, your back bowing with a euphoric: “oh God, Sam!” 

Your own fingers thread through his hair, silky and still a tad damp, and there’s a part of your brain that screams at you to just pull him back up to your lips before he can reach his destination: but it’s damn near impossible to care about taboo when his tongue swipes its first long, deep lick from his fingers to your clit. 

It’s so good. Too good. Your hips jerk, chasing the feeling and shying away and oh God another pass comes, timed with a curl of his fingers that almost makes you sob. His free hand pins your hips down hard, keeping you from squirming away, and you’re sure that if he had it in him to come up for air: he’d probably be scolding you again.

Luckily for you, though, he’s addicted the second he gets that first taste. 

A low, appreciative noise rumbles from his chest as he laps at you, his tongue broad and hot and filthy, laving over your folds in wet circles that have you rattling out choked moans and pleas. His fingers pump steadily inside you, matching the flow of his mouth with Stanford-levels of accuracy, until your thighs tremble around his head and his name spills from your lips in a broken gasp.

The cramps that twisted and pulled at your core like they were trying to tear you apart? Forgotten. It’s hard to focus on pain when Sam dives right into your cunt like he’s starving, making wet, lewd slurping sounds that have your cheeks heating up and your stomach flipping. His fingers stuff you full, pausing their thrusts just to zero in on that spot—wrist rolling in circles as he presses again and again right fucking there. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sam, Sammy—ah, don’t stop,” you curse, and you don’t think once about pushing him away anymore. Instead? You only pull him closer. Your fist curls in his hair as you sling one leg over his shoulder, soft skin meeting the broad, hard muscle of his back.

He grunts approvingly in response, the vibration shooting through you like an electrical current, and you swear he almost sounds drunk. Like that tangy, coppery-taste he sucks from your core is the finest wine he’s ever gotten his greedy hands on. His tongue laps at you feverishly, swirling around your puffy clit, before sealing around it with those swollen lips like he’s trying to drink you down.

He doesn’t stop. Can’t. Not when his chin drips a shimmery red, not when your thighs squeeze by his ears, not when your voice breaks on his name. The rich combination of blood and slick slides down your thighs, soaking the towel beneath, staining the fabric with evidence of your need.

He smushes his face against you, so damn close that his nose scrunches against your mound, his lips suckling hard against your sensitive bundle, like even a lick of space is far too much. Inevitably, he has to part for a breath—but Sam doesn’t waste a single one.

“Wanna fuck y’like this, baby,” he babbles, curling his fingers, peppering an almost urgent kiss to your pussy between words. “Fuckin’ slippery wet. So good for me.” Kiss. “You’d let me?” Kiss. “Let me fuck you so good? Take all that pain away?” Kiss kiss. 

“Mmph… y-yeah,” you croak, thighs shaking so hard, you wonder if he’s already fucked you dumb. 

“Yeah? Yeah what?” he urges.

“Want—wan’ you to fuck me, Sammy, just like this. Please.”

He doesn’t answer at first, but he sure as hell groans, muffled, guttural, kitten licking your clit, tonguing at your folds to keep you spread open the way he wants you. One hand is still bruising on your hip, the other hooking talented fingers so perfectly against your sweet spot. His breath punches out in rough grunts, eyes closed like he’s savouring your taste. 

“I will,” he promises, sealing it with a broad lick that steals your breath. “Maybe not tonight, baby, but I will.”

His jaw flexes as he swallows around your clit, and you know it must be aching. You’re close, so fucking close, and he knows it: doubling down on his efforts like he wasn’t already one good vibration away from making you pass out into a messy puddle of ecstasy. 

“C’mon. Come f’me. Forget all ‘bout the pain, sweet girl.”

He finds that abused bud again. Sucks. Hums a moan like he’s seconds away from falling apart, just enough to make you jolt.

It doesn’t take much more than that.

Your climax washes over you, crashing down in wave after wave of pure, overwhelming pleasure. You writhe, sob, squirms pinned by his big hand still splayed over your hip, every word you try to speak dissolved into a slurred moan. Sam rides it out with you, fingers buried to the last knuckle, tongue swirling tight, until your body sags against the sheets, boneless and spent.

His fingers slip free after a moment, but apparently, Sam hasn’t quite gotten his fill. Because the second he does, he’s dragging his tongue right back through your oversensitive cunt, dipping into your weeping hole to really get a proper taste, right from the source.

You whine, stumbling out a ‘too much’, and it’s only then that he draws back. Slow, languid, licking his lips clean with a satisfied hum.

And oh. Oh God.

His chin, his fingers, God, even sliding down his neck—it’s all slick. Dripping. Stained a glistening reddish-pink, that seriously shouldn’t make you stupid levels of horny, and yet, somehow? It really fucking does.

“S-Sammy, you look… oh, fuck.”

He grins, shamelessly, looking a little more than proud, as he follows your eyes to his fingers, coated in red, shimmering as he raises them to his mouth. Without hesitation, his tongue swipes once, slowly, over his stained fingers, humming at the coppery-sweet flavour with a pleased hum.

Well, fuck.

You’re barely able to swallow back your moan when he leans in, boxing you against the pillows, hands skimming over your still-trembling thighs (and… yeah. He definitely left fingerprints).

“You taste real good, y’know,” he soothes, breath ghosting over yours. You can almost smell the metallic tang in his breath. “And… it looks like you’re feelin’ better, yeah?” he shifts, hands following a path across your body. So damn gentle, a featherlight touch. And when you nod, he smiles. “Good.”

You can’t even pretend to be surprised when he starts lowering himself right back down between your thighs. 

“Though… one trial’s never actually enough. Right, honey?”

AN: So, I asked for fluffy requests, because I thought maybe I wouldn’t end up writing way too much… just for me to start writing way too much. So, hopefully, I’ll finish that soon! I’d just started this one a while ago, and finally got around to finishing it.

Side note, sorry for not posting for almost a month. Life is kicking my ass… but! Hopefully I’ll finish up some more drafts.

Also! I figured out how to do the gradient thing, and will be overusing it now 😆

Dividers from @/cursed-carmine

TAG LIST: @spectralgalaxygauntlet @vfwwm

[theedaythatnevercomes]

Breathe Out, So I Can Breathe You In

(Stanford!Sam Winchester x f!reader)

Summary: Weed can have an array of effects on people. Some get tired. Some get a feeling of intense euphoria. Some eat everything they can find in their fridge. And you? Apparently, getting stoned makes you really want to fuck your best friend. Or, maybe, it’s not the weed at all.

CW: Marijuana use, shotgunning, mutual pining, oral (f!rec), fingering, protected piv, praise kink, sweet Sam, littleee bit of a size kink, lots of communication, aftercare, soo much domestic fluff it’ll make you sick

WC: 13.4K

When you started at Stanford University, you weren’t expecting anything special. 

Sure, you were excited. Ecstatic, actually. Hell, you worked your ass off for four years, and maintained a weighted 4.0 GPA, just for this. So when you received your acceptance, you were over the moon.

But you’re smart. You kept your expectations low. Spent the first few weeks entirely focused on learning the campus. Made sure you knew all the best study spots. Memorized what to and what not to eat in the meal hall.

By week two, you could navigate to your classes so well, you could do it blindfolded. 

So, needless to say, when you’re so zeroed in on being the perfect student, making friends doesn’t come easy. Or, it didn’t, at first. 

But then he came along. 

The first time you ran into him, you were rushing out of your dorm, because you were ten minutes behind schedule. Well. Your own, personal, made up schedule… so technically, you were late for absolutely nothing. But that’s not how it felt. 

You’d been running to the elevator, since you lived on the ninth floor, absolutely determined to get to the library to study by six o’clock sharp (which, unfortunately for you, was in three minutes). 

That’s when you heard a yell. A deep, masculine voice, calling out for you to stop the doors before they could close. You didn’t.

Which, hey, maybe that’s rude. But you weren’t exactly in the mood to be holding doors for people (you could’ve), not when you were late (you weren’t).

It takes all of four seconds for you to realize your mistake, though, because he makes it into the elevator anyway. Oops.

When he slips inside the small space, the first thing you think is holy shit he’s tall. Like, at least six-foot-two, well over. No wonder he made it, with those legs. 

You make a point of not looking him in the eye, after you’ve just very rudely blatantly ignored him. But he doesn’t kick up a fuss. He doesn’t say anything, actually, which is almost worse than being pissed. Just breathes quickly from his little sprint, and nods at you when he leaves. Huh.

You thought that would be the end of it. Stanford is a big school, after all. But, because you have the worst (best?) luck in all of history, it wasn’t. 

You start to run into him. A lot. He’s kind of hard to miss, being massive and all (and gorgeous), so you notice. You meet him a couple times in that same elevator. A handful of times in your meal hall. Once or twice in the library. After a week, you’re almost sure that you’re being stalked—until you realize he just lives in the same dorm building as you. 

