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lil-sweater-slut · 2 days
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click - Sam Winchester/Reader
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Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!
“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”
A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.
Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.
He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”
“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”
Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.
John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.
Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.
“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”
Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.
Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”
“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.
You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”
Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.
“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”
And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.
A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.
Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.
The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”
You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.
“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”
You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.
Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”
“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”
“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.
You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”
At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”
“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”
“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”
You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.
“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”
Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.
“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.
The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.
“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”
“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”
You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.
You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”
The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”
Yup. Total dreamboat.
“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”
Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.
When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”
You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.
“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”
Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.
You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”
“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”
You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.
“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”
He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”
Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.
Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.
“You’d what?”
Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.
Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…
I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.
I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.
I’d have sex with you.
I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.
Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.
A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.
You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.
Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.
“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”
I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.
_
The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.
“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.
You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.
“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”
But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”
Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.
You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.
“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”
Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.
For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.
Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.
Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.
Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.
Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.
Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.
You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.
While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.
He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”
When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”
You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”
Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.
“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.
“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.
It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.
Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”
“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.
“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”
“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.
“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”
Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.
You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”
Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.
“Okay,” Sam melted.
“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”
Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.
You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.
You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.
You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.
The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.
“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”
Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”
“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”
Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.
“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”
You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.
You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”
Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”
“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”
You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.
“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”
“Okay. What was your first time like?”
Well. Shit.
This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.
He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”
You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”
“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.
You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”
Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”
You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!
Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.
“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”
You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”
An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.
“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”
(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)
Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”
You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”
“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).
It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”
Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.
You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.
It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.
In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”
Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.
…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.
“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.
He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.
Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.
…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—
Click. Click click click click click click.
“_____?”
You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”
It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.
“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”
Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.
Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—
Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.
“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”
Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.
Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.
“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”
“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”
Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”
It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.
You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.
“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”
Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”
Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.
You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.
“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”
Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.
You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?
“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”
Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.
“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.
He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”
You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”
Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!
You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.
Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”
So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.
When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”
Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.
“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.
You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”
The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.
You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).
A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.
“C’mere,” Sam grinned.
You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”
The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.
His—lap.
There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.
“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.
The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).
Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”
“Is that a yes?” He hoped.
You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”
Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.
That is not the case.
With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.
“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.
“Shut up, Sam.”
He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.
The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…
He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.
Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.
Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.
Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”
It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?
You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.
Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.
It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”
A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.
“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”
You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.
Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).
Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.
The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.
Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.
He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—
“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.
The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.
“Everything okay?” He worries.
Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.
You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”
Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.
“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”
His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).
“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.
You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.
Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.
“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”
The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.
“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”
The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.
“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”
Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.
“...In our bed…”
Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.
“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”
What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...
You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”
Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”
Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”
“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.
You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”
“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.
Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.
“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”
You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.
Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”
“Got super noisy?”
After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.
Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.
“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”
He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—
Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.
The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.
You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.
This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.
You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.
Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?
Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.
“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”
He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—
“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”
What in the ever-loving fuck.
I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).
All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.
Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.
“Still ready, _____?” He asks.
You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”
He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.
Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.
This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.
They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.
You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.
“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”
The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.
You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.
Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”
Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.
Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.
Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”
Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”
He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”
The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.
“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.
You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.
Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.
You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”
You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”
This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.
“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”
“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”
You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—
“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”
Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.
“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”
But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…
Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.
You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”
After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.
Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.
You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.
“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”
You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.
Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”
“I forg’ve you,” you croak.
“Forgive who?” He presses.
“I forgive you, Sammy.”
“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”
Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.
Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”
It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.
“A-ah!”
Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.
There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.
Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”
(He just wants to hear you say it.)
“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”
“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”
Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.
If this is just how his fingers feel…
Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.
Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.
To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.
Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?
Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.
The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.
“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.
Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”
A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.
While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.
There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!
So…
Close…
And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.
Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.
“Sa—Sam—”
Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.
“Sam…”
You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.
Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.
Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.
A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.
You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.
“...Uh-huh…?”
“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”
The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.
“Look at me a minute.”
Sam does, curious.
“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”
And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”
“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”
In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.
Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”
(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)
He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.
This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”
With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”
You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.
He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.
Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”
Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.
“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”
His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.
When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.
“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”
Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.
…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.
“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”
You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.
It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—
“Take it out.”
Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.
It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…
You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.
You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.
For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.
“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”
“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.
For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.
Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.
“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.
You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”
Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”
He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.
“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”
He cares so much, you realize.
“Sam?”
He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”
“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.
Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.
You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”
Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.
Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”
You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”
Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—
—you go for it.
Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.
Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.
Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.
You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.
“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.
You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”
Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.
For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.
You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.
Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.
He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”
“Oh fuck,” you whine.
(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)
It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.
“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”
Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.
You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!
It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.
Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.
…This could be. This could be very good.
Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.
“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”
Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”
Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.
“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”
Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.
“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.
“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”
“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.
This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.
You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”
This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.
Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.
He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.
But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.
“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.
Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”
Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.
Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.
“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”
“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”
_
Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.
“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”
You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.
You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”
_
Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration
READ PART TWO.
5K notes · View notes
lil-sweater-slut · 2 days
Text
closer than friends
PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader
WORD COUNT: 5.3k
WARNINGS: season 1/2 era, friends to lovers, sweet love confession, Dean being Sam’s wingman
A/N: my first supernatural fic is finally here!!! It’s been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to write, and I’m so glad I was able to get this out and share it. Please reblog if you enjoy!! <33
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"How many times are you gonna shift in your goddamn seat, woman, jesus christ." Dean glances over at you from the wheel for the fourth time, watching you rub your eyes and knock your shoulder into the side of the Impala's door again.
"It's not my fault the passenger seat isn't made for comfortable napping, Dean."
You hear Sam chuckle from over your shoulder; this makes you look back to find him comfortably nestled into the corner of the backseat with his sweatshirt tucked in the crook of his neck so he can lean against his door without discomfort.
You huff, "I don't want a word from you."
"Says the girl who called shotgun and fought for the front seat all morning."
"What did I just say?"
Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, knock it off. We're finding a place to sleep tonight."
While Dean focuses back onto driving, you try your hardest to find a suitable position that would allow you to sleep for awhile up until you guys made it to whatever hotel you were staying in for the night. You'd like to blame the Impala for your sleep deprivation, but you've slept in it before just fine, so you know the car isn't the problem. Even though you're going on just over 36 hours of no sleep, your mind won't shut off. The events of the case you were working on for the past couple of days play like a movie in your head, reminding you of how it ended over and over again.
You swallow quite harshly, and shift in your seat again. Something soft smacks the back of your head and you whip around to see what Sam's hit you with, but it's just his sweatshirt, and he's already leaning against the side of the car like he was before, almost as if he hadn't moved at all.
You mumble out a quiet "thank you," and you don't bother to even listen for any sort of reply before you're stuffing his sweatshirt underneath your head and forcing yourself to go to sleep. It's not long before you hear Sam's soft breathing from the backseat signifying that the boy has finally fallen asleep himself. You almost gave up until you saw Dean turn down his music just a little, side-eyeing you as he looked between you and the road.
"Is that better?" He asks.
"It was fine before."
"I'll keep it like this anyway."
You hum in response, and he goes back to humming his own tune to follow along with the music. With Sam's soft breathing in the back and Dean's low humming, you finally find something else other than your mind to focus on, which ultimately leads to your eyes lulling shut and you drifting off to sleep.
When your eyes start to peel back open again, the car is stopped and there's light rain patter on the wind shield. You lift your head causing Sam's sweatshirt to lightly fall into your lap, and at the same time the door opens revealing a slightly wet Sam waiting for you.
"C'mon, we're here."
"Slow your roll, Sammy, I just woke up." Your head lolls back onto the seat, and you let your eyes close once again, forgetting about Sam who's standing in the rain waiting for you to get out.
"Alright, let's go."
You shiver and grumble a slight protest as you feel his cold hands slip underneath your body to grab you and pick you out of the Impala. He knocks the door shut as he cradles you close to his chest as to not drop you, and as he locks the car. Your ear stays smushed against his front as he carries you, allowing you to feel the soft pitter patter of his heart beating in his chest.
"What time is it?" You mumble sleepily.
"Close to ten."
"That's it?"
"Yeah." You nod, not replying this time so you can nod back off in his arms. You're back to being fast asleep once again by the time Sam reaches the room Dean picked out for you, and he tries tucking you into your bed as gently as possible so he doesn't accidentally wake you up. In the short process you only mutter something unintelligible to Sam's ears as he finishes pulling the blankets up, so he ignores it and kisses you on the forehead, bidding you a good night before he retreats back to the room he's sharing with Dean for the night.
It's much later when you're rudely roused from sleep by a nightmare; you sit up straight in the bed with your hands by your sides clawing at the sheets, your eyes wide and unfocused, much too scared to figure out where you are or how you've gotten there. It takes a second to realize you're in a motel room, and now, the sheets that were once neatly laid over your body are haphazardly thrown towards the end of the bed, practically hanging off and hitting the floor. You take a shaky deep breath in and out, taking your trembling hand and placing it over your heart in an attempt to regulate it.
After a couple minutes your breathing is sort of back to normal, but your shakiness hasn't stopped. At that point, you're aware you won't be falling asleep again anytime soon, so you sit up further and throw your legs off the bed to go and find something to busy yourself with. In the corner there's a chair that you notice has your bag on top of it, and there's a small table next to it with a notepad. Your curiosity pulls you towards it, and when your feet reach the table, you're able to make out Sam's sloppy handwriting.
If you need us. - S
Next to the writing is a key card, which you can obviously assume is the one to their room. You pick it up and turn it over a few times, debating on whether this dream was something worth needing them for. In your head, needing was the same thing as bothering and it was never used as a positive term. But you know that if you spend another minute in that bed you might actually start crying and drive yourself crazy over the dream, so you take your chances and hope one of the boys will let you sleep in their bed or at least talk to you for awhile and get your mind off of it.
When you open the door and step outside, you become acutely aware of the cold air on your arms and legs rather quickly, and you begin to wish you were wearing a sweatshirt instead of one of Sam's shirts and a pair of shorts. The chill encapsulates you, making you hasten your step towards the room down the hall with the number specified on the key card. Once you make it to the room, you're pushing yourself up on your tip toes because, despite your sock covered feet, the ground is still horridly cold and you're hoping to get off it as soon as possible. Although, you find yourself unable to let yourself in once you find yourself standing in front of the door. You give it a good five minutes before you work up the nerve to finally pat the key card on the handle to allow yourself in the room. Once you've pushed open the door a crack, you're able to perceive a bed-side lamp turned on, and Sam leaning against his headboard next to it.
His head snaps up from his book at the sound of the door being pushed open, but he relaxes when he realizes it's you.
"Hey," he says softly. He's in the brown sweatshirt you were passing back and forth earlier, and he's weirdly still in a pair of jeans, but at this point you're used to seeing Sam and Dean wearing their jeans to bed.
"Hi," you respond back, even softer.
Sam likes to think he's pretty good at perceiving your body language, especially after knowing you for so long; so when he notices your trembling hands, your flushed cheeks, and your frantic eyes, he knows that you've had a nightmare.
He's not gonna ask why you're there since he knows why, so he only pats the side of the bed next to him and asks, "You wanna' join me?"
You're quick to nod your head and cross the room to join him, and it's only then when you're on the bed that you notice Dean isn't in the other one.
"Where's Dean?"
"Oh, he left to drive around. He's probably at a bar, or sleeping in the car somewhere." He says casually.
You hum, "Couldn't sleep?"
"Neither of us really could. He asked if I wanted to come with, but I didn't really feel like leavin'." Sam left out the fact he didn't want to leave you here alone, since he doesn't like leaving you anywhere by yourself. Dean doesn't either, but he doesn't get fussy over it like Sam sometimes does when you fight them on it.
"I can't either," you say quietly.
With some of your hair dangling in your face and your flushed cheeks, you look sort of delicate in Sam's eyes. You look sad, but when you look at him you have a gentle smile covering your lips, and when you look away your mouth curves downward again, only slightly, to where you might think he won't notice, but he does.
Sam's always stayed observant of you, even when you think you're the one who takes all the mental notes of him.
He reaches out, lifting the hand closest to you and letting his palm rest gently on top of your shoulder.
"You okay?" He almost looks like a puppy when he asks, and it's pitiful. For you mostly because he's cute, but why should he look like that when you feel like you're gonna start crying any minute.
You don't even want to answer because if your mouth opens you're either gonna say you're fine, or words describing the terrors you experienced in your sleep are going to come pouring out of your mouth and you won't be able to stop until you're a sobbing, pitiful mess and you could not handle being that way in front of Sam.
You couldn't.
But looking at him looking at you so fondly, it's like he's trying to tell you he'll comfort you the only way he knows how and he's gonna fix all your problems with a touch or two alone. Like the way he wants to hold you will melt all your fears into nothing and the way he wants to kiss you will make you forget any of it even happened. His eyes speak more than words could express in this moment and you don't even care if you seem desperate, or needy, or anything really. You allow yourself to fall forward into his awaiting arms, and when your head meets his chest, you can't help the first sob that escapes your lips.
You sound so tired, and the way that you're crying so harshly makes him feel like you're tearing yourself apart inside, like each breath is ripping off another piece of your heart.
"Honey..." he breathes out gently, wrapping his one arm around your neck and his other only comes up about half way so he can hold your head close to him under his chin. You've fallen completely into his side, your head against his chest and one leg practically in his lap, but he doesn't seem mind. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
You consider it for a moment; you probably would feel better opening up to him about the case you just worked, considering he was also there and knows how hard it was, but you also know opening up to Sam makes you feel close to him. Intimate almost. You’ve never been one to share your thoughts or feelings generously, and you think that must have just came with the messed up childhood, since Sam and Dean are pretty much the same way. But as the years went on, the boys got much better at opening up to you than you did them. Although, if there was anyone that could get you to talk, it was Sam.
Today, you decided, would not be one of those days.
You shake your head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'll be fine." You know by his soft sigh that he doesn't believe you, but luckily he doesn't push it. "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" You whisper shyly, despite knowing he wouldn't say no to you.
"Yeah," he strokes your hair softly, "Yeah, of course."
You lay comfortably against him as he slowly but surely calms you down, holding your head and rubbing your arm gently as you let out sad little sniffles. Once you've relaxed, you murmur something into his chest that he thinks might have been a thank you, but before he can ask you've already fallen asleep.
About an hour later after the two of you have fallen asleep, Dean unlocks the door and enters the room slightly shitfaced but more so tired. He freshens up in the bathroom so he doesn't wake up feeling even worse in a couple of hours, and he doesn't even notice you're there until he's trudging out of it, eyes wide and feet frozen to the floor as he takes in the image of you and Sam cuddled up to each other in Sam's bed. He manages to put his fist against his mouth just in time to cover up a surprised laugh, taking in the sight of his little brother in the same bed as their best friend.
"This is gold." Dean smiles mischievously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to capture the moment. "Just friends my ass." He mutters.
...
"Dean, if I have to hear you say that girl's name again one more time, I'm going to chop your head off. I don't care how good she was at su-"
"Alright, alright, let's quiet down shall' we?" Sam pats your shoulder and looks around the cafe to see if anyone heard you bickering with Dean about last night's one night stand. Dean laughs loudly as he lets himself into the corner booth that the three of you chose while you were walking in.
"What, you nervous someone's gonna hear us, Sammy?"
"It's 8 in the morning, Dean. Let's be a little respectful."
You hide your giggle, "Yeah, Dean."
Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam as he ever so casually throws his arm over the back of the seat behind you, looking at the side of your face to see if you've taken notice. You're picking your nail, completely oblivious. He almost rolls his eyes again.
"Well," Dean straightens up, "Let's see what we have on the menu today."
"Don't act like you're not going to get the same exact thing you get every day," you comment, not even looking up from your nail.
"What's with the attitude, sweetheart? Didn't sleep well?" Sam's smile quickly turns to an annoyed frown as he makes eye contact with Dean, silently sending him daggers to keep his mouth shut.
You squint your eyes at him and open your mouth to come back with a retort, but the waitress walks up before you get the chance to say anything.
"Are y'all ready yet, or would you like a few minutes?" She asks kindly.
"Can we have a couple more minutes?" You say, since the three of you haven't even taken a look at the menu yet. She nods and retreats, leaving you alone with the boys once again. Sam and Dean grab their menus and you quickly realize there isn't a third, so you go to call the waitress back, but Sam nudges you just before you do.
"It's fine, just share mine." You huddle close next to him, resting your chin on your hand as you survey the food options as Sam does the same. He's so close his hair just so slightly grazes the skin of your cheek. Dean raises his eyebrows when he notices Sam's leg has started bouncing and he covers up his laugh with a cough just as he did last night, busying himself and acting clueless as the two of you look up at him.
"You alright?" You ask jokingly.
"Yup, totally fine. You guys ready yet?"
"Yep. How about you, Sammy?" He clears his throat and doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in response, which has you eyeing him weirdly. You choose to ignore it and let Sam order for you while you kick Dean under the table to stop being flirty with the nice waitress, and he only winks at you before he gives his order too.
When the waitress departs from your table, Dean lets his eyes follow her just for a second before he's turning back to the two of you, and he gets this questioning look on his face when he realizes the two of you are blankly glaring at him with the same narrowed eyes.
"What," he throws his hands up in defense, "I can't admire a good-looking woman?"
You and Sam glance at each other with a knowing glance right before you look back at Dean and say, "What's with you today? Why are you acting so..."
"Strange." Sam says. He leans forward on the table, "Why do you look like you're up to something?"
"Huh? Me?" Dean points to himself, "I'm not up to anything. I'm just being plain old me."
"Yeah, sure." You laugh him off and start a side conversation with Sam that has the two of you forgetting about Dean for the moment. Dean always knew Sam liked you; it's so obvious, at least to him. But he wishes he'd realized before how clearly obvious you are too. He doesn't know if he wants to throw up or throw a party.
...
A couple weeks later
"One or two rooms?" The lady asks.
"One please." Dean replies, handing the lady one of his debit cards that probably had some weird made up name on it. When Dean turns around with his debit card and the key in hand, you and Sam are looking at him weird like a couple of toddlers.
"Really? One room? Since when have we done that?" You questioned.
"Since you and Sammy boy over here started sharing a bed every night. I'm not gonna pay for two rooms when you don't use yours." Dean quickly catches on to how he's embarrassed the two of you so he adds, "and besides, I'd rather you stick with us anyway. Keep the team together." He pats your shoulder with a smirk and leaves the two of you behind. Sam spares a glance at your face and he's a bit surprised to find that you're just as taken aback as he is, but you don't say anything and you follow Dean rather quickly.
The three of you head back to the Impala to grab your bags before heading to the room, and when you go to take out yours, Sam slides in front of you and grabs his in one hand, and yours in the other.
"Sam." You say impassively.
"Yeah?"
"I am fully capable of grabbing my own bag."
"Oh I know. I'm just getting a quick work-out, since you know, your bag is like 50 pounds from all the clothes you carry.
"It is not, I barely bring anything with me!"
"You might be right, but if I may ask, how many of the shirts in here are actually mine?"
You pretend to think, "Um, probably like two. Maybe three."
A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs at you, "Now you're lying! Half my wardrobe is in here!" Sam pushes the cracked door open with his behind and holds it open for you, standing to the side with his foot on the door. Dean's bag is at the end of his bed and he's already crashed on the bed nearest to the door.
"Hey, it's not my fault your clothes are more comfortable than mine! I don't know who decided that men deserve softer clothes."
"Well, in that case," he dropped the bags, "be my guest."
"Oh, how sweet. I like how you think you had any choice in the matter."
"Haha, very funny. Do you want the first shower?"
"You can take it, I had it the other night. Besides, I need to figure out which shirt I'm stealing tonight. I was thinking of the blue one, or actually, maybe the green-"
"Oh my god, I'm leaving." He rolls his eyes, but you can see the amused smirk on his face as he heads to the bathroom, and gently closes the door behind him. You giggle to yourself as you pull out his blue shirt from your bag and a pair of pants since it's a bit chillier tonight.
He's out of the shower pretty quick, and when he emerges from the steamy bathroom, you're next to Dean's bed whacking him repeatedly with a pillow.
"I told you to stop snoring!" You yell at him.
"Hmph, stop hitting me, crazy woman!" He mumbles sleepily at you. You stop hitting him when you notice Sam watching you, and he wants to laugh at how cute you look, like some kid who's got caught doing something they're not supposed to.
"What, he was bothering me."
He smiles, "I don't doubt it."
He doesn't realize that you froze mainly because he came out in a pair of sweats and no shirt, with his hair dripping wet and a towel around his shoulders. Dean peaks his eyes open and grumbles when he notices the way you're looking at him. You hear Dean, which breaks you out of your temporary trance.
You drop the pillow and give him a sheepish look, "I'm gonna- I'll take my shower now." You nod, promptly leaving the room after you grab the clothes you had set out on your bed. Sam watches you leave, more than a bit confused might he add, suspicious of the way your mood had suddenly changed. Once he hears the water running and the curtain pull back signifying you're in the shower, and can no longer hear him, he settles on the bed and asks Dean a question.
"What happened?"
"You happened, you idiot."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said. I'm sick and tired of watching you two pine after the other when you clearly love each other, so for gods sake- no, my sake, tell the girl you love her and get on with it!"
Sam's face is hysterical, and if Dean weren't so tired right now he'd be laughing, but he's exhausted in more ways than one, so all he can do is shut is eyes and hope his little brother makes a move on the girl who's been his practically since the day they met her.
"D-Dean... I can't just-"
"Yes you can, and you will." Dean finalizes. "At this point I'll just do it for you. It's unbearable." Sam huffs loudly, flopping back onto the bed.
He lays there and stares at the ceiling for awhile until he hears his brother's soft snores coming from the other side of the room; when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, he hears the shower turn off and your light humming become more audible.
He takes a final deep breath just as you walk out of the bathroom with your hair combed nicely and your warm pajamas, perfectly ready for bed. Not exactly ready for your best friend to confess his undying love for you. He wants to crumble at the sight of your smile.
"You okay?" You ask gently. "You look a little pale."
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he waves you off, "When am I not fine?"
You laugh softly, "Do you want me to answer that?"
"Actually no." He gives a soft laugh of his own before his eyes land on his brother again, thinking over the words that were spoken to him just minutes prior to you walking out of that door. You were so near, so close to their conversation, and you have no idea. He can't help but think that maybe you'll be taken aback, shocked beyond belief, or traumatized enough to the point you yell at him and leave him for good. Or, maybe... possibly... there's a small chance you do feel the way that Dean says you feel, and in just a few moments the entirety of your relationship will change. Well, no matter what it'll change.
He just hopes it's what he feels it might be.
Sam's face snaps up to you quickly, like he's just had a sudden thought, and his eyes hold yours for a beat too long before he asks, "Can we go outside for a second?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gets up and takes long strides towards the door, you just a foot behind. He opens it and leaves it open for you to slide through, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets facing away from you. You give him a questioning glance, but he doesn't see it.
"You have the key?" You query.
"Um..." he pulls out the card in his hand to make sure and you giggle at him, but he just nods, putting it back in his pocket, gulping strangely, "Yeah, I got it."
"Okay." You whisper softly, closing the door quietly behind you. You're silent for a moment, giving him a second to see if he'd speak first, but he doesn't. "You okay, Sammy?"
"I'm in love with you."
Not even a beat later, those words exit his mouth, and everything changes. The atmosphere that was once light, comfortable, and knowing, has shifted to one of fearful eyes, harsh breaths and unspeakable tension. His hands, once unafraid to grab hold of you, now remain glued to his side, flexing and itching to reach forward and touch your skin. His heart is beating so fast he feels like it's getting torn out; each individual piece of it being sliced and picked carefully from his chest as if he were on an operating table.
He can't tell if the look on your face is fear or shock. Probably both. But he doesn't know if it's good or bad and it's scaring him.
"Say something." He breathes out, with a drop of desperation.
Your mouth, hung open for a brief amount of time, now closes, and you gulp just like he did before he uttered those five little words.
"What did you say?" you murmur, looking like you just got pulled from space.
He repeats himself. "I'm in love with you."
You don't say anything again, but he continues.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to say that." He interrupts himself with a laugh, a scared, almost detached sounding laugh, but one nonetheless. You stare at him as he goes on. "For weeks I've had these moments where I look at you and all I can think about is telling you how I feel, but then some part of me ruins it and then I forget about it until you do something again that makes me want to say it again."
"Which, I swear is every two seconds because all you have to do is look at me with those eyes and all I want to do is grab your face and tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how I can't stand sleeping next to you one more night without you knowing that I can't sleep without you anymore. I need you by my side, tucking your head under mine. It's not that I can't because I could, but I don't ever want to again. I could live a hundred lifetimes, all of them with you in them, but if you weren't mine, if you were someone else's, I wouldn't dare live another."
When he notices the tear streaking down your face, he finally reaches forward to hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your own comes up from your side to grip tight onto the wrist that's holding your face, and he can tell that you've noticed he's shaking.
"Sam..." Your voice comes out unsure, "Are you sure?"
"Am I sure?" He questions you, giving you an incredulous look. "Sweetheart, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
You're holding onto him so tight, he just knows what you're going to say next.
"I love you." You thought it would come out a whisper, but it sounds stronger than you expected. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sam, I love you so much."
His smile is brighter than a thousand suns, and his forehead drops against yours, staying there as you breath the other in; this new confession bringing in a wind of fresh air that has you feeling like you've both earned a pair of new lungs.
"I thought you might say that." He utters quietly, making you laugh and hit his chest lightly.
"Oh, shut up. Then why were you so scared, dumbass."
"I was confessing my love for you, either way I'm gonna be nervous!"
You smile cheekily, "Your love for me..."
"Don't act like you didn't know." His other hand comes up to hold the other side of your face, tilting your head up more to see you clearly.
"Maybe. But I had my doubts too." You confess.
Sam shrugs, "Well, without Dean I probably wouldn't have said anything for another decade, so-"
Your mouth drops open, "You finally gained the courage because Dean forced you to?" Sam stays still as you gape at him, and he smiles nervously.
"Does it help if I was thinking about it first?"
"Oh my god." You groan dejectedly and drop your head forward onto his chest. He holds the back of your head as he shakes with laughter.
"Okay, okay, be mad at me, whatever. Am I getting my kiss now?"
"Who said you were gonna get one at all?"
"Don't mess with me."
"I wouldn't dare."
...
The next morning, Dean groggily peels his eyes open to the morning sunlight peeking out of the curtains, and grumbles, questioning the time. It's around 8 am, which surprises him because he would have expected you or Sam to have woken him by now. At the thought of you guys, he turns over and manages to find himself alone in the dingy motel room. The bed covers are torn from the top of the bed, more settled towards the end of it, showing that you guys obviously slept in it, but there's no sign you or Sam are even still here.
Suddenly, he hears the low growl of his Baby pulling up outside, making him swing his legs out of bed and trudge over to the door. He swings it open, getting ready to yell at the both of you for going anywhere without him, even if it was breakfast, but his eyes widen and his jaw drops at the sight he's seeing.
You and Sam are standing close together near the trunk, leaning against the side, but mostly the other. Sam's hand, that isn't holding the grocery bags, is holding your hip, and you're looking up at him with a mischievous look in your eye. Sam says something which conjures up a giggle out of you, which then has Sam smiling brightly at the sight of you. He leans down and kisses you straight on the lips, holding you there for a moment before he pulls away to catch his breath. Both of you stand there, unaware of Dean's eyes on you, but neither of you would even really care if you did.
Dean's shocked expression turns to one of accomplishment. He nods, satisfied, and smiles like his brother just did. He sighs.
"Kids."
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lil-sweater-slut · 4 months
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lil-sweater-slut · 1 year
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The most valuable chart…
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lil-sweater-slut · 1 year
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Ah yes spooky season is officially here. God I love kinktober 🧡🖤😫
All The Better To Eat You With
Kinktober 2022 - Day 1: Predator/Prey with Doctor Stephen Strange
Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!
Summary: After seeing you wearing the Cloak Of Levitation, Stephen wants to play Little Red Riding Hood and Big Bad Wolf.
Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - roleplay, dirty talk, swearing, pet names, rough sex, biting, oral sex, spanking, hair pulling, creampie, vaginal sex, costume kink, innocence kink
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It started as a joke. It was around Halloween and you were trying to figure out a costume. You were joking that if he just let you borrow the Cloak Of Levitation you could be Little Red Riding Hood. The Cloak flew onto your shoulders happily and you posed as you batted your eyelashes animatedly. Well now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Now he couldn't stop thinking about you, all innocent and sweet, with him as the Big Bad Wolf. 
So he bought you a little present. A short skimpy red and white checkered dress with a matching red cloak. He also found the red spike heels and pair of white thigh high stockings you wore with your naughty nurse outfit. He then laid it all out on the bed with a note and waited for you to find it. The only thing he wrote on the note was "Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"
He had purposely made sure to explicitly tell you, several times, what time that night he would be back from Kamar-Taj. He knew there was no way you wouldn't find the outfit and the note. He could only hope you would want to play along. He also may have dropped a couple hints the night before about having a new roleplay idea for you two to try out. Opting only for a sly "you'll see" when you asked him what the idea was. 
When he got back that night most of the lights in the Sanctum were out except for a few smaller ones here and there. It was also a little too quiet. He dismissed the Cloak Of Levitation from around his shoulders to go do whatever it was that it did as he began to look for you. The shadows and general darkness of the Sanctum made him feel like he would already be sneaking up on you. His heart starting to beat just a little faster in anticipation.
Turning the light on and walking into your shared bedroom he saw you were nowhere to be found. Looking to the adjoining bathroom he saw the door open and the light off. Clearly you weren't there either. He looked back at the bed and noticed the sexy little costume he had picked out for you was missing as well. 
Just then he heard the click of your heels echoing from the hall as you walked towards the bedroom door. A wicked smile crossed his face when he realized he had walked into his own trap. He waited to turn around until he heard you address him. Your voice was purposely low and timid.
"Excuse me sir, can you help me? I was walking through the woods and I seem to have gotten terribly lost. I'm all alone and frightened."
He slowly turned to face the threshold, letting his gaze fall to the hardwood floor as he did. Slowly pulling his eyes up to rake over every inch of your form still slightly silhouetted in the shadowy hallway and your face hidden under the hood of the cloak. All except for your cherry red lips that is. A growl already forming in his chest and fighting the urge to pounce already. It was clear you wanted to drag this out and he was perfectly okay with that.