One day, a day that you were not late, and you were standing in the elevator, you saw him. He was walking towards you, or, more likely, the elevator. He didn’t call out, or run. But this time, you held the door. He smiled. 

And fucking Christ, he had a beautiful smile.

It’s that day that you learn that his name is Sam. He’s from Kansas, but his family moved around. A lot. He’s in his first year, just like you, but he’s studying pre-law. He likes to read. Doesn’t really party, but he’s not opposed to a fun night every once in a while. He hates Halloween (damn psychopath). Oh, and he’s six-foot-four. You were close. 

Somehow, despite your absolutely terrible first impression (which you have apologized about. A lot), you and Sam become friends. And then best friends. Until by the beginning of your third year, the two of you are practically attached at the hip. 

He knows everything about you, and you know everything about him. You study together. You grab breakfast, lunch, and, occasionally, dinner together. He knows your coffee order. He knows what shampoo you use. He knows that you crack your knuckles when you’re nervous, and grind your teeth when you’re focused. Hell, he knows everything down to your favourite pair of socks: the fuzzy ones with dogs on them, that you wear every time the two of you curl up in his dorm to watch a movie. 

Which, actually, is your plan for the night. 

You show up at Sam’s dorm at exactly ten o’clock, decked out in fluffy candy cane patterned pajama pants, because c’mon, it’s finally December, along with a black tank top. (Oh, and your socks. Always your socks.)

The halls are quiet. The only sound is the radiator buzzing at the end of the hall, the shuffling of your slippers on the carpet floor, and the crinkle of your chip bag as you manoeuvre the handful of items you’re carrying to knock on his door. 

He’s swinging the door open before you get the chance, though. Smiling down at you with those sweet puppy-dog-eyes, messy bangs falling over his forehead. He’s just as ready as you are, plaid pajama pants low on his hips, and some loose t-shirt. Well. It would be loose, if it wasn’t for Sam being fucking ripped.

Not that you’re paying attention to that, or anything. 

“Hey,” you greet, pushing past him before he can even invite you in, like you own the damn place. Because at this point? It’s yours as much as it is his. 

“Hope you’ve picked a movie already, because I really don’t want to watch you scroll through the menu for thirty minutes.”

Sam steps aside, watching you with an amused smirk on his face, an unlit joint slotted between his fingers. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he teases, nudging the door closed with his sock-covered foot. “Didn’t realize we were on a strict movie-watching schedule tonight.”

You make your way to his bed, dumping your collection of snacks onto his bedside table, Snickers, Jolly Ranchers, and M&M’s, before settling onto the pillows. You pry open the bag of chips you snagged without a word, but you roll your eyes at his teasing. 

Sam watches you with a look on his face that’s a little hard to decipher. Mock annoyance, yes. But there’s more. Something almost fond, that makes your heart skip a beat.

He follows after you a moment later, though, flopping down on the bed next to you, long limbs stretched along the length of the mattress. “But for your information,” he adds, pointing at you with that joint like it’s his finger, “I have picked one. A classic. The Thing.”

Oh, of course. Of course he chooses that one, again, like the two of you haven’t seen it more times than you can count.

Deep down, you know why. He does exactly this, every time it’s his turn to pick a movie. Picks something you’ve both already seen. So that way, when you inevitably start rambling about something stupid, he doesn’t have to pause or rewind. He can just listen. Because he’s sweet like that.

You don’t comment on it, though. You just hum at his words, and pop a chip into your mouth. 

There’s a fleeting moment where he just studies you. The way you made yourself at home. The way you look so at ease, relaxed. He even glances down at your socks for a moment, and you swear his expression changes again. Full of affection. Affection that only comes from seeing something that’s so you. 

But then his eyes flicker back to your face, and he laughs, watching you stuffing a handful of chips into your mouth without any shame. 

“…Sun Chips? Really? After last time? You said those were the reason that rat found my dorm—”

You cut him off by smushing your hand against his mouth, and his brows pinch together, nose scrunching up in such an adorable way that your face warms up just a little. Somehow, though, you manage to keep a straight face.

“Don’t talk about that rat, Winchester, or I’ll kick your ass.”

An empty threat? Probably. But you still grimace at the memory. Stanford may be a nice school, but the dorms are old. And apparently, not rat proof. 

He peels your hand off his face, acting like it takes a lot more effort than it really does (because, c’mon. You’ve seen those biceps), before he’s speaking again.

“Fine, no rat talk,” he agrees, showing you his palms in mock surrender. But because he thinks he’s hilarious, and because he’s an ass, he continues. “Though, for the record, you screamed. I calmly assessed the sit—”

You cut him off by jamming your elbow into his ribs, which makes him yelp, before breaking out in a laughing fit that is way too boyish for a massive twenty year old man. And way too cute.

He does it on purpose, really. Riling you up so you shove him, pinch him, flick his forehead, before giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s masochism, seriously.

Even through your attack, a smile creeps its way onto your lips. Hard not to, when he’s laughing like that, with the worlds prettiest smile on his face, dimples and all. 

Sam mutters to himself, something about not knowing why he puts up with you, as he leans for the remote. Said remote is on his bedside table, or, literally right next to you, so why he doesn’t just ask for it, you’re unsure. But this means that he quite literally stretches on top of you, all massive, two-hundred-something pounds of Winchester, and you can tell he’s doing it on purpose.

“Sam!” you protest, but you can’t hide the laugh that comes along with it, as you shove him playfully. He doesn’t stop, though, you see that dimple popping, grabbing the remote with mock innocence. 

The closeness means that all of his Sam-warmth is pressed against you. ‘I run hot’, he always says, which is the understatement of the century, based on how he feels like a human furnace over you. And God, you can smell him, all masculine and woodsy and so him…

Jesus Christ, what are you doing?

By the time he leans back to his side of the bed, your face has gone a little red. If he notices, he doesn’t bring it up. Just leans back against his pillows with an exaggerated sigh, clicking play, then tossing the remote somewhere on his blankets. That’s something for the two of you to worry about later, when you’re tearing his dorm apart to find it. 

The opening notes of ‘The Thing’s eerie track creep in as he scoots just a little closer, just enough so your shoulders touch, and he fidgets with the joint in his fingers like he’s spinning a pen. 

“Comfy?” he asks, quietly, and his voice isn’t full of playful teasing or mock-annoyance anymore. No, it’s fallen right back into sweet, soft Sam, that makes you feel like your insides have been set aflame. Your heart does a stupid little somersault. 

“Mhm,” you hum, and you have to forcefully ignore the sparks that are currently exploding under your skin where your shoulders touch. Get it together.

To distract yourself, and maybe as an excuse to get a little closer, you lean forward, grabbing hold of his blanket, and you tuck it over the two of you. You let yourself fall into a more reclined position, melting into his sheets. 

You make it all of five minutes into the movie, watching the helicopter chase the ‘dog’ with a grimace on your face, like you haven’t seen it a hundred times over already, before you’re breaking the silence.

“So… do you know what you’re doing for Christmas break this year? It’s in, like, two weeks, which is insane,” you start, crunching a chip between your teeth. “I’m still deciding if I want to book a plane ticket home…”

Sam smiles like he anticipated this (he did), and makes no move to pause the movie. He just stares at the screen, but tilts his head towards you slightly as he speaks.

“Two weeks? Jesus. Don’t remind me. I still have to study for finals…” 

He runs his hand over his face, before letting his head fall back against his headboard with a thud. 

“Honestly? I’m staying here. Again.”

It was an answer you expected, but you hum all the same. Sam was never the type to go home during holidays, or, well, ever. He barely spoke about them beyond the odd comment about his brother, Dean.

He finally turns to you, just slightly, elbow propped up on the mattress. “I mean, we’ve got heat now that they ‘fixed’ the boiler, so no more sleeping in ten layers like last year. And campus is practically empty, anyway. Can study wherever.”

You let out a little laugh at that, memories of receiving Sam’s whiny phone calls ringing through your head, when you’d slipped away after dinner on Christmas Eve just to call him. ‘It’s freezing,’ he’d complained, ‘I can’t even feel my ass!’

“Oh, yeah? So no more waking up not being able to feel your fingers?” you tease, turning to look at him, movie forgotten.

He hums in response, nodding exaggeratedly like this is the most important conversation in the world, before continuing. “Uh-huh. I mean, why fly across the country for a week for a family who doesn’t even do Christmas, when you can stay where it’s warm, and eat half-cooked turkey in meal hall?”

“Wow. Great upselling, Sam,” you tease, but you can’t keep the smile out of your voice. 

“Just saying. It’s kind of nice. Lonely, maybe, but I can always… y’know…” he makes a rolling motion with his fingers, before bringing that damn joint to his lips, still unlit— and you get the idea right away. 

“Get really high?” You prompt, raising a brow at him, and judging by a look he gives you with a shrug, you’re right on the money. 

“Right,” you laugh, looking up at him, and that’s when you see it. Really see it. The glimmer of something in his eyes, something like pleading. Like those puppy eyes are asking you to stay without him saying it himself. “Well, since you make it sound so great… maybe I’ll stay back this year.”

His expressions changes immediately. Disbelief, at first, then softening into something so quietly excited, that your heart rate picks up a little. He smiles again, the kind of smile that brightens his whole face, and you can’t help but return it.

“Really?” he asks, like you’ve just told him he won the damn lottery.

“Why not? I mean. I flew home the last two years, it wasn’t all that great, and then I was all jet-lagged when classes started back up,” you explain, but Sam really didn’t need an explanation. No, he was excited as soon as the word ‘maybe’ left your lips.

He doesn’t respond to you right away. A little lost in his own thoughts, by the looks of it, and you don’t comment on it. His eyes flicker over you, that dopey smile on his face, before he briefly looks at the bedside table, then back at you. 

“Well… since you’ve decided…” he starts, stretching his long arm over you, towards the nightstand (so he can reach without leaning over you. Huh). “We can count today as the first day of holiday break. Let loose.”

He snags the lighter off the tabletop, bringing it back to his lap, but not without making sure he elbows you in the head first. Asshole. 

But even with the lighter in his palm, the joint between his two fingers, he makes no move to light it. Simply fidgets with it like it’s personally offended him. You raise a brow. 

“You gonna smoke that, or just stare at it?” you ask, teasing, and he shoots you a look. 

“Maybe I was trying to be polite,” he smirks, tilting his head at you, those cute little bangs falling over his eyes. “I’d like to not give you a contact high every time I breathe, thanks.”

He says it like he’s joking. Keeps that little grin on his face, all light and sweet, but you know there’s something genuine underneath it. He’s gotten high around you before, God, more times than you can count—but he’s always so cautious first. Like he’s worried he’s doing something wrong. Making you uncomfortable. 

If there’s one thing Sam Winchester will never do? It’s make you actually uncomfortable on purpose. 

The first time he got high around you, at the beginnings of your friendship, he’d been careful. Asked if you were sure it was okay, probably, like, over a thousand times before he even rolled it up. Then a few more times for good measure once it was, before finally taking the first hit, and offering it to you. And oh, when he found out that you don’t smoke, at all? He felt like a prick.

But that was two damn years ago, and even after your constant reassurance… he still tiptoes around the subject, like the little people-pleaser he is. 

“Sam,” you start, voice dropping low, almost like you’re a mother scolding her child. “It’s weed. I’m not going to be poisoned from second hand smoke.” 

He rolls his eyes again, a little dramatically. “Whatever,” he grumbles, like he’s annoyed with you, but you don’t believe it for a second. 

There’s another pause as the joint dangles between his fingers, before he exhales the world’s heaviest sigh. “Since you insist…” he teases, before flicking the lighter. The flame catches, shadows dancing across his face as he takes a slow pull, and leans back into the pillow, eyes fluttering closed. 

He holds it for a moment, letting it fill his lungs, before letting out a deep exhale, tilting his head away from you (ever the gentleman). Smoke billows from his lips in a steady stream.

You try not to get distracted. You really do. But watching the orange flame illuminate his face just right, the way his lips curl around the joint, his eyes closing as he inhales, the sharp curve of his jaw twitching as he exhales… 

Jesus Christ, you’re so fucked.

Something about it is almost domestic. The warm sheets. The movie playing in the background. The smell of weed wafting through the room. Shoulder to shoulder with Sam.

He exhales again, the weed taking effect. Not quite a high, not yet—he’s a seasoned smoker, after all—just enough to take the edge off. He sinks deeper into the mattress, eyes opening back up, and he stares at the TV for a moment like he’s in a daze. 

And oh, he stretches slightly, just getting comfortable, and his bicep flexes as it moves across his chest. 

…Not that you’re looking, or anything.

Before you can be tempted to do something stupid, like, lick Sam’s arm, you speak up.

“Can I try?” you ask, voice coming out so quiet, you’re not sure he heard you. 

He did. 

His eyes widen immediately as he turns to you, brows furrowed. “What?” he questions, and based on the way he sounds, you’d think you’d just told him you were dropping-out and becoming a stripper. 

He looks more than a little shocked, to say the absolute least. He’s watching you like he expects you change your mind, or turn around and say ‘just kidding’, before bursting out into laughter.

But when you don’t, the surprise melts away into confusion. Just a quiet intensity, and a little something that looks like excitement.

“Are you serious?” he asks, sceptical, and you almost laugh at the way he’s staring at you. Like he just can’t believe that you, a college student, may want to hit his joint.

“Yes, I’m serious,” you respond, and this time, you can’t hold back your amused snort. You decide then and there that confusion is a very cute emotion on him, puppy eyes and all. “I mean. I’ve been curious, y’know? And what better person than you to show me the ropes?”

His gaze drops to the joint, looking at it like it’s betrayed him, before flicking back to you, brows pulling together. 

“You’ve been curious?” he laughs once, short, disbelieving. “For two years, you’ve watched me do this, and now tonight? Tonight’s the night?”

You shrug, and despite his words, his fingers are already turning the joint between the two of you, offering it to you with a careful kind of hesitation.

“Alright,” he relents softly. “But slow. One hit. And don’t inhale like I do. It’ll wreck you.”

Those words make you raise a brow, because, one, you don’t understand what the hell that means. And two, there’s that gentle concern behind them. The kind that never fails to make you just a little fidgety. 

After a moment’s pause, you take the joint from him tentatively, like you’re trying to disarm a bomb, not smoke some pot. His hand lingers just slightly, fingers brushing yours in that stupidly electric way they always do. Jesus, what the hell’s going on with you tonight?

When his eyes meet yours again, they’re a little wide. Soft. Nervous. Heart-wrenchingly sweet, to such a degree that you have to advert your gaze before your cheeks flush all over again. 

There’s a few beats where neither of you move. Like the silence between you is heavy, charged. But then you snap out of it, and realize that you really have no idea what you’re doing. Sam seems to have the same realization a moment later, because he mumbles something about ‘corrupting the innocent’, before shifting again.

He sits up, scooting closer to you so his side is practically pressed against yours.

“Okay, hold on. Wait,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to the joint between your fingers. “C’mere for a minute.”

He motions for you to lean forward with a crook of his finger and a little head nod, and you roll your eyes at his sudden serious tone before complying. 

“Hold it between your fingers. Bring it to your mouth. Then, when you take a hit, pull in air without actually breathing in, like you’re sucking on a straw,” he instructs, voice low. “And don’t fully inhale it into your lungs. It’ll burn less. Shallow.”

You blink at him. Once, twice, then a third time for good measure. Right. Okay, then.

What?

You take in what he’s saying, you really do. The problem? None of it makes any goddamn sense.

And c’mon, you’re not the kind of person to lie to him. This is Sam, after all. So, you look him dead in the eyes, faces only inches apart from where he’d made you lean forward. And in the most deadpan tone you can muster, you respond simply:

“What the fuck does any of that mean?” you ask, and the question hangs in the air for a moment, before you laugh. “That sounded more complicated than those case studies you do in Criminal Justice. What do they teach you law-boys, how to make everything sound impossible?”

“Pre-law,” he corrects, not at all phased by your little dig, before leaning back, and turning his body just enough to look at you properly. 

His eyes are still so warm. Crinkled at the corners in that way they get when he’s trying really hard to not full-on cackle at you.

“Okay,” he drawls, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause. “Forget the lecture. Just… here.”

Before you can protest, or really fully process his words, he takes the joint gently from your fingers again. “You trust me?” he questions, and all he earns from you is a look. A ‘what kind of question is that?’ look, which apparently is enough for him.

Because slowly, deliberately, he brings the joint to his lips, taking a small hit. Holds it in his mouth for a beat.

Then he leans in just slightly, closing that lick of space between the two of you. And before your brain can catch up, or think holy shit, is he about to kiss you? His lips brush yours. Soft. Warm. Over too fast, barely even touched, but long enough for heat to flood your system, and lets the smoke slide between your parted lips before pulling back.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, voice low and rougher than before, eyes searching yours with a mixture of nerves and something dangerously close to hope. “Learned?”

You can’t answer. Not right away. 

Because holy shit, Sam Winchester just half-kissed you.

What the fuck?

There’s a beat where you don’t move. Completely stunned, even just for a moment. But then you process that he’s exhaled smoke into your mouth, and you breathe in. Not at all like a straw, and not at all shallow like he’s told you.

It burns, and it takes less than a second for you to break out into a coughing fit. 