His eyes darkened and he stood up a little straighter as he started to fall into the role of predator. His wicked smile suddenly changed to a warm one and he extended one hand towards you without moving from the spot he was standing in, beckoning you farther into the room. 
"Of course I can help you. Come in out of the dark sweet girl. Come closer. I won't bite."
You shyly clasped your hands in front of you and walked towards him. Keeping your gaze cast down until you were in front of him. He reached out and lowered the hood on your cloak to reveal your face to him. Not groaning in desire took more effort than he thought it would. Seeing you look up at him through thick black lashes and pouty red lips. The low pigtails you wore tied up with checkered bows that matched the dress were the details that nearly broke his resolve. 
He let his fingers tug lightly on the end of your pigtails creating a faux little scared jump and gasp from you. He took a step even closer to you making the height difference between you as noticeable as possible. Tilting his face down toward yours, inhaling your scent deeply through his nose. Afterwards he took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back as he started to circle around you. His steps were slow and deliberate.
"Well well, what is a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone? You know  all sorts of big bad creatures lurk about in the woods, just dreaming of getting their teeth into a delicious little morsel… like you."
He paced around you one full circle. Punctuating the very last part of his statement by placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to his. Leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. He then continued stalking around you. Finally coming to stand directly behind you. Standing close to your back but making sure not to touch you.
"I was trying to find my way to my grandmother's house, but I must have gotten turned around. I'm so glad I found you to help me. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you." 
He chuckled darkly in your ear as he drug the back of one hand up your arm. He was just close enough you could feel the edge of the short flouncy skirt you wore rub against the bulge he was now sporting. He let the hand that moved up your arm loop around to pull at the bow holding your cloak on. Untying it and letting it fall to the floor in one swift motion. 
"Why what big hands you have." 
He pushed one shoulder of your dress off before responding. 
"All the better to touch you with my dear." 
His hands found your hair again and he pulled. Turning your head to the side to face him.
"My what big eyes you have." 
He made a show of lasciviously peeking down the front of your dress at the swell of your breasts on display. 
"All the better to see you with my dear."
He moved to start kissing and nipping lightly at your neck. Subtly signaling you what to say next. 
"My what big teeth you have."
Stephen bit into the flesh of your neck hard enough to leave a nice dark mark before gently lapping at the same spot to soothe it. Placing several long kisses sucking at the same spot. Making sure it would bruise. You had a feeling you would be covered in marks before the night was out. He let his hands come to rest on your hips as he answered.
"All the better to eat you with my dear." 
Suddenly he jerked your body back by your hips and held your body firmly against him. His hips pressing forward extra hard. His erection straining against his pants now tightly pressed to you so you could feel it. He growled in your ear as he let his hips rut against you a few times. 
You tried to put on an extra air of innocence and surprise as you said your next, and what you knew would be the final, of your observations.  
"My what a big cock you have!"
His fingers gripped into your hips even tighter as he started manhandling you so you were stumbling towards the bed while making sure he didn't actually let you fall in the process. He stopped at the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around you. One hand wrapped tightly around your stomach, the other moving to grope and grab at one breast. He had started attacking your neck and shoulder again. Taking a few moments to indulge his hunger before you could feel him smile against your skin. Letting his arms relax he pulled back.
"All the better to fuck you with my dear." 
He roughly pushed you down face first on the bed taking you by surprise. Before you could react he had flipped up the skirt of your skimpy costume and sunk his teeth into the flesh of your ass cheek. You yelped in response and then had to cover your mouth to not break character with a loud laugh in response. 
"Maybe you aren't such an innocent little thing after all. Sweet good girls aren't supposed to like getting bitten by the Big Bad Wolf. Makes me wonder what else you'd like me to do."
He climbed on top of you and pressed his weight down to hold you flat against the mattress. His lips flat against your ear as he seemed to taunt you about your body's response to him. Your hips trying to arch and push your ass up into him. Encouraging him to keep going.
He lifted his weight up just long enough to bring his hand down firm against your other ass cheek. Using the same hand he rolled you underneath him to lay you on your back before pinning you down again. His hands on either side of your face as he captured you in a hungry kiss. All teeth and tongue as he devoured you. Leaving marks all over your neck and chest. 
"Want me to eat you little girl? I'm going to pretty girl whether you want it or not. I'm going to devour and ruin every fucking inch of you." 
He pulled the top of the dress down under your breasts and started biting at them too. His large hands grabbing at them and pinching at your nipples with his nimble fingers. Your back arching hard as you moaned loudly beneath him. He growled in response, an animal smile staring down at you. You were both practically panting. 
He crawled down your body and started pushing the fluffy skirt of your costume up around your waist. Exposing the tiny white lace g-string you wore underneath. He licked his lips as he ran his hands down over your hips and onto your sex. Letting the pads of his fingers explore the soft delicate lace, trailing them down over the crotch of your panties. 
"So pretty, so delicate. Just like you." 
His hands slid out onto your inner thighs and he shoved them open, pinning your legs to the bed. Lowering his upper body and making a show of inhaling your scent. Sticking his tongue out and licking over you through the fabric of your panties. Stephen was loving every second of this. Indulging all of his senses in your body. Letting his animal urges take over like never before.
He started to pull at the lace fabric with his teeth, being careful to avoid biting the sensitive treasure that lay beneath them. The treasure he wanted to desperately get to. Managing to grab the fabric between his teeth and start pulling it away from your pussy. Dragging your panties down your legs. Stopping once he had gotten them lowered to your knees. Moving to tear them to shreds to get them off your body completely. Lowering his face back to eye level with your pussy again once he was done. 
"Just as I thought. Definitely not an innocent little girl lost in the woods. Good girls don't get all wet like this for the Big Bad Wolf."
A growl came from deep in his chest as he began licking at you. One long lick up your wet slit with his tongue flattened and wide, covering every bit of your cunt that he could in one single torturous slow motion. Then he went to town licking and sucking at you ferociously, like he was starved. He was now pulling high pitched squeals from you with every move he made.
You were getting so loud you moved to cover your mouth for fear you would end up with America knocking at the door. You could feel Stephen's piercing blue eyes looking at you from between your legs. He pulled his mouth off of your pussy just long enough to scold you for hiding your noises. His fingers coming up to stroke at your already swollen labia as he did.
"I don't think so little girl, don't cover that pretty little mouth. I want to hear you scream. I made sure there's no one nearby to rescue you or interrupt my fun. If I see you trying to stay quiet again I'm gonna stuff that sweet mouth full of my cock." 
He then bit the inside of one thigh as he slid two fingers into your pussy and started thrusting them hard and fast. The squelching of your arousal driving Stephen to latch his mouth back over your clit as his fingers started curling upward against your sweet spot. Immediately he felt your cunt starting to squeeze and flutter at his motions. He had you hurtling towards a screaming orgasm. Your back arching off the bed. 
A final growl from your lover sending a vibration through your sex that made the muscles of your entire lower half tremble uncontrollably. A new flood of slick coating Stephen's fingers and face as his movements continue without ceasing. Pulling every second from your orgasm as he could. His name falling from your lips over and over in broken cries and gasps. 
As soon as you had stopped shaking, before you could process what was happening or that Stephen had moved from between your legs and was now kneeling on the bed with his pants undone, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air. He held onto your hip with one hand and grabbed both your pigtails in the other, yanking your head up to look at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror across the bedroom. 
You looked completely debauched. Mascara running and dark tinted tears staining your cheeks, lipstick smeared. Your bare breasts pressed into the bedspread and your bare ass visible in the air over the top of your head. Your sweet fluffy red and white dress now a crumpled mess at your waist. The white lacy bands of your thigh highs framing Stephen's body kneeling behind you. He smiled and taunted you through the reflection as the tip of his cock slid through your sensitive folds.
"Look at that. Look at how pretty my little slut looks. All sweet and ruined by me, but I know you want more don't you? You know I want more. Be a good little slut and beg me for it, and you better make it good." 
He pulled your hair a little bit harder and slapped your ass with his other hand before even giving you any time to beg, making you moan and making your pussy clench. Your voice came out desperate and pleading when you began to answer. Almost ashamed at how needy you sounded.
"Please fuck me. Please please please. Need it so bad. Need your big cock sir. Need you to fuck my tight little pussy with your big cock. Fuck me hard and fill me up please."
Without looking away from your reflection he let his hips push forward just a little as he held your body in place, pressing just the head of his cock inside you. Giving you just enough to tease you. Repeating the motion a couple more times before stopping and staying still with just the tip of his cock inside.
"Is this what you want? You want my cock? Good little girls don't want to get fucked by a big scary stranger's cock. I just felt that hungry little pussy of yours squeeze me tight. This isn't a good girl's pussy, this is a slutty pussy. You know what kind of girls have slutty pussys? Let me hear you say it. Tell me what you really are, just for me." 
You were a moaning mess trapped playing his game. You didn't care. You wiggled and writhed trying to move your hips anyway you could. Trying desperately to get more of him. You couldn't take much more teasing from him. You needed him inside you.
"I'm a little slut, just for you. Your little slut Stephen. Your little whore. Please fuck me like the little slut I am. Please, sir." 
He tutted at your begging and shook his head. Letting his free hand drag up your thigh raking his nails against your skin before gripping back onto your hip again.
"Such a desperate little thing."
Without any further warning he pulled your hips back roughly and slid his cock all the way inside you. He set a quick harsh pace using your own movement as leverage to make his own thrusts deeper, pounding into you. A squeak pulled from you everytime he bottomed out and his balls slapped against your clit. The bedframe rocking under the force.
Your senses were in full overload by the time Stephen started speeding up. Growls and moans falling from his lips as his eyes dropped to watch him bury himself inside your cunt. Seeing your tight hole cling to his thick cock each time he pulled back. Little praises falling even though he knew you were far too gone to hear them.
"Such a perfect cunt. So tight and wet. You take my cock so fucking well. Love this little pussy so much, swear I could spend all day fucking you and you'd love it. My little cock slut loves to be filled. I'm getting close, baby."
He let go of your hair and brought both hands to your hips, your upper body falling down onto the mattress. You looked at the mirror to see Stephen completely lost in the moment. A light sheen of sweat covering his sculpted chest. His head dropped back and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritting together as he chased his orgasm. You had just enough mental presence left to know just what it would take to push him over the edge, knowing the feeling of him cumming would take you with him.
"Fuck yes daddy, give it to me. Fill me up! Cum in my little pussy. Not just your cock slut, I'm your little cum slut too. Need you to fill my slutty pussy with cum. Please, please, please!"
A renewed vigor in Stephen's eyes as he slammed into you harder and harder with every thrust. Even after your face fell down flat into the mattress you could tell the moment right before he filled you, his cock swelling even more before you felt it start to pulse and spurt inside you. The sensation of his thick warm cum filling you making your cunt spasm in response. Your body trying to milk every last drop of cum from him. 
Both of you whined and groaned as your bodies pulled every bit of pleasure from the other until your nerves were on fire. His upper body collapsed down onto you as you huffed and puffed. He mindlessly started placing kisses on the back of your neck and whispering little gasps of overstimulation whenever your pussy would flutter around his now softening cock. Eventually you both fell onto your sides still holding each other tight.
With a wave of his hand, Stephen made both your costume and the rest of his robes disappear before maneuvering you both to lay comfortably on the bed. Covering you both up just enough to stay warm. You both lay there catching your breath and coming back down from your highs. Stephen surveyed all the marks he left on you. Nothing too bad but there were a lot of them, he made a mental note to ask if you wanted him to heal any of them or at the very least get you some arnica gel for them. In the meantime he would just lay there with you until one of you felt the urge, or regained the ability, to get up.
Suddenly you started giggling, only to dissolve into full on laughter after a moment. Stephen pulled back to look at you. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was very clearly confused as to why you were laughing so hard. Finally you calmed yourself enough to talk.
"I can't believe you bit my ass!" 
"Well I was the Big Bad Wolf, & you are a very delectable little treat, sweetheart. If you want I can go get you some ice for your ass if I bit it too hard?... Okay, that's a sentence I didn't think I would ever say." 
You both dissolved into laughter at that. You waved off the idea of the ice, it wasn't that bad. It had just been a hell of a surprise. He did feel a little proud as he surveyed the rest of the marks he had left. Knowing that you would only let him mark you like that. That it meant you were his. He started lovingly rubbing over the spot he bit trying to soothe away any soreness as you both started to settle in. Falling asleep with his hand still resting over the bruise that was forming on your ass.
--------------------------------
The next day you hadn't thought to cover up all the bruises and bites for your fairytale inspired romp. Usually you didn't worry about sporting all sorts of hickeys and love bites. At least not where they were easily visible. So needless to say when you brushed your hair back and America caught sight of a successive line of purple bruises down the side of your neck her shock took you by surprise. 
"What the hell happened to you?! You look like you got attacked." 
Suddenly realizing what she had seen, what you had forgotten to cover, you had to scramble for an excuse. You and Stephen were practically her parents. So you couldn't exactly tell her the truth, you didn't want to scar her for life, but you didn't exactly want to lie to her either. Especially with Stephen and Wong in earshot. You would never hear the end of it. So you did what you thought anyone in your position would do. You answered half into your coffee cup while hoping she wouldn't ask anymore questions.
"It's umm… a wolf bit me."
From the other room where Stephen was, where you knew he was listening, you heard the clattering of things being dropped. You were gonna be in trouble for that little comment later, but oh it was gonna be such a fun punishment. Of course you both had to survive Wong before that. 
--------------------------------
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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If your requests are open. Could we see a Dr. Strange tracking your fertility cycle? Maybe some breeding kink? If not that’s okay. Thank you!
Man On A Mission
Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!
Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader
Summary: Once Stephen Strange set his mind to something he was going to get it done. Why should getting you pregnant be any different?
Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - heavy breeding kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, language, very romantic cheesy mushy Strange too
I felt odd finishing this after SCOTUS dismantled Roe. I want to make it very clear in this story pregnancy was a choice they both made together. Neither the government, nor a partner, should regulate a woman's body & force her to carry a pregnancy she does not want.
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You had discussed it, after everything that had happened, you both decided that you wanted a family. You wanted a child together if you could have one. You didn't want to get obsessed though, so you had decided to leave it to chance. If it happened it happened.  If not, you two always had America.
Well you had decided to leave it to chance. Stephen had different plans. He was going to make sure it happened. He was going to make sure he got you pregnant as soon as he possible could. The idea of you carrying his baby triggered an irrational need in him. He needed to breed you. The thought of it alone could get him hard. 
There was something so erotic about everyone seeing your swollen belly & knowing he had fucked you full as many times as it took to get you that way. That he had filled you with his cum until you were leaking. That you craved to feel him cum inside you. No, that your body had begged for his cum, & your pussy had milked his cock dry over & over.
So he started tracking your cycle to figure out when you were most fertile, when you were ovulating. It took a couple months to pin it down. To get the dates just right. Between using an app on his phone & the marking you always put in your day planner when you started your period he was able to pinpoint the dates before long. 
He had studied up on what positions would aid in conception too. Both missionary & doggy style could let him cum in you as deep as possible, the deeper he came in you the closer his sperm was to your cervix. He also knew that if you came around the same time he did your body would naturally pull his cum in deeper. 
So when he got the little notification on his phone that you would start your ovulation cycle the next day he got straight to work. He wanted everything to be perfect. He planned to spend as much time balls deep in you filling you up as many times as he physically could. 