At the sound of your coughing, and the sight of your eyes watering, Sam’s concern comes rushing back like a tidal wave. He’s already moving, one palm finding your shoulder, the other smoothing over your back.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Breathe,” he urges, running his hand gently up and down your back. “Told you not to inhale like me,” he teases, before his voice drops low again. “You okay?”

There’s real worry in his voice now, and a furrow between his brows. But he can’t help it, he still grins. And you could swear his cheeks look a little pink. 

“Yeah, I’m fi—” you’re halfway through a choked cough when it hits. It’s like your senses all relax at once, giving way to something lighter. Deeper. Like your heads filled with air. It’s not intense, but it’s certainly new. “—Woah,” you mumble, lifting your gaze, the burning subsiding.

And when your eyes find Sam’s, puppy eyes so full of worry, his brows pinched together so adorably? You’re not sure if you’re closer to laughing or whining at the sight.

“Slow,” he repeats again with a soft, huffing chuckle, watching your eyes go glassy while the coughing fit finally subsides. 

“You sure you’re good?” He asks quietly, eyes still narrowed with concern. His hand is still on your shoulder, and he’s leaned into your space like he’s afraid you might suddenly pass out. 

That little bit of carefree, heat-of-the-moment confidence seems to have died out, and he looks almost shy. Maybe a little guilty, like he’s done something wrong. “Listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Sam.”

You cut him off before he can spiral. Maybe it makes you weird, but seeing him all sweet and concerned, leaning into you, holding you like he’s worried you might fall? Yeah. It’s sort of doing it for you, in some fucked-up way. Not to mention the fact that your lips are still tingling. 

“I’m okay. It just feels… new?” you start, you melt into his touch just a fraction further. You don’t mention the half-kiss. Not right away. Instead, you continue, voice slightly dazed, and you can’t contain the little laugh that slips out. “Good new.”

He looks hesitant for a moment, like he’s not sure if he believes you. But whether it’s the look on your face, or your words, he relaxes. And when he laughs with you, warm and soft and God, you could get lost in it; his shoulders fall loose, letting go of some tension.

He studies your face again like he’s searching for any signs of nausea, or, God forbid, discomfort. But all he finds are flushed cheeks and dilated pupils.

“Yeah?” he prompts, and that boyish smile makes you feel all tingly. Butterflies rising in ways they shouldn’t, in places they shouldn’t. You’ve felt it before, of course you have. Deep down you know you’ve been falling for him for years.

But, apparently, getting a little high makes it a whole lot harder to ignore.  

“Uh-huh,” you nod, inhaling a breath that comes out more shaky than it should. “Really good new. As in, wanting more…”

He swallows hard. 

He almost looks conflicted for a second before he speaks, but there’s no doubting the way his gaze flicks to your lips for a fraction of a second, before he’s clearing his throat. 

“More?” He echos, eyes finding the joint still held between his fingers. “More as in… another hit? ‘Cause I swear, if you end up flat on your back because you take another one right now…”

Yeah. That image is doing absolutely nothing to help your racing thoughts. Flat on your back, in his bed, under him… you certainly have no objections.

And you catch it. The implication behind those words. Because taking another hit doesn’t just mean taking in more smoke: it means his lips brushing against yours again. Teetering into uncharted territory all over again. 

“Just… more,” you whisper, eyes trailing over his face, and the way your gaze lingers on his lips mirrors his own actions just moments ago.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you swear he sees right through you. But then that soft smirk comes back, the one that makes your stomach flip, and he lifts the joint slowly. He gets it.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “One more hit.”

He takes it himself first, not deep, just enough to warm the tip, and holds it in his mouth just like the first hit. Then he leans in again. Closer than before. 

And when his lips meet yours this time, still soft, but less hesitant, it’s not just smoke that passes between the two of you. It’s everything. 

He doesn’t pull away once all the smoke has been passed to you. You could blame it on the fact that it means you have to hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment longer before inhaling it. But the way he lingers?

Yeah. It’s not because of the smoke.

When you break away to inhale, neither of you pull back. Not really. The moment just holds. Smoke exhales from your lips, creating a haze between you, your breaths mixing in the few inches of space between your mouths. 

His free hand is at your cheek, thumb skimming over the edge of your jaw almost reverently, and when he finally does pull back, it looks like it takes physical effort.

He keeps those pretty eyes on yours the whole time, watching those blown-out pupils grow wider, a hint of a smile on his lips. And when he finally speaks, his voice is so low, it’s barely even audible.

“…How do you feel?”

How do you feel?

That’s a loaded question. Your head is all light and airy. The touch of his hand on your cheek feels dialled up to a hundred. It makes you feel warm, intensely so. Flushed. Needy. And those butterflies? Yeah, they’re fluttering pretty low tonight.

But you don’t say that.

“Feeling… a lot,” you murmur after a moment, and you really can’t stop your gaze from dropping to his lips just once. And oh, he definitely caught it.

His breathing changes, just slightly. Deeper. Slower, like he’s trying really hard to steady himself (and failing). His thumb brushes your jaw again, the movement absentminded, and this time, it lingers.

“Me too,” he admits, soft enough that it almost gets lost in the hum of the movie that’s been long forgotten. His eyes drop to your lips just as yours did.

And when he leans in this time? There’s no smoke between you. Just him. Warmth radiating off of him like a furnace. He doesn’t bring the joint back to his lips, doesn’t take another long drag. No, this time, he gets so close, that your noses brush together. 

And when your lips meet, this time it’s real.

He inhales into the kiss, soft and warm, like he’s been waiting forever for this moment. His hand slides from your jaw into your hair, gentle but sure, holding you just close enough that you can feel his heartbeat through the small space between your chests.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate.

It’s Sam. Careful, present, full of something quiet and deep. The kind of kiss that’s been building up for years, hiding behind stolen glances, shared blankets, and late-night talks.

When your lips part, only because neither of you can breathe, it’s only an inch. Your foreheads rest together like neither of you want to risk being apart. 

“…Okay?” he asks, voice low, and a little unsteady. Like he’s half-way to falling apart from a single kiss. Careful and sweet, in that overly worried Sam Winchester way that makes your heart just ache. 

You don’t miss a beat before responding.

“So much better than okay,” you whisper, and then your lips are chasing his all over again. Like you got one taste, and you’re already addicted. 

His lips are just so soft. And he’s so gentle, so reverent, holding onto you with those strong arms like you’re something precious. Like you’re made of porcelain.

The second your mouth is on his again, his eyes flutter right back closed. He reaches past you just far enough to chuck the joint into his ash tray haphazardly (because oh yeah— maybe making out with a burning joint in your hand isn’t the best idea), before his hands are settling on your waist.

The only thing buzzing between the two of you now is pure heat and need that’s been building for years. His fingers trace across the sliver of exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your pants, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, tingling up your spine in a way that makes you shift. One of your hands is trapped between you, gripping his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you steady, the other sliding into his hair at his nape.

His fingers flex against your skin like he’s fighting the urge to grip your waist, to really feel. Dig his fingers into your flesh, leave pretty marks that he can look back at and know this is real.

He resists, just for a moment, before the intensity wins, and he’s hauling you into his lap like you weigh nothing. And when your legs settle around his hips, the sound that escapes his chest is almost desperate.

You let out a high pitched mewl of your own, one that is swallowed by him immediately, drinking up every little sound like a man dying of thirst. His breathing is laboured, coming out in little puffs from his nose that warm your cheek. 

He breaks just far enough to look you in the eyes. Breathless, flustered, and disheveled: hair messy from your fingers, lips pink and slightly swollen, and that look on his face that tells you he’s barely holding back from ravaging you.

But still, even with that spark in his eyes, the flame in his chest, he presses his forehead against yours again. Slow and honey-sweet. Like he needs a moment to catch up with his thoughts. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, and his voice is rough around the edges. His words tumble out like he didn’t have time to catch them, and the warmth that blooms in your chest feels like fire.

The look on his face is… intense. More intense than a random kiss between best friends. More intense than some high mistake that’ll be long forgotten by the time the sun rises. Intense like something you’ve been aching for for years, but have never allowed yourself to admit. If you thought your brain was going wild before, then it’s going bat-shit crazy now. 

After a moment of silence, nothing but the sound of your pants blending together, you speak. 

“Tell me… tell me this is real,” your voice is barely audible, but he hears. He always hears you. “Tell me this means something to you. Because if… if it doesn’t, I don’t know if I can—”

He doesn’t let you finish. 

His expression shifts instantly, eyes locking on yours with a fierceness that steals your breath.

“No,” he says, voice low and steady, like steel wrapped in velvet. “Don’t.”

At first, those words scare you. The doubts flow in like a wave. You fucked up. You’ve ruined this. The best thing you’ve ever had, and you ruined it—

But his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing the curve of your jaw like you’re something sacred. 