First thing was to get everyone else out of the Sanctum. Wong was easy enough. He knew that look on Strange's face & he had no desire to walk in on you 2 mid-romp again. He confirmed he would stay at Kamar-Taj until he was told it was safe. 
America he just downright bribed. Peter he threatened. Both of them could occupy themselves doing teenager stuff or bothering the other Avengers. He knew for a fact that Sam "New Cap" Wilson was in town, & Peter had taken a shine to Bucky. Unfortunately Bucky didn't have the same shine but he appreciated the attempts by the spiderling to get him up to date on pop culture. 
With the Sanctum cleared out he needed to prep your bedroom next. He wanted to turn it into a virtual oasis. He found the softest sheets & fluffiest blankets. Candles & soft lights, your favorite flowers. He went the whole 9 yards. Massage oils & flavoured treats to rub on & lick off each other. Lots of pillows all over the room. He knew if your hips were elevated with a pillow it was supposed to help conception too.  
Even the dinner he prepared, well he ordered & someone else prepared, was full of aphrodisiac foods. The evening would be completed with chocolate covered strawberries, whipped cream, almonds, & of course a little bubbly. 
He was sure of it. Tonight was the night he was gonna get you knocked up. So he wanted it to be special. He wanted to make sure he wooed you & bred you in one suave date night. That would hopefully turn into a date weekend of him pumping load after load into you. Just to be sure.
Needless to say you were shocked when you got home. You knew something was up, he never went this over the top even when you first started dating & he was trying to impress you. He tried his best to stay coy about his motive. Saying he just wanted to treat the woman he loved to a special night. 
It wasn't until you had made it to the bedroom that you figured out the real reason for all the romance. You went to the bathroom to slip into the new lingerie he had picked out, it was a sheer red babydoll that feel just below your ass & matched the color of his cloak. He did have good taste & knew your body so well the fit was perfect. 
As you were changing you remembered the ovulation test kit you had bought together on a whim after you first discussed having a baby. Sure enough it said you were in your fertile window. You couldn't help but chuckle at how slick Stephen thought he was. 
You emerged from the bathroom trying to look as innocent as possible hiding the test behind your back. You bit your bottom lip as you walked towards him with any extra sway in your hips, his pupils now blown wide in lust. He had already stripped down to his underwear & you could tell by the way the fabric was starting to strain that he was already half hard. 
Just by the sight of your breasts through the sheer cups he could tell he had nailed the timing. Your breasts were slightly swollen & your nipples flushed slightly darker, both signs you were ovulating. He groaned as you got closer, already imagining how you would look swollen with his child. 
As he laid him down on the bed & crawled up to straddle him you managed to keep the test concealed in your hand. He was too busy focusing on other things. You gave him one more chance to tell you on his own why he really did all this.
"Seriously Stephen, why did you do all this? You know I was already gonna fuck you anyway." You both laughed as you exchanged kisses. You loved teasing each other & you both had the same sarcastic sense of humor. 
"Is it so wrong I just wanted to spoil you a bit? Show you how special you are." 
It was a very sweet sentiment, & you did love when Stephen bared the sensitive side of his personality, but you also knew it was partly bullshit. Time to call him on it. 
You started pressing his down his neck, mixing in little licks & bites as you moved to his ear. His hands were massaging your ass & slowly grinding your hips against his hardening cock. You sucked on his earlobe for a moment, then pulled your lips away just enough to whisper in his ear. 
"Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with me being fertile? With you wanting me to make you a daddy?"
As you finished your question you blew on his ear & ellicted a loud moan. His hips thrusting up of their own volition, pretty much answering for him. You sat up straight & kept rolling your hips against his. The friction of him hard against your clit was too good to stop.
"Ah ha, I knew there was something. Well then you will be pleased to know that I remembered we had this." 
You pulled the small plastic stick up & held it in front of you. He recognized it immediately, & he quirked up an eyebrow waiting to hear whether you were ovulating. 
Several weeks later you were having what you referred to as your "family breakfast". It consisted of all the members of you odd little adopted family who made the Sanctum their home in one way or another. It was you & Stephen, Wong, America, Peter, & even the Cloak of Levitation. Sometimes Shawn & Katie would join too, or Ned & M.J.  
You smiled down at him, "Well Doctor Strange, you have some work to do tonight then. I don't want to leave this bed until you've gotten me pregnant Doctor."
He quickly & flipped you over onto your back, positioning himself on top of you with your legs around his waist. He grabbed the test from your hand & threw it over his shoulder before leaning down to focus his attention on your neck & chest. Biting & kissing at it as he kneaded the soft flesh of your side with his other hand.
In between deep passionate kisses he smiled against your lips & said, "well sweetheart, good thing that was already my plan." 
His tongue tangled with yours as your bodies started to move in sync with each other. Your hands running up & down his arms & his back as he teased & tickled your breasts with his tongue & fingers over the lingerie you wore. Eventually sliding the straps down & off of your arms. 
He let the scruff of his goatee scratch across your nipples before taking his time with each one. His tongue lapping & the swirling around them as he felt them perk up. He stopped to blow on one of them, making you gasp in return. 
Sliding your hand down to cup his bulge he ground down into your hand & growled. You stroked him through the fabric of his underwear a few times before dipping your hand under the waistband & letting your fingers tease at the warm flesh of his cock. Running one of your fingers up one of the thick prominent veins on his shaft. You could feel yourself getting wetter as you thought about him inside you. 
He suddenly pulled your hand off of him & pinned it on the pillow over your head. He brought his face close to yours & you could feel pieces of his thick dark brown hair tickling your forehead.
"Wanna know one of the ways I can tell you're fertile right now darling? Because I can smell you are in heat. I can smell how wet you are, how bad you want my cock. I know you are practically dripping through those panties already." 
He reached down & pulled your panties to the side & ran his middle finger up your slit feeling the arousal that had collected for him. He brought his hand back up & showed you the slick glistening on his fingertip. Practically purring when he took the finger into his mouth & sucked it clean.
"Your pussy tastes even sweeter when you're fertile too. As much as I want to bury my face in your pretty pussy & make you cum on my tongue tonight you only get to cum on my cock. You are gonna be my good girl & let me fill your pussy up over & over to knock you up aren't you?"
You whimpered & shook your head yes as you spread your legs wider underneath him. You wanted him inside you so badly. You started to pout when he simply chuffed at you. You noticed his voice had gone gravely when he spoke next & you knew he was just as desperate for you.
"Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it sweetheart. I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. What do you want me to make you?"
"Want you to fuck me Stephen, knock me up. Want you to fuck a baby into me. Make me a mommy. Swear I'll be your good girl. Need you Stephen. So bad."
"That's my good girl. Now hold still." 
He sat up on his knees & grabbed another pillow from across the bed. He had you lift your hips, you thought to take off your panties but he stopped you before you could lower them & placed the pillow under your hips instead. He snapped the elastic of your panties back into place before taking off his underwear. 
He held his hand to you for you lick & then took his long thick cock in his hand. He knelt between your legs stroking himself a few times as he readjusted your panties so they were pushed to the side. He admired your soaked cunt in silence for a few seconds.
God he was a beautiful man. Lean but well muscled. The fact that he was a genius & a little superhero made him the whole package. Plus he had an amazing package, & he knew how to use it.
He started rubbing the head of his cock through your pussy lips paying extra attention to tap at your clit whenever he would slide himself back upward. Studying the way you tried to move your hips just right to let his head slip inside you. 
"There's one more thing baby, okay? The panties stay on for a bit, because I know you wanna stay nice & full in between rounds right? To help make sure you get pregnant. Just in case that pretty pussy starts leaking it will stay covered in my cum."
He positioned himself at your entrance & slowly pushed his cock inside you. The stretch felt so good as he set a slow steady pace. Thrusting a little deeper each time he pushed forward. You both moaned the first time he bottomed out. Instead of thrusting again he stopped & let you grind against him from underneath, finding the perfect angle so his pelvic bone rubbed against your clit. 
Once you had found the right spot you gave him a little squeeze to move again. He started slowly, fucking you deeply & tenderly as he placed his forehead on yours. Your arms looped around his shoulders & you held him tight. 
You stared into his ocean blue eyes as he whispered to you, "fuck! I love you so much." He lowered his lips to yours & kissed you with such devotion it took your breath away. When his lips finally broke from yours you moved just enough to whisper, "I love you too", back to him.
Then a particularly deep thrust pulled a pornographic moan from you & you felt a new gush of arousal flood you. The sensation spurring him to start fucking you harder. When he started thrusting hard & fast enough he could hear the squelching of your wet cunt around him. Something snapped in his mind at the sound. 
He remembered he was fucking you with the purpose of getting you pregnant. He dropped his head into the crook of your neck & his hips started slamming down into yours. An animalistic growl coming from him each time you mewled in pleasure. He still made sure to keep the extra roll forward in his thrusts to make sure you got the stimulation you needed to cum too. 
He could feel you getting close. Your walls starting to pulse & clench at him every few thrusts. He pulled back onto his knees & pulled your legs up onto his shoulders before leaning forward & folding you in 2. Positioning you so your pelvis tilted back & he could get his cock even deeper. 
You both started lavishing filthy praise on the other. Encouraging each other.
"Oh fuck! Stephen right there. Don't fucking stop!"
"Don't worry sweetheart I'm not stopping until you're knocked up remember? Can't wait for everyone to see your pregnant belly & know I did that." 
His possessive side sometimes took over in bed & you always liked to tease that particular nerve when it did.
"Want everyone to know you fucked me full Stephen? Tell everyone you're the daddy. Tell them that you just couldn't stop fucking me until you bred me?"
That phrase sent him absolutely wild. He was on a hairpin trigger ready to cum & he knew you were too. He reached between your bodies to flick lightly at your clit. 
"Fuck! Say that again baby. Fuck, beg for it!"
"Yeah you want to breed me Stephen? Fucking breed me. Fucking breed me daddy!" 
As you felt him fill you up the sensation of his cum shooting deep into you sent you over the edge. Your cunt clenching & pulsing as he shot rope after rope inside you. 
Eventually you both came down & you started combing your fingers through his hair as you lazily kissed each. He released your legs so they could sit more comfortably around his waist, but he kept himself positioned inside you & on top of you. 
"You know I think I'll just stay like this until we're ready to go again. Just in case. Make sure I keep everything inside you."
You eventually lost track of how many times he fucked you that weekend. By the time you realized Wong, America, & Peter had returned to the Sanctum you were having a hard time walking & Stephen was smiling so big you thought his face would break. 
Now you just had to wait, & maybe keep trying. Even if you weren't ovulating it was awful fun practice, especially with a partner you loved so much who loved you more than anything in return.
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It was the one time of week everyone made a conscious effort to have a normal meal all together. No magic, other than the Cloak, & no superhero stuff. Just normal conversation & silliness. It was a mental respite for everyone.
The 5 of you had all gathered in the kitchen. Wong was finishing the cooking with America's help. Peter was animatedly telling a story to Stephen, & the Cloak was draped around Stephen's neck in the form of a scarf. 
You stood at the counter observing everyone & honestly getting a little misty eyed. They were a bunch of weirdos, but they were your weirdos & you loved them all so much. In the moment your overwhelming emotion didn't seem odd to you until America saw you wipe at your eyes & asked if you were okay. 
You assured her that you were fine. There was just something in your eye or maybe your allergies were making your eyes water.
After a moment you realized America was still eyeing you, & everyone else had gotten a little more quiet. You turned back to her with a confused look? 
"Okay, what's up? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Oh no it's nothing. You just look really pretty today. Did you start using a new foundation or something? You look all glowy." 
You shot Stephen a sidelong glance out of the corner of your eye & before you could register what was happening he had already grabbed your hand & started pulling you out of the room behind him. The echo of the 2 of you laughing carried on as you both ran up the stairs to your bathroom. 
The 3 people left in the kitchen all had small grins on their faces. Already looking forward to having a new member to add to their weird little family. They all moved to sit around the table making sure to leave spots for you & Stephen, even though they knew they probably wouldn't see you for a while if the test was positive. 
They knew it was when the Cloak of Levitation came flying through making excited little swirls & flutters in the air before landing in one of the empty spaces at the table. Stephen had kicked it out of your bedroom so you two could celebrate alone.
America cleared her throat & held out her hand across the table looking at the 2 men expectantly. Both Wong & Peter pulled out $20 bills handing them over to the girl somewhat grudgingly. 
As she went to put the money in her pocket with a satisfied grin on her face she paused & asked, "Wanna go double or nothing on the due date?"
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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @wolfatheartandsoul @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rougepetale @ppatricia34me
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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Chris Evans at the Los Angeles premiere of Lightyear, 6/8/2022
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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NSFW Alphabet
Sinister Stephen Strange
As usual, ignore spelling & grammar errors. I will fix them as I find them.
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Smut/Explicit content - 18+ only!
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
He is surprisingly tender after sex. Having been alone in his wasteland of a universe he has been deprived of human contact & of touch. He wants you to love & need him as much as he loves & needs you. He wants you to want to stay in his collapsing universe with him. So he kisses you all over & nuzzles into you. Whispering sweet praises & declarations of devotion into your hair or your skin, slightly unhinged as they may be. He takes care of you & works to soothe any aches or pains you may have from the rough way he fucked you. You drift off to sleep with him holding you close & telling you that he will never let you go, you will be his until the moment the universe crumbles to nothingness. Whether you want to be or not, & heaven help anyone who tries to interfere.
B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
You love his eyes, the same thing you loved about every Stephen you had met. His eyes spoke volumes even when he only verbally spoke a few. All of his emotions & moods could be seen in the way his eyes changed if you knew what to look for. When you first met this Stephen, Sinister Strange, his eyes were dull & cold. As you began to care for him & your relationship grew, a warm sparkle returned. The Arctic blue oceans you saw thawed & turned to a bright Caribbean blue that you knew well. 
He loves all of you, but he may have an extra little soft spot for your hands. He cannot describe how his heart skips a beat when your fingers touch his skin. How he felt the first time you touched his cheek. He feels safe when he is in your hands. He loves all the angelic & sinful ways you touch him, & he can't remember how he survived so long without them. He knows he wouldn't be able to live without your touch now if he were to lose it.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Yes. Anywhere & everywhere as many times as he can manage. He lives to claim your body. Marking you with his cum both inside & out. His mood & possessiveness determine whether he cums inside you, on you, or both. When he is feeling his most possessive he will cum on your stomach or tits & then work to rub it all over your body. Wanting to cover every inch he can with his seed. Not that anyone ever stumbles into his world, but if they do he wants it to be known that you unquestioningly belong to him. Sometimes he will make you keep as many loads inside of you as possible, just so you can feel him dripping out of you throughout the day. Even randomly wanting you to show him & prove some of it is still there. If it's not he's going to have to fill you all over again. He loves to cum on your face, watching it drip down onto your chest. With one hand tightly gripping your hair so you have no choice but to take it. He makes you beg for it, because just knows that deep down you want it, no you need it. You need to feel him mark you. To be a debauced little cumslut desperate for him. Only for him. 
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Before he brought you here, to his universe, he would spend hours on end watching you. He would watch you do mundane things like read or watch TV. He would watch you when you were with your friends & make sure no harm came to you. He would watch you with your Stephen, seething at the man every time he even so much as held your hand. His favorite thing to watch were your most intimate & private moments. He tried to memorize the pathway each drop of water would take down your body when you were in the shower. How you would always apply body lotion in the same order, from bottom to top, although he liked watching you work in thick body butters more since they took longer. Massaging it into both legs, first right then left, before smoothing it over your hips & breasts. Finally your arms, finding it cute you always went left first than right in a complete opposition to your legs. The pinnacle was when he would watch you touch yourself, laid back & spread out on your bed totally bare. He could practically feel the way you drug your fingers over your body, barely even making contact, dragging his own hands over himself pretending it was you. Your moans & gasps actually for him. By the time he could hear the way your fingers slid in & out of your dripping cunt he would be on the verge of cumming, but he always made himself wait until he saw you cum wanting to climax with you even though you had no idea he was watching.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He has experience from before get a hold of the Darkhold & causing the incursion in his universe. He had his own Christine before, & many of the same romantic & sexual experiences as your Stephen. However he has been obsessed with you since the first time he saw you, forgetting the idea of possibly being with anyone else, & since the incursion he has been alone. So when he finally gets his hands on your body he is ravenous. He employs every trick he has to pleasure you, & may have even scoured the library for anything else of use he could find. He is determined to be the best lover you have ever had. Especially since he will be your last lover too.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
He loves seeing your bare body twisted into all sorts of positions, but he has a particular soft spot for positions where he can hold as much of your body as close as possible. Whether your back is pressed to his chest or your foreheads are pressed together he wants to feel every inch of your skin against his. So he can kiss, & lick, & bite at your neck or your shoulder while he is stuffing you full of his cock. He wants to be able to whisper in your ear, to tell you to beg for your release, as his fingers start to brush between you against your clit. To feel your small delicate frame under his larger one, pressed tight into the mattress as his hip slam into yours from behind using every bit of energy he has to try to communicate how much he needs you.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
The man is not goofy ever, & most definitely not goofy during sex. If he is ever humorous it is a dark humor. In general he is intense. He lost his sense of lightheartedness a long time ago. While his hard edges do soften with you, & in time maybe his more intimidating ways will begin to dissolve, he will always be a cold dark version of the Stephen you originally knew. That Stephen could be ornery, sarcastic, goofy on occasion, & even playful. All of those emotions are foreign to this Stephen.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Considering both the hair on his head & his goatee are a bit disheveled & unkempt I think it's a safe bet to say it's probably a bit wild down there. When the universe is collapsing & you spend most of your time obsessing over finding a way to be with your lost love, trimming & styling isn't much of a priority. Not to mention that he is literally the only one there until he steals you away. So he's basically au naturale. 
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
It's a very different kind of intimacy. He's very intense & his emotion runs deep. He is obsessed with you in every definition of the term. Deep down even he isn't sure where his love for you ends & his obsession for you begins. He does know that he will put everything on the line for you & he will go to great lengths to prove his love to you. He will make romantic gestures, still the suave Doctor Strange under his more sinister exterior. Bouquets of bright flowers appearing randomly around the Sanctum for no reason. Preparing elaborate meals for the 2 of you. He was a big fan of lighting absurd amounts of candles around the room before having his way with you if he was feeling a little extra dramatic. 
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
Now that you are with him, & the fact that there isn't a lot else to do in a universe on the edge of self destruction, he uses any & all sexual energy with you. He has his fantasies in the flesh right in front of him. Before he managed to steal you away from your universe, he would masturbate while watching you. Imagining his own hands were yours. Imagining how you would look on your knees for him. How good your tongue would feel licking up the pre-cum from his sensitive dripping tip before dragging it up & down his shaft. Moaning at the taste of him in your mouth. The ways you would beg him to fuck you. When he would watch you in the shower or when you touched yourself he would think about how it would feel when he finally got to fuck your pretty little pussy. How tight, warm, & wet you would be as he stretched your perfect hole. He knew his hand couldn't ever begin to compare to how your cunt would feel wrapped around him, but until he could have you in his bed it would suffice with his imagination.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
He has a huge breeding kink. He loves claiming you & marking you. What better way of claiming you is there than getting you pregnant & having you give birth to his children? He also knows that if you bear his children you will have no choice but to stay there with him. He wants to keep you pregnant & watch your belly swell with his offspring. Always wanting you full with a piece of him. So anyone who dares come into his universe, his domain, will know right away that you are his. His perfect little wife & mother to his babies. He knows you will be such a good mommy. He can’t wait to watch you care for them & nurse them, perhaps he’s even fantasized about you wanting to take care of him & nourish him with your milk too. It would be a truly intimate gesture shared between the two of you. Letting him have you in a way no one else had or would ever have you. If you were ever to beg him to put a baby in you he might lose the little bit of sanity he has left, he wouldn't stop until he fulfilled your wish. Everytime he comes inside you he watches it start to leak out of your pussy & makes a little wish for his seed to take root. He isn’t worried though. If it doesn’t happen right away he knows he can always use a spell to make sure it does. You will be a mommy in no time, & he can't wait to be a daddy.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Given that his universe is fracturing & disintegrating there aren't a whole lot of places for him to have his way with you other than the Sanctum. He can keep the building somewhat protected with his magic, so he knows you will be safe there. Inside those walls, or what remains of them, he has fucked you on every surface he can. He does have 2 favorite places though. The 1st being the bed you share together. When he is with you in that bed he can pretend everything is normal, & the universe is as it was before the incursion. He can let go of the guilt, the anger, & the obsession. He can just be a man in the arms of the love of his life, he can be happy. He also loves taking you on the floor of the library. He would occasionally surprise you by filling the room with candles & spend hours ravishing you. Here he could let his presence overwhelm you, let his passion for you swallow you up whole. The lengths he went to to find you visible, written in the damaged walls & the debris cluttered floor. It was just you & him with nothing, not even bedsheets, to come between you there. 
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
His motivation is you, pure & simple. You were his motivation for everything. Your smile, your touch, your voice, your kiss it all inspired him & drove him wild. A simple touch of your hand on his neck was enough to send his mind reeling with thoughts of making you claw at his hair while he devoured you. A single kiss could quickly turn into a heated make out session. He wanted you all the time, & he has no problem letting you know that. Luckily that is the one upside of residing in a universe partly destroyed by an incursion, there was never anyone else around to interrupt him when he decided he needed to fuck you for hours on end.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Even the possible suggestion or mention of you ever being with anyone else sends him spiraling. He rages at the thought of someone else touching, kissing, or fucking you. So once you belong to him he would never even consider a threesome, swinging, or watching you with someone else. You really should be glad he didn't rip your original Stephen limb from limb simply because he had the audacity to touch what was never his in the first place. He also doesn't want to really hurt you. He may tie you up & get pretty rough with you sometimes, he loves leaving marks & love bites on you, but he would always stop what he was doing if you were really in pain or upset. He wants you to love him, not fear or hate him.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
He loves both giving & receiving. He can't remember anything that felt better than your lips or tongue on his cock, or anything prettier than you on your knees between his legs smiling up at him. He craves the taste of you though. He would die a happy man if he died with his face buried in your pussy. He will wake you up in the middle of the night because he just needed the taste of you on his tongue. Needed to feel you cum on his fingers & against his lips. He loved the days where he could smell & taste you all day long, your nectar still clinging to his facial hair. Sometimes he could cum just from eating you out. He'd randomly grab you wherever you were & pull you down to the floor, frustration on his face if you didn't interpret his intent fast enough & position yourself over his face. It would end only when you unable to stand back up & your voice was hoarse from how loud you were moaning his name.
P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
Can be fast or slow depending on his mood, but it's never going to be soft. That word is just not in his vocabulary. It always feels like he's trying to fuck his way into your soul. He's always got to be as deep as he can because he felt so empty for so long & now all he wants to feel is you. He isn't always rough, but he's always intense. If he is feeling rough it's all about marking you as his. Biting & leaving all sorts of marks on your skin. Rough always equals fast, but fast does not always equal rough. Sometimes fast is out of neediness. That he just has to have you & it has to be now. If he is trying to give you every bit of pleasure he can he will always go slower. Dragging out every thrust & kiss.
Quickies do not exist in this man's universe. If he is going to fuck you he is going to take his sweet time with you, wringing every ounce of pleasure from you he can. Even when he tries to be quick about it his lust overwhelms his intentions & one short round turns into 2 or 3 instead. On the rare occasion you can lure him into a supposed quickie as soon as he leaves you he comes back for more. Grabbing you up into his arms & saying that he has spent far too long without you already.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
Well he did basically destroy his own universe so he could have you. So risk is a very relative term now in his world. He has no problem trying new things sexually with you. He wants to keep you happy & he figures one way he can do that is to find every way to make you orgasm that he can. Any position you want. Any surface in the Sanctum you want. One risk he won't take is to let you venture very far outside of the Sanctum even with him at your side. It is far too dangerous. Not only because of the incursion, but because he would be less capable of protecting you if any outsiders came to hurt you or try to take you from him. You are far too valuable to him to risk, but he will risk everything for you.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
He can, & will, gladly spend hours with his cock buried inside you pulling deliciously dirty noises from you. Your whimpers & moans were the most beautiful music he had ever heard. His aim was always to make you cum as many times as he could before losing his control & letting himself cum. His  meditation & magic helped him last as long as possible. Some nights he would even call on small amounts of dark energy to help him fuck you until you couldn't speak, needing to prove his devotion to your pleasure. 
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He hates the idea of anything other than him bringing you pleasure, but he can see the value in employing the use of a vibrator or even a dildo to play with you. You are only allowed to play with them with him though, never by yourself. Even you aren't allowed to play with his pussy without him being there to enjoy it. He has 2 favorite times to use the vibrator on you. The first being mid-fuck right as you are getting close to cumming. He'll slide the vibe down between your bodies letting it massage your clit while he keeps thrusting into you. The buzz he felt in his own shaft was stimulating for him as well, but watching & feeling you shudder & convulse around him made the small device worth it. The other time he loved using it was when he was eating you out & particularly hungry for you. A few surprise vibrations on your clit or along your pretty pink pussy lips would make your juices drip in excess. All the more for him to lick up & enjoy. The dildo he got you was a magically created exact copy of his cock. This he liked watching you use on yourself, to show him how much you wanted him & how you wanted him to fuck you that time. He would sit at the foot of the bed & watch how your pussy would stretch & needily grip the toy. His cock starting to ache when he would hear the squelch of the dildo sliding in & out of your hole. Teasing you to make you beg for him. "That toy fills you so well doesn't it, kitten? Still don't think it stretches you open quite as much as my cock does. Show me how much you want the real thing. Fuck your little pussy like a good slut & then you can have my cock. Here my love, why don't you suck on me while you fuck yourself with that toy? Get me all wet & ready for you."
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He loved to tease you. Specifically he loved to make you beg. You couldn't be too upset at being in his universe with him or missing your Stephen too badly if you were constantly begging him to either fuck you, let you him, or for him to cum. That seemed like perfectly sound logic. So he would edge you & tease you right up to the point of crying. If he was eating you out he would be latched tight sucking on your clit letting you nearly him before he would pull away & start lightly licking at it or pull his mouth off of you completely. He would chuckle darkly as he ran 2 finger tips up & down around your entrance & over your lips, pressing down slightly to feel how tightly he managed to engage the muscles in your pelvic floor. If he was ready to fuck you, he would drag the head of his cock up & down your slit until he heard you whine, then he would start to thrust just enough to give you the tiniest stretch. Not letting his cock go any deeper until he could feel your hips start to buck against him trying to pull him in. If he was feeling nice, that's when he would start really thrusting. If he wasn't he wouldn't thrust farther in until you literally begged in words. Usually something along the lines of "please Stephen, I need your cock. Give me your cock. Please, please fuck me", was what he was looking for.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He's somewhere in the middle. He is rarely silent, but he's not one to bellow orders or dirty talk non-stop. He makes lots of little groans & growls, more animalistic than pornographic sounding, but he can say the dirtiest things in a tone of voice that could make a nun sin. His voice is like velvet in your ears. A low vibration pulling at his vocal cords when he gets really turned on. He loves giving you praise & watching you keen at being told you're a good girl. He also loves to tell you exactly who you belong to & call you degrading things. The swing from being called a good girl only to be told you're his filthy little cock loving whore leaving your brain, & any restraint you may have had left, melted beyond recognition. They are all done in a surprising loving tone, almost a sing-song hypnotizing rhythm. 
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
Can get really subby on rare occasions, when his memories & dreams of other variants get to him. One night you woke up to him trying to snuggle into your chest as close as he possibly could. His shoulders were shaking slightly & his breath came in soft little puffs against you. You just thought he was dreaming about something. After a moment you felt a wet sensation & you realized his noises were actually small sobs he was trying to keep silent. You knew not to say anything about it, but knew he needed you to comfort him. You wrapped your arms even tighter around him & started running 1 hand up & down his back. Pressing kisses into his hair. After a moment you ask him what he needs. He whispers "just need you. Need to feel you.", into your chest as his fingers grip into your skin & roll you onto your back. You just lay there & hold him tight on top of you, before long you look your legs around his waist & hook you ankles to hold onto him like a Koala. Thanks to his insistence that you both sleep naked, so he doesn't have anything in his way to get to you, you realize he meant he needs you in more ways than one. His hips start rutting against yours, taking any bit of friction from your body against his cock as he can get. Soon he has to be inside you, whining against your chest until he finds just the right angle that allows the head of his cock to slip inside your now soaked pussy. Stretching you completely in 1 thrust. He ruts into you in short shallow thrusts barely pulling at all before trying to slam himself farther inside. He finally loses all control as you're cooing in his ear about him taking what he needs & that you're there to take care of him. The last thing you expected when you knew he was close to cumming was to hear him sob "fuck mommy!" You knew it was something the 2 of you wouldn't mention in the light of day but you made a mental note of this side of him & whispered to him "I'm right here baby. Cum for me baby. Cum for mommy"
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Longer than average, just like your Stephen, but he is also thicker. You would have thought his cock would be the same, especially since other than the third eye (which really freaked you out the 1st time it opened during sex) they pretty much look the same. At first you thought he just felt thicker because of how rough he was, but the 1st time he fucks you slower you realize just how much more he stretches you. Stephen's length has always been perfect, the ridge at the base of his head grazing perfectly over your sweet spot when he thrust in & angled up. Now with the extra girth of his cock he doesn't even need to angle his hips in a particular direction, you can feel every ridge & vein along his shaft regardless. You can actually feel his entire cock throb when he cums inside of you, & half the time that is what throws you into another orgasm too.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
When he first got you there you basically only did 3 things sleep, eat, & fuck. He was absolutely insatiable. He had been alone just dreaming of when he could finally have you for so long & he had a lot of stress to relieve. After a little while, your relationship with him begins to move beyond more than just carnal passion. You learn more about him. What makes him different from the other Stephen, & what they have in common. He still craves your touch & would cause another incursion without hesitation to keep you by his side, but now you find yourself craving him. Not because he's Stephen, & you love your Stephen, but because you love him too. It's a good long while before he lets you go more than about 12 hours without having him between your legs in one way or the other.