“This is real,” he murmurs, leaning in until his lips are just a whisper from yours. “This has been real for longer than I’ve let myself admit.”

He swallows hard. The hand on your cheek shakes in a way that you only ever see from him before a difficult final.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits, voice cracking slightly, and he grimaces at the sound. “Not because I’m high or lonely or drunk on whatever movie-night thing we have going on…”

A beat, and his eyes stay locked on yours. Like if he blinks too long, you’ll vanish.

“You. It’s always been you.”

For a moment, it feels like time has slowed. Like the world has stopped spinning on its axis, and the only thing left is this. Like the only thing left is him.

“…Yeah?” you whisper, half disbelief, half unbridled need.

Your expression must be blank, or maybe he can see that you’re barely even a breath away from breaking down under his palm, because he looks almost panicked. His eyes are wide, almost pleading. His jaw is so tight that you worry he might break a tooth. You snap yourself out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

“Fuck, Sam… you have no idea. No idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” you say, shaking your head like you can’t believe this is real. Your hand that’s slipped free from his hair has found your forearm, pinching hard enough to bruise.

“It’s always been you. I just… I didn’t know how to say it without ruining this. Without losing you. I can’t… I can’t lose you, Sam. I can’t.”

The truth rushes out before you can stop it. All that fear. Fear of losing the one person who knows you, really knows you.

He starts shaking his head before your words even fully leave your mouth, and his free hand brushes your fingers off your forearm. Because he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he leans in, pressing a soft, almost desperate kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, before whispering against your skin.

“I’ve been terrified, too, you know. Of saying the wrong thing. Of pushing too hard. Of ruining us,” his breath hitches like he’s choking on his words. “But I can’t pretend anymore.”

Another kiss. This one’s slow, deep, like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into it. You swear his tongue darts out to brush against your bottom lip like he’s dying for a taste. 

He moves to pull away again. Probably to search your face for doubt. For any implication that he’s fucked all this up, despite everything you’ve said. Because Sam Winchester is nothing if not thorough.

You don’t let him. 

No, not a second passes before your lips find his almost desperately. Deep, and full of need, every ounce of longing poured into the action. 

His big hand splays along your back, and he’s pulling you closer, bodies flush together like he’s trying to erase every bit of space that’s left between you.

His fingers find the edge of your shirt, slipping just under the hem, like he can’t stand not touching you. The long digits slide under fabric in patterns that are almost rhythmic.

Your head feels like it’s spinning. Waves of pure need pulse through your veins with each gentle circle of his thumb. Your brain is still caught up in everything: that this is real. That this is happening. Because holy shit, you’re making out with your best friend.

You’re making out with Sam.

And you really, really never want to stop. You swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips, pressing into him with just a little more force, your hand finding his hair again. A silent question.

Can I?

And oh, the answer is abso-fucking-lutely, because Sam doesn’t miss a damn beat before his lips part.

It feels like an electrical current runs through your spine when his tongue meets yours, hot, feverish, and holy Jesus.

And when he groans, deep and ragged, it goes straight to your core.

He cups the back of your head with those massive hands, tilting you just slightly, so his tongue can slide against yours. Teasing, tasting, like he wants to memorize the moment. 

He doesn’t even pull back to start trailing his lips across your jaw. He mouths at your skin, slipping down to your neck, tongue darting out to lick your pulse point just to see you squirm. And oh, the second a moan slips past your lips?

Sam is done. 

He shudders like you’ve just ripped through every defence he’s built up over the years of pretending this wasn’t what he wanted to do. His thumb brushes along the strap of your tank top, sliding it down just slightly, his teeth grazing softly over your collarbone. He mouths at your skin with fever, sucking softly before releasing with a pop, and smoothing over with his tongue. Yeah. That’ll be a mark tomorrow.

Between peppered kisses against your neck, he murmurs, voice rough, almost pained. “You gonna drive me crazy, or let me taste you properly?”

He doesn’t let you answer the question, or even think about the implication (holy shit, he doesn’t mean—?) before he’s nipping your pulse point just hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound just about drives him wild. 

He’s barely holding back now. Like he’s lost in the feeling of you, and you have absolutely no complaints in the matter. Your fingers fist his hair like it’s the only lifeline you have left. His hands slide under your shirt completely, palms hot against the small of your back, pressing you close where you’re perched in his lap.

And when you whimper? That’s it.

He flips you gently onto the bed beneath him in one smooth motion, hovering over you with dark eyes and kiss swollen lips. But despite the way his pupils are black with desire, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t press his weight against you.

“You… you’ve gotta talk to me. Tell me if we’re going too fast,” he breathes. “Need to know if I can keep going. Please.”

Your heart aches at his words. They’re just so… him. Sam, the man who’d die before he did anything you didn’t want. Before he took anything that wasn’t his to take. 

“I want this. I want you, Sam,” you say, and your voice sounds way more wrecked than you’d intended. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

His eyes scan your face, taking in your words, your flushed cheeks, the way you look sprawled beneath him.

His hands slide up your sides, your collarbone, down your arms, thumbs tracing a circle at your wrists. Not even sexual, just feeling you like he can’t help it. He watches the way you shiver, and swallows. Hard. 

Then his brows furrow, like he’s thinking, or lost in a thought, and for a moment, he looks almost conflicted.

“…How… how high are you?” he asks after a beat, and his voice is so low, that you barely hear it.

You blink at him for a moment. Because you’ve wanted this for so goddamn long, that you know it’s not the weed. Not just being lost in the heat of the moment. Fuck, you’d barely even taken a full hit. But this is Sam, after all. Terrified of misstepping. 

You almost shake him. Grab his shoulders and knock some sense into that thick Winchester skull, but you don’t. 

“I’m not,” you tell him, voice earnest. “Two, barely there hits. Nothing.”

He starts again, more insistent this time. “But it was your first time, you don’t know your—”

“Sam.”

Your voice cuts him off on the spot before he can spiral. Before his brain can twist things, or panic his way into thinking he’s doing something wrong (he hasn’t). Taking advantage (he’d never). Because you know him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Sammy,” the nickname slips out before you can stop it, and you don’t take it back. But instead of chastising you like he usually does, he just… softens. “All of you. Not just this. Everything.”

He hesitates for just a beat longer. His eyes rove over your face again, taking in every little nuance. Your blown pupils. Your swollen lips. The way your cheeks and collarbones are tinged pink. Your hair fanned over the pillows, his pillows, like a halo. His hand moves, smoothing over your fluffy pajama pants like he’s trying to soothe you, or himself.

“You’re sure?” he asks, just one more time. Because he has to know. (No matter how crazy it drives you.)

You nod, before realizing that that might not be enough for him, and you run your hand along his forearm. Soft. Soothing. “More sure than anything,” you say, and you’re not sure your voice as ever sounded so honest. “Are you?”

His hand stills on your thigh, but it doesn’t move. Stays warm on your pants, a comforting weight. 

“God, yes,” he whispers, voice low and raw. He leans down again until his forehead touches yours. “I want it all with you. Not just sex. The movies in pajamas, the stupid socks, the morning coffee runs… just us.”

Warmth pools heavy in your chest, and a wave of emotion crashes over you. Emotions you haven’t let yourself feel out of fear of overstepping, of ruining what you have.

You let out a shaky breath before you’re nodding again, “Yeah. I want it all. With you.”

He doesn’t say another word. Doesn’t have to.

He settles over you again, his lips finding your throat. He kisses down your neck like he’s tracing a map he’s memorized in his dreams, slow, reverent, but with an edge of pure hunger that makes your pulse jump. 

Each touch of his lips sends heat spiraling low in your stomach. And when he nips at that spot just below your ear, you gasp, and he groans, deep in his chest like you’re undoing him. 

His hands slide under your shirt again, this time peeling it up slowly, giving you time to stop him. But you don’t. Fuck, you never would, you arch into his touch instead.

When the fabric clears your head and falls away, he stares down at you like you’re something holy. “Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re perfect.”

His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts just enough for your breath to hitch. But he doesn’t rush. He won’t—not with you.

Instead, he kisses lower. Slow, open mouthed, each one a promise. A vow written in heat and need. 

When his lips finally reach the waistband of those stupid Christmas pants, the little fuzzy candy canes soft under his fingers, he pauses. Looks up at you from under his lashes. Still asking without words: Is this okay?

Uh, hell yes.

You’re half lost in the feeling of his lips leaving wet marks along your bare skin, and half in the way he looks over you. Lips swollen, eyes dark with desire, hair messy from your fingers tugging at the chocolate locks. 

You’re nodding before your brain even fully catches up with the movement. Because somehow, his gaze is a thousand times more intoxicating than the weed. “…Please, Sam.”

That’s all he needs.