He would prefer it if he didn’t have to sleep at all. How could he guard over you if he was asleep? He spent so long without you he doesn’t want to miss even a moment now that he has you. Even before he found you he was plagued with insomnia. Evident in the dark heavy circles under his eyes. Both the weight of the incursion, his actions causing the destruction of his own universe, & his longing for you clawing at his mind. It was part of what drove him to madness. Seeing you completely at ease with him & your sudden new life when you were asleep made his heart flutter & a warmth spread through his limbs. Soon you would be that happy when you were awake too. 
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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @sandyloveskeanu @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @andrewgarfieldsloml @taramaria @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies
Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories for everything or for a specific charector. It's currently a lot of Strange & Bucky. ❤
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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warnings. | smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, Daddy kink, public sex (in a forest/on a patio), degradation, praise, pet name usage (pet), dom/sub, creampie kink, light spanking, size kink/difference (steve is ~6’6+ and beefy), mentions of female masturbation (showerhead), and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
pairing. | Nomad!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader.
author’s note. | @americasass81 convinced me!! don’t forget to enjoy and reblog! MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED! @nsfwlibrary my taglist.
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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all i want is for people to care about me as much as nick, schmidt, coach, and winston care about jess
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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Bucky:
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Literally all of us:
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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Me: *sees photo of Stephen Strange looking like an absolute fox*
Me: *sigh*…Jesus, it’s me again.
The photo:
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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I loved this...this was great.
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NSFW Alphabet
Dr. Stephen Strange
***Just a heads up, I didn't proofread this before posting. So I will be going back & correcting errors. Don't worry & sorry bout that***
Charector as depicted in my mini-series "Friends, Just Friends".
Includes both before & after Part 2 - “The Confession”.
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Smut/Explicit content - 18+ only!
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Before it was minimal. Cleaning each other up & checking in about what had just happened. Maybe holding one another but not in an overly romantic way. You usually always spent the night after you fucked, but you also occasionally did that on nights you didn't fuck & both just wanted company. You usually fell into easy conversation after sex, lots of laughing at stupid jokes or stupid things other people had done. Maybe watching TV or a movie &/or snacking on something. It wasn't a hump & dump, but it wasn't exactly romantic. It was comfortable & easy.
Afterwards the biggest change was the want to hold onto each other after sex. You still had your conversations, but now they were had while you were either spooning or laying face to face playing with each others hair or running your hands up & down arms or sides. You also both preferred to stay naked now. The feeling of skin on skin making you feel closer.
B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
In Stephen's eyes your smile could literally light up a room. When you smiled you smiled with your whole being. You could be the literal sunshing breaking through the storm clouds in Stephen's mind when you smiled at him, because of him. He also loved your tits. Whether it was looking at them, touching them, licking them, or just burying his face in them he didn't care. His day was always infinitely better if he could start or end it with his focus on your tits. He loved how soft your skin was under his lips & fingers. How he could feel your breath hitch at the slightest brush over your nipples. You could get so sensitive seemingly out of nowhere. He also discovered how much he enjoyed seeing you wear jewelry he had given you, specifically necklaces that dipped between your breasts. Your body decorated in a marking from him, much more elegant than a bruise & meant to be worn out where visible. Your chest marked for all to see.
You loved Stephen's grey patches of hair at his temples. You had always had a thing for silver foxes & it just suited Stephen so well. If your hands were in his hair that is always where they were. You also had always loved his eyes & the way they would literally sparkle, especially when he was feeling mischievous. He tried to keep his face stoic most of the time, but his eyes always gave away his true emotion if you knew what to look for. Since the accident you also developed a fierce love for Stephen's hands. Partly you thought it was to show him that his scars were not something to hide or be ashamed of. It was also because his hands had turned him into such a vastly different person. A man who was so much deeper. A man who rebuilt himself from his rock bottom only to emerge better & greater for having been there. If it weren't for those hands, the ones that were scarred & shaky, neither of you would have realized the love of your life was right in front of you all along.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)
Two words: inside you. He loves cumming in you how you will beg for it as he pounds into you. He loves feeling his warm cum filling you as climaxes, occasionally the feeling of it will even trigger your own orgasm. He loves seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy afterward, feeling pride that you trust him enough to let him mark your body in such an intimate way. You both knew each others histories so well by the time you started fooling around that condoms had never really been used. He knew you were on birth control so that wssn't a worry, except for the rare occasion you missed a pill. When he heard you swear at yourselfunder your breath as you looked at the blister pack something snapped in his brain & what he wanted more than anything in the entire world was to fill you until you were dripping, only for him to stuff it back in & fuck it farther into you with his fingers. That triggered thoughts of him locking the two of you away somewhere with the intent of not leaving until you were pregnant. Stephen has 100% developed a breeding kink because of how much he loves to cum in your pussy.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He kinda wants you to call him daddy. He has never brought up the name to you, feeling like it might weird you out a bit. A consistent among all of the Avengers was parental issues, absences, or deaths & you were no exception. So he wanted to tread carefully in case the thought was a big turn off for you, but man was it a turn on for him. In his fantasies you would beg Stephen with needy little whines of "please daddy", "daddy I need your cock so bad", or "can I have your cum daddy? Want to be your good girl."
It also got him thinking about how he wanted you to actually make him a daddy. As mentioned above, something felt so primal & animalistic about cumming in you & knocking you up. Seeing your belly grow & your breasts swell with milk, proof to the whole world that you were all his. He couldn't help but imagine a couple little perfect mixtures of the two of you, creating plenty of chaos. Then putting your perfect little demons to bed before retiring back to your shared bed where Stephen could worship you like the goddess you were & try to convince you to give daddy a couple more babies.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
He's not inexperienced, but it's not like he's a huge playboy either. He was always too busy with his career to ever really let himself enjoy the social perks of being a hot shot wealthy doctor when he was younger. He's had a handful of flings & one night stands, a couple relationships. The only two that ever seemed important were you & Christine.
His idedtic memory is the ace up his sleeve in most situations, including in the bedroom. All it took was finding those little sweet spots once & he pretty much knew how to drive you wild. He's determined to get to the point he can make you cum faster than that little bullet vibrator can, & yes he's timed it.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
Before the accident he preferred positions where he was in control, which usually meant he was on top of or behind you. Missionary was always a good fallback position since you both liked to talk dirty & it could be spiced up by hitching your legs over his shoulders or pushing them open towards your chest. He could let his brain get lost in doggy style. He could just close his eyes, grip onto your hips or shoulders, or fold himself over your back, & let himself enjoy the moment.
After the accident any position that requires him to balance his weight on his hands becomes problematic. In missionary he had to balance on his forearms & even then his arm strength would fluctuate from day to day. He couldn't grip onto you the way he liked from behind anymore. So positions where you had more control or used more strength became you go to's. Specifically cowgirl & reverse cowgirl. His favorite though was lotus, where you were seated in his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist. It allowed either of you to be in control, you could slide yourself up & down or grind against him or he could bounce you on his cock. He especially loved that his face was basically eye level with your tits & he could literally just face plant into them.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
You are one of the few people who knows that Stephen Strange does have a goofy dorky side to him. However that side never makes an appearance during sex. Before or after was a different story, & Stephen had been known to make some smartass comments at an opportune moment mid-fuck, but goofy never. Partially it was because he would get so caught up in things, letting his body just go. It was also partially a pride thing. Few things can kill a mood quite like a woman bursting out laughing while naked in bed with their partner.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Neatly trimmed. Never too short or bare as he uses an electric razer. Shaky hands & razerblades are already a questionable pairing but most of the time he can get away with minimal cuts on his face. He doesn't even want to take the chance down there. Frankly if he tried & something went wrong he would opt to bleed out on the bathroom floor before going to the ER for that. The electric razer/trimmer eliminated that risk.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
There has always been a sense of intimacy with Stephen, but it was less of a romantic intimacy & more of a trust. That was how your arrangement had come to be after all, you knew you could trust each other especially when you were vulnerable. You always clicked & felt like you fit together. If anything as time passed you felt like you fit together even better, rough edges worn away & molded to each other's touch. So when you became a couple the same intimacy was there, but now you saw it in a new light. He loves to watch your face, whether it's gazing into your eyes or seeing your features change as you get closer to your peak. He loves to whisper I love you against your skin, like it's a secret between the two of you but one that he never wants you to forget. If he could he would seal the two of you away from the rest of the world in one of those moments.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
This was one of the areas of his life that his accident had completely changed, & it was quite possibly one of the most humiliating. Once his hands had healed enough that he dared even try to jerk off he quickly became frustrated. It would start off fine, but after a while his grip would weaken & he couldn't get the friction he needed or his hands would start to ache. He spent many nights winding himself up only to end up with blue balls because his hands couldn't get him to the point of release. When he tried to use his magic to steady his hands long enough that he could cum he kept losing focus as he would near orgasm inadvertently edging himself over & over. Eventually he had resorted to grinding & humping against the mattress or a pillow. It worked but it wasn't as good & because of the mess it wasn't ideal for quick stress relief. Once you had realized the problem, having walked in on him wildly humping your pillow, you told him that if he wanted all he had to do was ask & you would happily assist no reciprocation required. Ultimately he would rather have sex with you than jerk off anyway, but he still hates the idea that his hands had even messed up masturbating.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
He has developed a bit of a voyeurism kink somewhere along the line. You have lost count of the number of times you have caught him watching you shower. He would sneak in & stand in the doorway or lean against the counter as quiet as he could. Then he would just enjoy the show & wait for you to notice him. It may have actually started because he liked to overhear your terrible singing in the shower, but now he really just likes watching you in your own little world as your fingers slide over the curves of your naked body. On several occasions he's had to start rubbing over himself when your hands caressed your soapy breasts, watching your nipples hardening as your palms skimmed across them, or as your hands slid down your hips & between your thighs. Since then he wouldn't admit it to you but he had been desperately trying to catch you masturbating. He fantasized about finding you naked & spred out. Little whimpers falling from your lips as you teasrd your fingers around your wet pussy. He wanted to see you so needy & desperare your cunt would be quivering at the slightest brush over your entrance before watching you fuck yourself silly with your fingers or a toy. Your body was a piece of art to him, & he could watch you all day long.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
Stephen's bed is definitely the most preferred location. It was much bigger & plush than your own at the Sanctum. Meaning more space to roll around & switch positions on without fear of rolling off the bed. It was also the place Stephen most let his guard down & your Stephen came out. When you were just fooling around that was pretty much the only place you fucked.
After his confession he had taken you anywhere he could get away with: bent over the bathroom counter, the shower, a secluded hallway at the Sanctum, his desk, a spare room or closet at the tower, etc. You also both wanted to recreate your 1st tryst after declaring your love for each other. When you made love on the floor in the library. You'd have to be very sneaky as Wong would have both of your hides if he caught you there again. His bed was still top of the list, but once you were his he couldn't keep his hands off of you where ever he could have you.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Before you fell in love the motivation for both of you was pretty basic. Sometimes you sought each other out for comfort, to release stress, or simply because you were really fucking horny but couldn't be bothered to get a date or were sick of dating. You cared about each other, but the reason you were fucking didn't go that deep.