Slow and deliberately, he hooks his fingers into the waistband, tugging them down just enough to expose the curve of your hip. His lips follow. A hot, open- mouthed kiss pressed just above your pelvic bone that makes you jolt beneath him. Another follows, then another, each lower than the last as he peels the fabric away.

“God,” he whispers against your skin. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

His hands are warm on your thighs, squeezing your soft flesh with a groan that he can’t quite keep contained. And for a moment, he just… looks.

Pupils blown wide. Barely even breathing.

Your face flushed. How could it not? The way he’s looking down at you like you’re some kind of angel, even in your mismatched, plain cotton bra and panties, silly little dog socks reaching mid-calf. Yet he’s staring like you’re the most gorgeous sight in the world. 

His thumb brushes over your inner thigh. So close, but not where you need it, and you have to resist the urge to just pull him where you want him.

“You’re everything,” he says, pressing a trembling kiss just above your knee. “I’ve thought about this… about you, just like this… for so long.”

Another kiss, higher now. Slower.

His breath fans across sensitive skin as his hands gently part your thighs wider, giving him better access. And when you whimper again, because holy shit, this is really happening— his eyes flutter shut.

Then he looks at you one more time, eyes wide and full:

“Can I taste you?”

Your brain short circuits. Because, um, what?

He says it like it’s not just for you, but also something he wants. Something he needs. And that just about takes you apart right then and there. But you’re still… nervous. So while your core aches for it, your voice comes out low.

“You, um. You don’t have to do that…” you whisper, but even then, you don’t pull away. Don’t close your thighs.

“I want to,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there’s nothing he’d rather do. 

Oh.

Still—you crack your knuckles where your hand is resting against the sheets, and he notices. He always notices. His gaze drops to the nervous fidgeting, the way your hand clenches and unclenches, and his gaze softens. He catches one of them, bringing it to his lips, a gentle, soothing kiss.

“Hey… we don’t have to,” he promises, thumb brushing your knuckles. “Not if you don’t want to. There’s no rush.”

It’s so tender. So fucking sweet that your heart feels like it might explode in your chest. So despite the nerves… he breaks you down, just a little. So finally, the need wins.

“…Fuck, okay. Yeah, please,” you plea, and his response is immediate. Lips trailing down your inner thigh with wet kisses that have you aching. 

Your fingers fist his shirt subconsciously, tugging the fabric at his shoulders, and he doesn’t hesitate. With one hand still cradling your thigh, the other reaches up to tug his shirt over his head, the movement stretching at his muscle, skin glowing faintly in the golden light.

And holy fuck is he ever beautiful. But you barely have any time to ogle (or do something stupid, like drool), before he lowers himself again. His mouth finally meets your centre, soft at first, just a kiss through soaked cotton, and he groans like he’s the one being worshipped. 

You’re halfway through a whine when he hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them aside.

“Christ,” he breathes, sending a jolt of need through your core. “You’re fucking drenched…”

One slow lick, from bottom to top, and you arch off the bed with a cry. “Holy shit, Sammy—”

He wastes no time practically tearing your panties off, and before you can even whine or complain, he’s hooking your thighs over his broad shoulders, fluffy-sock covered feet meeting his muscled back, and his mouth is back on you. 

His hands lock around your hips, holding you down as his tongue moves with slow, torturous precision. He’s studying you, how you twitch when his tongue flicks just above your clit, how you whimper when he dips his tongue just a little lower.

He loves learning, always has. That was one of the very first things you realized about him, when you first became friends. And now? he’s learning you.

He flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe through your cunt, thumbs sliding through your lips to spread you open for him. Each pass is slower than the last, deeper somehow, not just physical. Like he’s not just tasting you, but claiming you. Drinking up your juices like a starving man.

One of his fingers slowly circles your entrance, just teasing, and you sob out his name like a prayer. He lifts his head, lips glistening, and smirks. A real one. Dangerous, and yet so tender.

“What do you need?” he asks, voice rough as gravel mixed together. But it’s laced with teasing, like he wants nothing more than to make you squirm. “Use your words, and I’ll give it to you. Promise.”

Your hips try to roll, just once, like if you move just enough, that finger might slide inside. Because that tone is just not fair. But you can’t. Not with his strong arm pinning you to the bed. 

“I—fuck, I want… want your fingers, please,” you all but beg, and your cheeks burn immediately. You almost want to tug on his hair to chastise him for turning you into a mess, but you’re too worried he’ll stop.

He hums, low and approving, like your pleads are the best sound he’s ever heard. And those vibrations? Yeah, they shoot through you like an electrical current. 

One thick finger slides in slowly, just to the first knuckle, testing, watching your face like a man studying salvation. 

“So tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss just below your navel as he sinks deeper. “You take me so well.”

Apparently, Sam Winchester has a filthy mouth. Which is not only insanely hot—but should be illegal.

Then a second finger joins, the stretch making you cry out, and Sam? He thrusts slow, curling them just right. Rubbing circles over that sweet spot inside of you like he knows your body better than his own. 

His mouth never leaves you. Tongue circling your swollen clit as his fingers work in and out, building rhythm, heat, pressure, until you’re trembling beneath him. The room fills with sweet, sopping wet sounds with each glide of his fingers, only drowned out by your blissed out moans and whines. 

He finds the perfect rhythm. One that has you teetering right there, your thighs shaking around his head, your fingers fisting his hair like you never want him to go. Pleasure sizzles in your core like a firework about to explode.

“Oh my God, Sam, Sammy, fuck—”

The sounds that slip from your lips are too incoherent to be words, and far too loud for a dorm room with such thin walls. But you’re way too far gone to notice, eyes rolling as your back bows beneath him. 

And holy shit, they only ebb Sam on. He speeds up those perfect, thick digits, curling and rubbing against that spongy part inside of you with fever, his lips sealing over your clit as he sucks. Hard. Cheeks hollowing as he gives you everything.

The wave of pleasure that crashes over you just then is intense.

Your back arches off the bed, thighs squeezing his head, your head thrown back with a cry that’s muffled by his palm because God, those thin dorm walls are a death sentence.

But you still make noise. Sam’s hand somewhat saved your dignity, but you let out high-pitched desperate whimpers into his hand, your cunt clenching around his fingers like you’re trying to keep him inside forever.

He doesn’t pull those fingers out. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps thrusting slow and deep, riding out every euphoric spasm with soft kisses to your inner thighs, and quiet murmurs of: “That’s it… let go, baby…”

When the last of the tremors finally start to fade, he eases those thick digits free with one last teasing stroke. He eases your legs off his shoulders with so much gentle care, and crawls up your body like a man claiming what’s always been his.

Lips swollen. Chin slick with you. Eyes wild and proud and so in awe that it takes your breath away. And when he kisses you this time, you taste yourself on his tongue. And damn if it doesn’t make your pulse jump all over again.

It’s dizzying. You can’t help the way you moan into his mouth, and he swallows it whole like he’s craving it. Your body is still shaking with aftershocks, tingling and sensitive, but you can’t help but crave more. Like he’s turned you into nothing but a greedy mess. 

He only breaks the kiss to let you breathe, before his lips are brushing every inch of your face in reverent little kisses as he presses you further into the pillows, settling between your trembling thighs like he belongs there.

He takes a moment to look at you, like you’re a masterpiece, and something about it just makes your heart just flutter. His lips quirk up in a smirk that he just barely is able to stifle, like he does when you know he’s about to tease you, but the look in his eyes is dark. Hungry.

“You’re a bit loud,” he says, that familiar playful look on his face. “I don’t even think you were that loud when you saw that ra—”

Immediately, you clamp your shaking hand over his mouth again (and holy shit his lips are still all wet from you), and you can feel him smiling against your palm.

“S-shut up, Sam!” you laugh, head falling back against the pillows, cheeks burning with embarrassment and lingering arousal.

But if there were any remaining nerves— they’re long gone. Because only one person can make you feel like this. Only one person who can make you feel so fucking good, then turn around and make you laugh.

“You’re insufferable. And way too fucking good at that,” you breathe, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

You’re still panting, still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm when he peels your hand off his face. His expression shifts into something softer. Something sweet.

He presses a kiss to your palm before letting go, then drags his lips to your wrist, your forearm, the soft inside of your elbow, each one slower than the last.

“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs against your skin. “Making me wait three goddamn years to do that.”

His hands slide up your sides again, fingertips dancing just under the edge of your bra. Then he stops. Looks at you, eyes tender, filled with silent question. You don’t waste any time nodding, arching just enough for those nimble fingers to unclip your bra with ease, sliding it off. 

He stares shamelessly like you’re the most gorgeous sight in the world, before his head is dipping back down. Pressing his mouth back to your throat, trailing along your collarbone, while his warm hands cup the underside of your breasts, thumbs swiping over your pointed nipples softly.

It’s sweet. It feels fucking good. And he’s still not pushing, even when you can feel how hard he is through the thin fabric of his pants pressed against your thigh.

“…Sam?” you whisper, and he answers with just a hum, sucking a mark into the soft flesh on your breast that will definitely be purple tomorrow. “I need to feel you. Please.”

He groans, low and rough against your skin, and you can feel his body tense above you. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips leaving a soft, wet trail of heat across your chest, tongue peaking out every so often to get a taste. His hands find your hips again, fingers curling against the sensitive skin beneath your ribs.

“Anything, honey. Anything you want.”

You can’t help but let out a strangled whine at the feeling of his lips, the deep tremble of his voice. The skin-on-skin of his bare chest pressed against yours electrifying. 

But then he pulls away.

Rude.

Peels those plaid pajama pants off, along with his boxers, in one clean movement, before crawling back over you.

And holy fuck, your eyes widen, mouth going a little dry at the sight. You knew Sam was a big guy. You have eyes. But apparently, he’s very well proportioned. As in—fucking huge.

“Jesus Christ, Sam…” you murmur, unable to peel your gaze away from the long, thick, hard, and aching sight of the gorgeous man in front of you. You weren’t aware cocks could be so… pretty. Your eyes are filled with desire. Need. Longing. And, yeah, maybe some nerves. Because holy shit, is that supposed to fit?

He notices the way your hips twitch, and his thumb comes to stroke your hip in a way that says you’re alright. You’re safe with me.

“Relax,” he coos. “I’ll go slow. Anything you need, honey, I’ll give it to you. Anything at all.”

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, gentle and sweet, so your eyes meet his again. “But I need you to talk to me. Can you do that, baby?”

You nod, melting into his palm like you were just made to be held by him. You can physically feel your body relaxing, easing into that familiar trust just from looking at those sweet puppy eyes of his. Fuck.

“…Yeah,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Your hands wander as you speak like they have a mind of their own, trailing over his toned chest, down his abdomen. “You’re just… fuck, Sam. You’re perfect.”

A beat. And because you can’t help it:

“And massive.”

That earns a laugh out of him, low and teasing, his cheeks flushing pink in that sweet boyish way. But when your hand dips lower, fingers wrapping around him almost reverently, thumb sliding over the head, pre-come pearling from his tip, he freezes.

A gasp tears from his throat, low, ragged, like you’ve just lit a fuse. 

“Fuck,” he grits out through a clenched jaw, hips jerking into your hand once before he stills himself. “You gotta tell me to stop if it’s too much. I—I don’t want to hurt you.”

His voice is strained, every muscle in his body tight with restraint. But then you stroke him again, slow, curious, and he shudders. His forehead dropping to your shoulder with a groan that vibrates through both of you.

His hand finds yours, not to guide it, but just to press it tighter for one sinful second, before sliding it off of himself with a shaky breath.

“Please, I need you,” he groans. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

You want to keep touching him. Want to stroke his pretty cock until he feels just as good as he made you feel. Until his come paints your chest, and he’s twitching under your touch.

But more than that? You want him inside of you. Need it.

“Fuck, yes,” you all but beg, and he sneaks another soft kiss before he’s moving.

You watch as he leans over you, every hard muscle in his abdomen rippling, bicep flexing where one hand rests by your head, and you have to resist the primal urge to just lick his skin. Like your brain has gone full cave-woman.

You hear a drawer open, the rustling of foil, and then he’s settling back between your legs, little square packet in hand. A condom. Without any prompting, or you having to ask, because that’s just the kind of man he is. And it only makes you want him more.

There’s a beat where you just watch him, until you freeze. Your hand reaches out to catch his wrist. 

“Wait, Sam,” you start, and just as the words come out, his expression shifts. Pure concern, already pulling away, so you speak fast. “I, um. I’m allergic to latex.”

He blinks at you for a moment, but then the panic in his eyes vanishes as quickly as it came. Instead, they soften into something so warm that you have to resist the urge to squirm or hide.

“I know,” he soothes, dropping his free hand to your thigh to run his fingers over your heated skin. “The, uh. The gloves, remember?”

…Oh.

Right. Nearly three years ago now, just a few months into your first semester. You’d been in a biology lab, doing some dissection—and whether you were just too excited, or too nervous to ask the professor for nitrile gloves, you’d ended up with a reaction.

And who fussed over you, practically sprinting to the pharmacy to buy you some antihistamines, not leaving your side for hours following? Sam.

But that was years ago. And it hadn’t come up sense. 

So for a few beats, you don’t respond. Staring at him with what had to be a pretty blank expression, because he immediately starts talking again.

“They’re latex free. Polyiso, uh… something,” he rambles, cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. “I can show you the box, if you want. Or—we don’t have to do this. We can stop. No hard feelings, I promise, baby—”

“No.”

You cut off his rambling immediately. Because fuck, stopping? That’s the last thing you want. 

But you’re just caught up in the implication. Because why would he, a broke college student, just… have latex-free condoms, knowing they’re more expensive? Unless…?

Unless he bought them for you?

The thought makes your heart rate pick up just a fraction. Makes you burn just a little hotter for him. Because holy fuck, he really has wanted you just as much as you’ve been wanting him. 

“I trust you. More than anyone,” you assure, locking eyes with him again. And when you find them—they’re so warm. “I need you.”

His eyes never leave yours.

For a second, you see it. The nervous hitch in his throat, the way his usually-steady hands tremble just slightly. Because this isn’t just sex. It’s you. And for Sam? That changes everything.

He rips the wrapper open, rolling the condom on slow, before he’s settling back over you, bracing himself above you with his elbow bent next to your head. The other reaches out just to brush your hair back from your face. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, just one last time, needing that confirmation. And when you nod, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

Then, one hand guiding himself, he pushes forward. Just the thick tip at first. A slow stretch that makes you gasp and your back bow beneath him.

He freezes almost instantly, concern flashing across his features. “Okay?”  

You nod again, can’t even speak, brain already going a little stupid, but the way you reach up to grab his shoulders tells him everything.

So he moves. Starts to slide deeper. So damn slowly, like he’s trying to savour every sweet inch. And fuck, is it ever a stretch. But he makes it better. 

He touches you like he can’t survive without feeling your skin under his fingertips. Hand traveling along your face, down your side, squeezing your hips. His body trembles like he’s about to snap, pressing messy kisses to your chest, your collarbone, whatever he can reach. 

His thrusts are so gentle. One small push, then he pulls back so just the tip remains inside, then sinks back just a little deeper. Every thrust allowing you to feel just a little more of him, thick and pulsing inside your dripping heat.

Before long, his hips settle against yours. He’s buried so deep that you think you can taste him. You can feel him everywhere. In your lungs, your bones, your soul. It’s so much, and yet—you need more.

Your core pulses to accommodate him, and it feels like you’re near stuffed to the damn brim. Like his tip is resting at your cervix, and you have to take a shaky breath to just relax. “…Oh, God, You’re so… fuck…”

“I know. I know, honey,” he coos, so soft and sweet that it makes you shiver. “You’re doing so good. Taking me like you were made for me, huh? So perfect…”

You moan right then and there, because who the fuck let him sound so hot, all blissed out and pussy drunk?

His damp skin glistens like honey in the low light, and you can hear how he’s holding himself back with each hitch of his breath. Can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the sweat beading at his temples, the taut lines of his muscles flexing with restraint. He’s trying to be so careful. 

He doesn’t move for a beat. Just stays, hips flush to yours, fingertips smoothing over your waist like he’s trying to soothe you. Give you time to adjust, even when he’s practically trembling. 

But despite how gentle he is with you, how much he cares, and as much as you adore how sweet he is, you’re not made of glass. 

“Sam?” you murmur, hands that were gripping his shoulders loosening to lace around his neck, and he hums against your throat. “You can move, baby. I’m not going to break.”

He stiffens. Just for a moment.

“…You sure you’re alright?” he asks, and his voice is ragged. Strained like every second of stillness is agony. But he waits. Because that’s Sam. Always putting you first.

When you nod, rolling your hips, just once to take him impossibly deeper, he shudders, a broken sound tearing from his throat.

Then he pulls back, just an inch, before sinking in again. And holy shit, it feels heavenly. 

Slow at first. Deep, deliberate rolls of his hips that make your breath hitch with every thrust. Each movement sends sparks spiraling through your core, stretching pleasure from every nerve like they were just made for him.

“God, you feel…” he breaks off in a low groan against your neck, your soaked core pulsing around him when he grazes deep, and he presses fevered kisses along your jaw. “So tight. So damn perfect.”

He starts to pick up the pace, still careful, but no longer holding back that hunger that’s begging to be sated. And when his hand slips between the two of you again? Find’s your clit with slow, maddening circles?

That’s it.