After you were a couple the motivation was far different. Most of the above reasons still applied, but now there were much deeper reasons too. You wanted to show each other just how much you loved & needed one another. To show how special you found each other. You wanted to worship their body & make them feel good. You wanted to really connect & let the world around you fade away. Sometimes it was still pure lust & animalistic heat, but it was a passion of 2 people driven together by both the mystical forces & the forces of nature. At the root of it all, soft or rough, was a love that burned bright & the need to express it to each other.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Anything you both aren't abundantly enthusiastic about is a no. His day to day life is stressful enough that he firmly believes it's not worth doing something one of you has to try to talk the other into. There is plenty of stuff you guys have brainstormed on & are both excited to try. Some things he honestly just thinks involve too much work. Most bondage stuff he has no real interest in trying, he's satisfied leaving it at handcuffs & a little spanking. Anal is a take or leave thing. It's enjoyable but if you aren't into it he's not heartbroken about it. He has no interest in a 3 way or swinging. He wouldn't mind the 2 of you watching others, or even someone watching the 2 of you, but he doesn't want anyone else touching you like that. He is far to posessive to even be okay joking about you fucking someone else.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Before everything he would have hands down preferred for you to suck him off. It's not that he didn't like eating you out, he did, but he loved how his brain would switch off the minute your tongue touched his cock. It was like he short circuited & he could never get enough of the vision of you looking up at him as your mouth slipped down his length. He still loses his mind when you blow him, but he's more focused on being a more giving lover now that you are officially together. He will take every opportunity he can to make your eyes roll back in your head & moan his name. He hated to think of anyone else (*cough* Bucky *cough*) lapping at your sweet pussy, but every once in a while his mind would punish him with that image if he felt he was being too greedy in receiving. On those occasions he would make you cum at least at least once with his mouth alone before making love to you only to wake you up with his mouth the next morning.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
This hasn't changed much since you became a couple. It very much depends on how you are both feeling. Some nights it's slow, passionate, & deep. With Stephen dragging out his thrusts & whispers of adoration. Other nights you compete to see who can pull the most obscene words & sounds from the other. You both got off on hearing the other talk dirty, & could spew filth that would make pornstars blush. It's the reason why your Christmas present to Wong was noise cancelling Bluetooth headphones. Then there were those nights it was a mix of both. Those usually started off more slow & sensual but around the halfway point it was like something in your brains snapped & you both needed it hard & fast. His slow calculated thrusts turned into pounding you as deep as he could with you rutting against him. Both clawing at each other pulling your bodies as close together as physically possible & wrapping around each other. Deep hard kisses full of tongues & teeth, mumbling praises both sweet & filthy into each other's lips.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Stephen is pretty anti-quickie. Being a surgeon he likes doing things precisely & would much rather take a few hours to do something to the best of his ability than take a few minutes to do something half way. Oral & fingering, or anything that could be considered foreplay, is fair game to fit in the quickie framework. So you both still got plenty frisky in the heat of the moment when it hit, & maybe there was one or two quickies here or there, but for the most part full on sex was saved for when it could be done right.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
It depends on the risk really. He likes trying new things with you, but wouldn't want to do anything that either of you wasn't into or that could harm your relationship. His favorite risky thing was teasing & playing with you in public. He has found hospital galas & Stark's parties are much more tolerable when he can have his fingers teasing your pussy. It is for that reason nearly every dress you have worn to an event like that since you became a couple has a thigh high slit on one side, so he could easily slide one hand inside your leg & brush against the soft lips of your warm pussy. Letting the wetness that starts to gather smear until your entire cunt is slick for him. Just enjoying the way the pads of his fingers slide over your sensitive flesh, grinning to himself in his own little world as you try to keep conversation or hold in your noises. His favorite time was when you cracked & moaned mid sentence talking to Nat & Steve. Once they figured out what was going on Steve turned redder than a stop sign & tried to leave so fast he nearly clotheslined a waiter, Nat snorted wine out her nose & fell face first on the table laughing. You were so embarrassed you left early that night, which made Stephen's night a double success.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
His stamina is impressive, which he credits to learning to meditate & his training as a sorcerer. He was never fast, but now he could stretch one session out for a couple of hours. Switching back & forth between more teasing touches or using his mouth & fingers, to driving his cock hard into you over & over as deep as possible. Your sessions tend to start a little slower & build in energy as you go. He isn't a super soldier or anything so you are limited to only a couple rounds a night max, but he knows how to make the most of every second & pull every ounce of pleasure possible from your body.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
They aren't a normal feature in your playtime together but they weren't unwelcome. Stephen was well aware of your decent sized toy collection & once in a while he liked to use your small vibrator on you either as foreplay or for extra stimulation while he fucked you. He secretly wanted to watch you ride one of your dildos but he hasn't had the nerve to tell you in such explicit terms, he had just said he liked when you showed him what you liked when you played with yourself. There were several toys you both wanted to try together including a vibrating cock ring, & you had promised him that at some point you would get & wear a discreet remote control vibrator to help keep him entertained at social events he didn't want to go to. After learning about how his hands sometimes interfered in his own solo time you brought up the idea of him getting a stroker toy or fleshlight, saying that it might help when his grip was acting up. He wasn't crazy about the idea, he had been jerking off since he was a teenager without the assistance of a toy & it just seemed like it would be a hassle, but he didn't say no because he knew you were probably right. So you were currently hiding a clear stroker sleeve toy in your room that you were waiting for a special occasion to surprise Stephen with. You figured if you used it on him the first couple times, showed him how good it could feel & some good memories to think of when he used it, that he would warm up to the idea of using it on his own. As much as you both loved & preferred to play with each other you knew it was important that Stephen be able to enjoy his own solo play time too. You had your toys for when he wasn't there, or for just whenever, & you wanted him to have his too.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He is a big tease but hates being teased himself. He loves letting his hand linger on your low back only to slide down & grab your ass as soon as people look away. Or sneaking a playful bite on your shoulder or neck if he is standing behind you in a meeting. When you are standing farther away he has taken to using little bits of magic to tease you. Creating little tingles & tickles on any exposed skin. Always ending at the sweet spot just behind your ear, leaving you struggling to stay quiet. He's also been known to tease you with his fingers under the table at formal events. Tracing the tips of his long digits up your thigh, every so often ghosting against the crotch of your panties as he whispers filthy things in your ear trying to get you to relent & leave to go back to the Sanctum. Now god forbid you try to flip the script & tease him. He practically has a meltdown. He starts whining & pouting, saying that you are being mean holding out on him. The only teasing he doesn't mind is sending him dirty pics or texts. If anything when you're apart he'll be the one bugging you to send him new ones.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
No one has ever accused Stephen Strange of being a quiet person, aloof yes but quiet no. So if course it only makes sense that Stephen Strange is a massive fan of dirty talk. Not anything particularly degrading but lots of just any & all filth. Whispering in your ear when you are in public about how he can't stop thinking about how sexy you were riding him that morning or what he plans on doing to make you scream later. He loves when you call him Doctor & prefers that or his name to any other pet name, although he has decided he likes when you call him love. You were always sweetheart, or recently baby or love, until things got really heated. When things really got going he would call you his good or bad girl, depending on which the situation called for, or called you his little slut. That one drove you absolutely wild. You would be praising each other & begging for more. "Oh God Stephen, you feel so good inside me." "Oh yeah? You want it harder baby? Such a good little slut for me." "Yes Doctor, your little slut. Only for you. Need you to fill me up Stephen." Sex was almost never quiet between the two of you, & thank god the Sanctum has thick walls. Although there was an unspoken rule that Wong would never speak of anything he may happen to inadvertently overhear.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
He is secretly a sucker for soft passionate cheesy romantic sex. The whole shebang too, complete with candles or a crackling fire. It waa hard for Stephen to feel truly close & intimate with people so the "romantic movie" kind of sex always seemed like something he would never really experience. Obviously life isn't like a romantic movie, especially for the sorcerer supreme & a sorcerer in training who both work with the Avengers, but every once in a while he wanted to create that perfect illusion for the two of you. So he would pull out the candles, sprinkle the rose petals, & lose himself in your love story.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
Average girth. Length is definitely above average, & he knows how to use it. Plunging his cock in deep & purposely dragging his long length along your upper wall as he pulled back making sure to hit the spot that would make your pussy flutter around him.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Once you are officially a couple there is a good few months where he can't keep his hands off of you. It didn't matter what time it was, where you were, or who was nearby. He had all this pent up want for you, to hear you moan his name & proclaim your love for him, that now finally had an outlet. After that you two slowly start to settle into a routine, you still had to have each other a minimum 3-4 times a week but life can be crazy & sometimes you have to save the universe instead of spending the day fucking each other silly. That being said, he would still have you everyday multiple times most days if he could.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Both of you were insomniacs so there were plenty of nights neither of you really fell asleep. Opting instead to read or watch something. Usually though you were the first one to start succumbing to sleep when it did come calling. Once he noticed you were asleep he would set his own book aside & just lay watching you for a bit. Watching how your chest would rise & fall with your breath. Noticing how your nose would start to twitch occasionally, presumably when you were dreaming. He would memorize how beautiful you looked completely at ease next to him; completely at ease with him. Even before he said it out loud it was that moment when he knew he loved you. Just for a moment before settling in to snuggle around you & force himself to sleep he would press a kiss to your forehead & let himself imagine what could be. The life he could have with you as his wife & the mother of his children.
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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PART OF THE JOURNEY IS THE END. [ i  n s  p ]
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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Ma'am I am frothing....the panties in the mouth bit at the end 👀
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Φ⌎ 𝟐. 𝐀𝐬 𝐇𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬
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𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | dark alpha!fratboy!Steve Rogers x omega sorority!reader (dark A/B/O college AU)
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | DARK themes/elements, A/B/O dynamics, 6’6” Steve, mean!Steve, Ari (he’s a warning), manipulation, (little bit of) soft!DARK, misogyny (within A/B/O designations), major power imbalance, possessive & obsessive behaviour, assault, college party setting, alcohol, blackmail, sexual tension, scenting, asshole behaviour, implied violence, SMUT - minors DNI, non-con to dub-con, coercion, fingering (f), dirty talk, daddy kink, size difference, degradation, dumbification, punishment: spanking (hand, fraternity paddle), p*ssy slapping, squirting, some grinding (dry humping, thigh riding), (a hint of) dacryphilia, handjob/masturbation (m), panty sucking (?)
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | You get into Kappa Phi, but at what cost?
𝗪/𝗖 | 11.8K
𝗔/𝗡 | here we go ! 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! this is for my 6k celebration & sleepover ! come and join ! we introduce a bunch of characters in this part, and also answer some questions !! once again, I don’t know much about frats/sororities so I’m changing some things around for the sake of the story. all mistakes are my own. this is a dark fic, the warnings have been given—if you don’t like it, don’t read.
𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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The bell above the glass door dings, your attention snapping to the front of the cafe as a pair of students walk in. Rain drips from their umbrella as they stand by the counter, and eventually fade into the background as your nerves settle.
“Steve doesn’t come here often, if that’s what you’re wondering.” The redhead across from you says, her eyebrow cocked as she pushes the paper bag towards you. “The croissants here are the best, it’s a family recipe.”
Admittedly, you are a little hungry. You woke up late for your lunch with Natasha after insistent yet confusing thoughts kept you up the whole night. It all started yesterday morning when you woke up to flowers at your door.
They were seemingly fresh and the sweet scent wafted through the hallway as you took them in. The arrangement clearly wasn’t from the local florist down the street, the bright green leaves and the white and pink coloured flowers all meticulously placed in the heavy white pot, finished with a red ribbon around the base.
The ones that caught your eyes were bright pink heart-shaped, the bleeding heart flowers already signifying something you’ve been avoiding—someone you’ve been avoiding. There was also a note attached:
‘Good morning, baby. I’ve been so busy with football and the pledges, I haven’t had the chance to stop by your dorm yet. I admit, I’m a little disappointed you haven’t answered my calls or texts, but I’ll let it slide considering hell week just ended. To celebrate, there’s a party tonight and I want to see you, I think you owe me. Oh, and welcome to Kappa Phi, legacy.’
Then when you checked your phone, among the sea of a familiar alphas messages was one from someone else:
Natasha R. from Kappa Phi: I have great news! Meet me for lunch?
It’s been a few days since you visited Arcadia, and Maria has put you and the rest of the pledges through the last stretch. Earlier in the week was the final test, a simple costume assignment where you needed to attend all of your classes in the said get-up. The only requirements were that it needed to be outlandish and represent school spirit. You and Wanda agreed to help each other out since you were only given a few hours’ notice. The two of you took a trip to gather heaps of feathers, paint and other supplies to create your homemade Howard College’s Mad Hawk mascot costumes.
It’s safe to say that both of you put in the most effort out of all the other pledge sisters—you didn't know what was on a certain alpha’s agenda and if you needed to make up for any potential defamation. Also, you were still finding feathers in your clothes.
“I know it’s a big decision to make right now, no rush but Maria will keep bugging you for an answer.” The beta starts on her lunch, a sandwich and a drink. “I figured this should be more casual since we haven’t told any of the other chosen girls.”
You slowly chew the croissant, Natasha was right, it was quite good. “How did you know I was looking for him?”
“Word travels fast between us and Arcadia. And, some pledge sisters have come forward about it.”
“Oh.” You look down as embarrassment burns in your stomach.
“Yeah, if I knew he was interested in you beforehand, I wouldn’t have let Maria make the deal with Ari. He’s no good.”
You can’t help but think that Steve had something to do with you being accepted, it was staring at you straight in the face and only got bolder the more you thought about it. Did he put in a good word with Maria, and did he acknowledge your encounter in his bedroom too?
Even if he didn’t, everyone already knew. There was no hiding from the truth, and it was that Steve might be the reason you’re sitting in this cafe right now, getting the offer you’ve been desperate for.
“Although, next to Ari, that guy could be a saint.”
“Really?” You find that a little hard to believe after experiencing the blond firsthand.
Similar to his fraternity brothers, Ari’s reputation revolved around notoriety, some hookups and entitled behaviour. You’ve noticed fewer people talk about him which led to fewer rumours about him. He was probably the biggest mystery of Arcadia and he seemed like every other alpha, but you hadn’t heard much about him—anything that you would believe anyway.
Natasha’s moto jacket reflects the lights of the establishment, the dangling buckles clatter to the table as she grabs your hand. “Be careful around them, okay? All of Arcadia, and especially Ari. He’s close friends with Steve, and obviously the president, but don’t go near him if you don’t have to.”
“Why?”
She offers you a tight-lipped smile. “It’s nothing you need to know.”
You only frown. The air changes from lighthearted to slightly tense, as the bell at the door rings again. Your eyes land on an older woman and a small dog shaking off the rain at her feet. The music hums softly from the speakers above the chatter, the soundtrack to your wandering thoughts about the fraternity president. Searching through your mind, you couldn’t find anything to be concerned about, maybe the rumoured fights and cheating—but as far as you know, he’s never had a stable relationship anyway.
Last year, you tried to stay out of drama and speculations. You’ve learnt that distancing yourself from your peers was the best way to not jeopardize yourself. Wanda was an exception, and you’ll always be thankful for her. But curiosity was going to eat you alive, and even worse, your imagination would paint the most frightening picture to fill in the blanks.
Across from you, Natasha eats her sandwich, munching slowly. “Have you tried the donuts? It’s another homemade recipe—”
“—Please, I want to know if…” you trail off, fearing if you speak it into existence, you’ll be forever bound to it and every trace of hope would slip from your grasp, “if Steve is going to keep me around. I need to be prepared.”
The moments drag on as people shuffle about the cafe. You almost think Natasha is going to leave but she leans close, her perfume wafts to your nose, a mixture of raspberry and rosewood with a hint of leather. “His family aren't as reputable as Steve and Ransom’s, they did some shady stuff,” she pauses, “actually, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I need to know.” You sit forward, holding her hand. “Please.”
Natasha sighs softly, a pensive expression on her face, “Ari isn’t from around here or anywhere close, his family moved here a few years ago, and unsurprisingly, he got into Arcadia on the first try. Then, he was the vice president before bumping up to president last year.” Her green eyes carefully observe your face, “you’ve heard of the programs around the world, right? For, uhm… people like you?”
Your heart sinks to the floor as you slowly nod, the back of your neck getting hot with every heavy exhale.
“He’s never confirmed it, but the local news covered it. His family ran a pretty notable one before trying to expand here. They got caught early on and rightfully detained, and they say Ari wasn’t involved.” Natasha scoffs quietly, “Not to mention they also had status, the best lawyers, and money to spare—whatever they did, Ari and his mother were let off without a charge. The last I heard of his dad, he’s sitting behind bars at a high-security prison a few cities away.”
“People don’t talk about his family, and only a handful of students know about this. You shouldn’t tell anyone either.” She glances around, the customers scattered around the room are minding their own business, sipping drinks or snacking on treats, all while you feel sick to your stomach. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Your heart thumps dully in your ears, every beat sounds vaguely like footsteps getting closer and closer—as if a monster is creeping inside your head. “He’ll hurt me?”
You mourn a few minutes ago when you didn’t know this, now you feel hyper-aware about the whispers you’ve never heard before, and the wary gazes that flew straight over your head. You were already weak as it is, belittled in the sea of harmful conceptions and desperately trying to seek refuge in a world designed to lift others up while putting omegas down.
Fear wraps around your throat, making your head hurt. Flooded with new information that will haunt you every time you think of Arcadia.
If there was someone you should be scared of, it was Ari who’s had firsthand experiences with the programs that degrade you to just a baby-making machine, cruelly objectifying you. You could only imagine the things he’s seen and how he views people like you.
“I’m not saying that he or that anyone else will, it’s just a warning—and I want you to stay safe.
Authorities have let him and every other alpha get away with the worst things, and I don’t want you to be on the receiving end on any of it.” Natasha’s green eyes slowly scan your body language, “He has no record and the administration just turned a blind eye. I wouldn’t be shocked if he paid his way through school.”
She’s right, and the weight on your shoulders gets heavier. She’s noticed the pedestal for alphas and thus, the mistreatment of betas, although not to the same extent as omegas. With concern clear on her face, she squeezes your hand.
“He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“Maybe he didn’t before but he does now.” Natasha’s phone rings but she ignores it, flipping it face down on the table. “I can handle my own, but you…”
“I can’t.” You finish. “I know.”
The redhead huffs, patting your hand, “God, I told Maria not to make the deal but—I’m sorry. We’ve always been close to Arcadia, they’re both presidents and Ari just intimidates her and everyone else on campus. She can’t just say no, regardless of how much she wants to.”
You know she didn’t mean to, but she was only scaring you more right now.
“I know we aren’t exactly at the top of the food chain, but we try to keep our omegas away from Arcadia, and it’s hard since Kappa is the sister sorority.” Her cell phone buzzes again and vibrates the table, “Which you want to join, right?”
Do you?
Accepting would place you right into their hands, then how could you escape them? Steve’s eyes flash in your mind, a mean gleam that blossoms into adoration—whether it was sincere or fake, you didn’t know.
Did you want to seal yourself into that box, and set yourself on the steps of Arcadia? Right under Ari’s nose, and give Steve another chance to touch you?
Natasha groans as her phone rings once more, this time she checks the contact. “Oh, sorry, it’s my mom calling.” She smiles small, “I miss one call in the morning and she loses her mind.”
A barely audible whine pushes from your throat but it’s drowned out by the sudden commotion as a group of students enter. You’re aware of your phone in your pocket, it seems like nothing but an expensive paperweight and you know your notifications are more dry than the desert.
“I will.”