Pleasure explodes in your core like firecrackers, pure heat spreading from your lower belly though your limbs, your tight heat spasming around his cock uncontrollably.

“Oh my God, you—s’fucking good—” you cry, neck craning back against the pillows, and he nips at your heated skin like he wants to ruin you. The sounds should be embarrassing, they really should. But with how you’re feeling? You really don’t care. 

He growls, low, possessive, almost proud, and then he’s shifting.

One hand slides under your ass, lifting you just slightly, hiking one thigh over his hip, and suddenly, he’s hitting you deeper. The new angle makes your vision whiten at the edges. You can’t even speak, just a sobbing gasp as he thrusts again and again. Harder this time. Not rough, but relentless, slamming into you with a new kind of fever that moves your entire body with the mattress. 

The sweet combination of him petting your clit while he drives into you at a dizzying pace has you seeing stars, and suddenly, you can’t contain the sounds anymore. 

Moans. Mewls. Whimpers, whines, cries—everything, far too loud for a goddamn dorm room.

And when the heavy tip of his cock glides along that spot deep inside of you, white hot pleasure igniting in your core, you learn that, apparently, you’re some-what of a screamer. 

His hand covers your mouth so fast, almost instantly, the movement so instinctive that it would almost be scary if it wasn’t so fucking hot. It’s not cruel, he’d never hurt you, but in a way that makes your stomach twist with need. 

But he still doesn’t stop. Just slows his pace a little, still hitting right there, and his fingers ease up on your clit. 

“Shh… you’ve gotta be quiet, yeah? Can you do that for me, baby?” he murmurs, hips still driving into you. His palm is warm, fingers splayed wide as another choked cry spills into them. “We have plenty of time for that during the break. When it’s just us. Then I’ll find out just how loud you can get for me, okay, honey?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever been more excited for Christmas in your goddamn life. 

The words seem to hit you just as much as a physical blow, and all the combined pleasure has you shaking beneath him. And despite his words, he snakes his hand back to your slit, pinching your clit just once, so you let out another cry muffled by his palm. And when you do? That dimpled smirk on his face only grows. 

Bastard.

“You gonna be good for me, huh? Gonna quiet down?” he teases, and you nod almost frantically before he even finishes his sentence. He grins again. Cocky, heated. He knows it’s a lie. “…You’re not fooling anyone, baby. Not with how you’re clenching around me… fuck.”

Even then, he pulls his hand back just enough to let a whimper slip free as his cock drags along your sweet spot with perfect precision, then he teases your clit again.

Harder this time. 

You arch off the bed with a strangled moan, and he captures it, mouth crashing down over yours like he’s starving for every sound, every twitch of your body beneath him. And holy shit, he’s relentless. 

You can tell he’s on the edge of losing it himself. His brows are pinched, his breaths are coming out ragged, and he can barely contain the moans of his own that slip right into your mouth.

If it wasn’t for his mouth covering yours, you’re almost sure you’d be reported to the RA. He feels fucking perfect, hot and thick and deep, stars shattering behind your eyelids with each perfectly timed thrust. 

You know you’re getting close. Practically dripping around his cock, sucking him in like a vice, your legs shaking around his hips, pleasure drawn tight enough to snap.

He groans, watching your face like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Look at you, shaking f’me already…”

His thrusts turn sharper, each one hitting your g-spot like a goddamn homing missile. His thumb finds your clit again, not just pinching this time, but drawing tight, slick circles over the swollen bud.

“Come on. Let go for me. I’ve got you,” he all but growls into your ear.

He kisses the side of your neck, one soft, sweet press that contrasts his hard movements, then bites down just as his fingers move just a little faster.

It’s too much.

You shatter. Back arching off the bed, nails raking down his back as pleasure detonates through every nerve ending. A full-body wave of pure white heat that steals your breath and leaves you gasping his name into the air. Cries of ‘Sammy’ and ‘holy shit don’t stop’ muffled only by his lips. 

Sam doesn’t stop. He rides out every spasm with slower thrusts, still hitting so goddamn deep, as if he’s savouring every pulse around his aching cock. 

“Sam, oh my—fuck, s’much—” you break off in another cry, incapable of holding back the pleads as pleasure explodes through you.

He can tell you’re already oversensitive when he slows a little, always so damn considerate, even when his eyes are darkened nearly black. He presses a kiss to your cheek, your forehead, your hair. “Just breathe for me, baby. That’s it…”

And the way he says it? Like he’s aching, voice rough, ragged, and desperate. Like it’s killing him to ease you down instead of chasing his own high.

He presses his forehead against yours, each puff of his breath fanning over your lips. “Can you keep going f’me, honey? Can you take it?”

And oh, fuck, can you ever.

“Mhm, please, fuck…” you barely manage the sound through your shaky breaths. But even through the overstimulation, the intense sensitivity shocking your nerves with each movement, it still feels so fucking good. 

And you really, really want to see him fall apart. 

His hips stutter forward at your words, a choked groan leaving his throat, hard and desperate. The angle shifts just right, so he’s hitting that spot again, and you can feel him pulsing inside of you. It’s so much. Almost too much.

“You take me so fucking well, I can’t—” he chokes on his own moan as his body jerks, just once, twice, hips slamming into you with uncontrolled need as he spills into the condom with a sound that goes straight to your core.

You’re not sure you’ve seen anything so beautiful. His face screwing up in pleasure, abdomen clenching tight, biceps flexing where they’re caging you in.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Doesn’t move.

Just collapses gently onto his forearms bracketed around your head so he doesn’t crush you, face buried into your neck, as if trying to hide just how wrecked he feels. But still, soft lips press a kiss behind your ear. Tender. Quiet.

You don’t let him hide, though. Your hands slide from around his neck to his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. Deep, passionate, and so full of emotion. He holds onto you like you’re something fragile.

His mouth moves gently against yours, each kiss soft and slow, like he doesn’t ever want to stop. But he does pull back just barely to rest his forehead against yours, and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like he’s staring straight into your soul.

One hand slides through your hair, smoothing the sweat-slicked strands from your forehead. “You okay?” he whispers, voice thick, and sweeter than honey.

Are you ever.

Your thumb traces circles over his jaw, his cheek, like a moment spent not touching him is a moment wasted, and it takes a second for you to catch your breath enough to speak. 

“Uh-huh. Fuck. So good.”

Your response, so filled with exhaustion and lingering pleasure, has him huffing out a little laugh. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, lips curving up against your skin. “Still think I’m insufferable?” he teases, because of course he does, and you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah. And annoying,” you shoot-back, but there’s nothing but fondness in your voice, still trembling with aftershocks.

He can tell you’re overstimulated, your walls fluttering around him like your body is trying to milk him dry. 

“…Sensitive, huh?” He murmurs, not a real question. Just knowing. He slowly eases off of you, leaving you to whine at the loss of his weight. “Sorry, sorry…”

Your eyes flutter closed, but you can hear rustling as he strips off the condom and tosses it. The sound of his footsteps on the creaky dorm room floor. The light over his tiny sink flicking on, then water running.

You reopen your eyes just to watch, and suddenly, you’re right back there. In that sweet, domestic bubble the two of you have been mingling in for years between not-date-dinners and movie nights you have to pretend are platonic. 

When he returns he’s got a warm wash cloth in one hand, but he stops at the edge of the bed, just looking at you like you’re something sacred. Then, that soft, dimpled smile. The one only you ever get.

“Hey,” he says quietly, like the moment is too delicate for anything louder. 

He sits beside you and gently drags the cloth over your skin, slow, careful strokes across your thighs and most intimate parts, just enough to clean without being too much on sensitive nerves. His touch is so tender that it makes your heart ache.

When he’s done, he tosses it aside and climbs back against the pillows, tucking the blanket over the two of you, pulling you close against his chest with a deep sigh. Your legs tangle together beneath warm sheets, your fuzzy socks smoothing against his calf. 

Your head finds its favourite spot, the dip between his shoulder and collarbone, and when his arm wraps around you, he places a kiss to your temple.

Neither of you speak. He just takes the remote in his hand (after finding it buried under his pillow, of course), rewinding the movie since the credits were rolling. Picks up a bag of M&M’s off his bedside table, ripping them open, and hands them to you. Like taking care of you is just second nature for him.

And maybe it is.

And lying there, in his arms, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, is exactly where you want to be. So different than before, and yet? Exactly the same. 

AN: Another one from my AO3! If you couldn’t tell… I wrote this at the start of the month, lol, but at the time, I didn’t quite understand tumblr (and I still don’t quite have it 🤣). But anyway, I’m a sucker for Stanford!Sam, and am a firm believer in stoner!Sam. Sue me.

As always… if you have any (Sam) recs, ideas, questions, God, anything, please don’t hesitate to leave an ask!

(Dividers, yet again, are from @saradika-graphics)

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.