Natasha’s gaze softens as a stand of red hair falls. She stares at you for what feels like hours, “Are you sure?”
“I want to.” Need, your brain corrects. “When is initiation?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but her cellphone blips. “Next week—and now Maria needs me.” She squeezes your hand before standing, she quickly gathers the mess and dumps it into a nearby garbage before turning to you again. Her red lips are pressed in a firm line, her shoulders stiff under her jacket. “I’ll tell her that you’re joining and we’ll meet up again to discuss you moving in.”
It takes you minutes to gather yourself and leave the cafe. It’s still raining so you quickly take out an umbrella and begin the journey back to your dorm.
As cars drive by, people huddle and duck away from the rainfall, the pattering surrounds you. The soothing sound wraps around your body as the puddles ripple with each drop.
It mocks you as it falls from the sky and collects in the dips and cracks of the concrete, disappearing among the rest of the rain. Overlooked and ignored.
Rain was made to fall, and you were too.
After living your life scrambling for crumbs of opportunities and recognition, this golden opportunity is placed in your lap. You won’t immediately be seen or heard by everyone, but your mother can’t ignore you now but neither can the alphas of Arcadia. One foot in Kappa was better than being just another forgotten soul.
A win-lose situation that could have more fear than love.
Years ago, the fall would be from a ledge an inch tall since omegas have always been the lowest of low. There was nothing to exceed because there was no bar, everything was foreordained without room to grow, to change. And now, it felt like you were hanging from a branch of a tree that kept growing,
Below you were greedy hands and hungry mouths, anticipating your downfall so they could rip you apart.
Although this chance sprouted dread, it bloomed flowers of hope to join the seedlings inside of you. Coloured soft, promising and optimistic, you wanted more—you needed more.
At this moment, you decided to keep climbing. Resilience can get a person far, you only hoped you were one of them because you’ll keep ascending until you couldn’t, or even worse, you fall into the ravenous crowd below—like a feast for them.
As you reach your dormitory, your phone beeps once then again:
Steve: I can’t wait to see you tonight, we have to make up for the lost time. Try to get here early so we can have alone time?
Wanda: Hey! They’re playing that new movie at the drive-in and there’s a hill on campus that allows a perfect view… I think we just need a radio?
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The house is packed and booming with music from the designated dance floor in the basement. The floor is already littered with snacks, crushed cans and solo cups, along with a few spills on the freshly scrubbed floorboards. An array of smells cloud the air, from suffocating cologne and perfume to natural pheromones and scents.
People converse and laugh in the living room, leaning close with lingering touches and suggestive eyes. Some make out and grind against the walls, or obviously flirting by the game tables. Among the vibrating bass are occasional cheers from the beer pong or flip cup tables.
As for the older men of Arcadia, they’re more of silent observers who survey the betas and omegas like toys on a shelf. Students peek through the open door and windows, eager to experience one of the legendary parties of the fraternity but most are blatantly denied. The chosen bouncers for the night are strict for a reason, this party was for more than enjoyment and hooking up.
Steve is leaning against the bar in the kitchen, his huge body hunched over the counter as he invites the new pledges to a little game for tonight: add to the slut walk list on the wall.
“They can’t just be anyone.” Bucky rolls up his sleeves, looking pointedly at one of the young alphas, “They have to be from a sorority which means that you can’t just fuck anything with a hole, Colin.”
The light-haired man snorts, “Consider it done. I’ve already got my eye on one.”
Everyone turns across the room where a group of students have claimed a couch, they’re mostly girls and already comfortable with drinks in their hands. They’re all dressed up, leaning on each other and giggling. One omega, in particular, catches their gaze, timidly waving at Colin with a cute smile before looking away.
“Have you slept with her before?”
“No, but I’ve been flirting with her for a few weeks.”
Another voice speaks up, a tinge of a Louisiana twang, “If you’re hoping to date her—you’ve got another thing coming, man.” Sam slips beside Steve, bottle firmly in his grasp. “Omegas tend to get a little shy after their name is added to the list, although some wild ones come back for seconds.”
“Then, they get a little tick by their name. I think the highest is four or five, and that’s from the future lawyer over there.” Bucky points to Andy in the dining room with his arm swung over an omega’s shoulders as he speaks into her ear. His other hand slips up her skirt and the alphas watch her sink into his body, her hands weakly gripping his bicep and pulling him closer.
“Do we get judged on who it is? Looks, status, anything like that?”
“Nope, just a simple name and you win. Is that clear?”
Each of the pledges nods, most veering off to find their victim for the night, which should be easy considering the sheer amount of omegas on attendance tonight. Another reason why the bouncers were stern and given requirements for the majority of tonight's attendees: they have to look good, not have a sketchy reputation while also being somewhat popular, or in a sorority.
It isn’t hard to pick out the omegas from the crowd. Just like every other party that Arcadia has thrown, there’s an unspoken rule; the eldest and most valuable of the fraternity get first pick. Although, since the new pledges have an assignment, there are exceptions.
There was also a chance they’d have to call in a service to clean tomorrow, or Arcadia’s president could ask for a favour from their sister sorority.
“I can’t find the girl I was hoping to see.” Byrce huffs, impatiently tapping his fingers on the counter, “I’ll just look around then.”
“Good luck, newbie.” Bucky chuckles as he leaves. “How’s the old man, Ari?”
The president shrugs and his tone lowers to a rasp, hair falls over his eyes as he surveys the room. They linger on a girl by the beer pong table, “Complaining about communal showers and crappy food. Same shit. Who’s she?”
“One of the Kappa pledges, she looks fantastic in a maid uniform, by the way.”
“Name?”
“Don’t remember.”
“I saw her leaving Ransom’s room last week.”
“I’m not against sharing.” Ari smirks, “Speaking of that, I heard legacy put on quite the show… And I can’t say I’m not interested in the omega who smells just delectable.”
“She isn’t yours to share.” Steve glares.
The president steps close, tall stature leaning over the counter. Their blue eyes meet, his twinkle with mischief while Steve’s glow with a warning. “Until she wears a mark on her neck, she isn’t yours either.”
Steve growls, losing composure for a moment and crushing the empty solo cup in his hand. He knows Ari is taunting him, they were best friends after all. With you as the topic of conversation and the truth undisguised, he didn’t like it one bit.
Regardless if you were unclaimed, you were still his, and you’ve been his since he saw you at orientation. There was also a primal need to sink his teeth into your skin, eternally entwine your hearts, souls and minds.
He wants you and he is going to get you—he always gets what he wants.
“All right, chill out before we all choke on your testosterone.”
“Stevie knows I’m just joking—don’t you, blondie?” Ari grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, knocking their heads together, “Besides, if I wanted her, I would have had her by now.”
“Yeah but you haven’t seen her on her knees.” Curtis pipes, slyly rubbing a hand over his jeans. “She’s loud too—a little feisty but turns obedient and eager, you’d like her.”
“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to make up my mind tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, say shit like that again and I’ll tell Bryce where you hide your stash.” Steve scoffs, shoving him off in favour of tossing the plastic cup aside.
Ari lets out a hearty laugh, “Then, you’ll be giving away our shared stash.”
“Small price to pay for you to shut up.”
Bucky steps in front of the vice president. “Where’s your girl anyway?”
Steve’s clear blue eyes lock on the entryway, carefully watching each student as they walk in or are denied. “She’ll be here.”
“Will she?” Ari raises a brow, dark hair falling over his eyes, “Is she going to put aside a whole night for you?”
“She doesn’t have a choice.”
Sam snorts, “of course, she doesn’t. That’s why Storm is getting her, right?”
“I always wondered which one of us would settle down first.” Curtis jested, gazing at the ceiling, “feels like just yesterday we were freshmen and moving into the house… I still wish I got the corner room.”
The blond cracks a smile, reminiscing on their early days filled with glory and praise—only a portion of the amount they have now. When they all first met, their connection was immediate and fit like puzzle pieces. Effortlessly complementary and each of them knows their friendship will last for years. They’ve come quite far together, and are worshipped wherever they go, rightfully so in their opinions.
“I could leave her if I want.”
“You have to have her to leave her.” Sam quips, nudging the vice president.
“And, I do.” Steve feeds into the friendly banter.
“Maybe you do but you aren’t going to do that.” Bucky knowingly adds. “I still remember when you first told me about her—the pretty girl who caught your eye yet looked right past you.”
The other alphas oh and ah, pushing Steve around before Sam roughhouses him into the next room. The rest follow as Steve is willingly stuck in a headlock.
“Stevie boy, why didn't you tell any of us you were going soft?” He teases in a high-pitched voice, eventually releasing the blond as they reach the area next to the stairs. The music is slightly louder here, but they have a clearer view of the rest of the house.
“The same reason why you’re best friends with the cheerleaders, mister-big-mouth. Can’t keep a secret for shit.”
Sam laughs, “Oh, you want to talk about secrets? Shall I call up the ladies and tell them about your crush?”
“And prove me right? Go ahead—”
“Hey, hey, calm down.” Ari swoops in, shouldering them apart, “You two are in major need of some release and tonight is just a person limit, so you both have your pick.”
Steve briefly considers making the next party an invite-only. It would save the trouble of a packed house and array of thirsty people, but as always, a fuller house meant more options. And Arcadia Phi was all about options.
They weren’t like every other frat, disregarding the alums and other qualities that made them the fraternity at Howard College, they were careful with campus rule-breaking. Especially for parties, they check suspicious people, watch everyone who comes in, and have gotten more selective about who is invited to the house. If anyone looks too drunk at the door, don’t let them in because while they let loose, Arcadia could absorb the blame for the mess and chaos, although legendary, they were cautious.
An omega walks past them, her gaze unabashedly dragging over his body and Steve just rolls his eyes. If he was feeling up for it, he’d swoop her up to the bathroom for a quick blowie then, maybe take her to his bedroom for more. Just another name on the list—or perhaps a tick, she looked a little familiar.
He’s longed for your warmth and watched you from afar, hungry and borderline obsessive. After he’s had a taste of you, his palate has changed drastically and he can’t have anyone else. That’d be settling, and Steve never settles for less.
She licks her lips, “Hey, Steve, I haven’t seen you since September.”
Definitely a tick, but he’d have to ask for her name again.
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” Steve glowers, “Move along, you reek like you just took the entire hockey team.”
The girl blinks in horror as his friends laugh aloud, some cockily waving goodbye as she skitters away.
“How about her? I heard she just transferred here.” Curtis nods to the small group by the flip cup table. “Although, I think she has a boyfriend.”
“Never stopped him before.” Bucky pops up and hands around fresh bottles of beer, “what do you say, punk? Up for the challenge?”
“I don’t want any of them.”
“That’s what you said last year after you learnt more about legacy—yet, you still had visitors.”
“I had my eye on her, I wasn’t celibate.” Steve scoffs, “You think my dick is going to stop working?”
“That’s what it seemed like.” Curtis replies, scratching his buzzed head, “You labelled her as off-limits too.”
“Because you’re all greedy animals.”
“We’ve got more class than that and wouldn’t dare to take your sweet crush away from you…” Sam ruffles Steve’s hair, “Wouldn’t want you to get all upset now.”
Steve never blatantly confessed his attraction to you—not to anyone outside of his friend group. The only people who knew were Bucky, Ari, and Curtis, but Ransom and Andy made their suspicions clear from the start. A comment here, or knowing look there, but they never said anything.
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You check your bag, sifting through the dozens of snacks before opening your door. With your keyring hanging from your fingers, you almost bump right into another body. A young man is standing in front of your dorm with his hand raised.
He smiles before seeing your outfit. “You’re wearing that?” His blue eyes travel over your sweat pants and matching sweater, to your feet stuffed into an old pair of sneakers that you wouldn’t mind getting muddy.
You step back affronted, “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s okay but it doesn’t look like party material.” He wrinkles his nose, his brown jacket unzipped revealing a tight grey t-shirt tucked into the band of his jeans and shiny leather belt. His light-brown hair is on the shorter side, a buzzcut that contrasts his clean-shaven face. With built shoulders and a small waist, he’s an alpha judging by his size, posture and smell. Although, a faint linger of burnt firewood surrounds him. “Good thing Steve ordered these, you wouldn’t get on the property in that.”
At the mention of his name, your body reacts in fear and sickening desire—an odd mixture that scatters your thoughts.
You hold the door, inching it closed, “I’m not going.”
His palm lands on the wood with a loud slap, easily forcing it open until he steps into your room. He glances over your single dorm, from your messy desk and dresser to your unmade bed. “Cute sheets, legacy.” He chuckles at the ditsy floral print comforter and pillowcases, “I’m Johnny, by the way. Steve’s little brother.”
Irritation prickles along your skin, the ego radiating off of him was rivalling that of the vice president himself. You weren’t surprised they were close, but he didn’t intimidate you as much as Steve. That lack combined with your annoyance could be why you’re feeling confident enough to even talk back.
What would Steve think? A small voice whimpers.
Why does it matter, you counteract.
He presses the bag into your hands and turns around, “I’ll give you five minutes to get dressed. Then, we’ll head out. I rode my bike, so maybe grab a jacket or something.”
“I’m not going to the party.” You repeat, angry that Steve thinks he can send his brother to your dorm.
“I already have plans.”
Wanda was probably waiting outside right now and despite Natasha’s wishes, you were going to tell her about Ari and Arcadia. She’s your best friend and deserved to know, you’d grasp at any opportunity to keep her safe. You’ve spent too long with danger looming over your shoulder and you didn’t want her accidentally wandering too close to the cruel alphas.
Johnny is unfazed, lazily reaching into his pocket, “Uh, do you want me to call Steve?”
You frown, “For what? He can’t make me go, and neither can you.” Your heart stutters for a moment from the surge of courage. It’s almost too unfamiliar and you want to apologize for your attitude and speaking against an alpha—technically, two alphas.
It’s subconscious as your head lowers, your throat tightens as regret rushes in. You try to remind yourself there’s nothing to feel guilty about, although the rest of you refuse to listen and you feel mortified.
Fucking white noise, that’s all your demands are. You’ll never have an impact like an alpha, and if you try, you’ll be a complete fool. You already are one and you’ve been one since you said you weren’t going to the party.
“Are you sure about that?” The man hums thoughtfully, “Because something tells me that your friend still hasn’t been accepted to Kappa… I could be hearing things, I just came from the house and the music is always booming.”
“Wanda didn’t make it?” Just like that, you’re thrown in for a loop and your shame transforms into sadness, painting your heart blue.
“Nope.” Johnny pops the last syllable, “Someone else beat her by one vote but don’t worry, she can always try again next year, unlike you—and I almost forgot to congratulate you, legacy.” The alpha beams, “I hope you love Kappa as much as your new sisters, it’s been a while since they’ve accepted any omegas.”
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“Ari, those betas are back again.”
The president sighs, briefly turning away from the omega he’s been talking to. “So get rid of them.”
Vague memories of two betas stumbling into the frat house come back, the heavy smell of alcohol on their breath and the most dazed look in their eyes. They were cut off during the last two parties and warned with being banned if they didn’t clean up their act, then they proceeded to puke everywhere and almost pass out. Tonight, they were fucking wasted before they even showed up and Arcadia wasn’t going to be responsible for any stupidity or alcohol poisoning.
“Hey, Langley! Got a task for you.” The president calls the younger alphas over, he slaps his shoulder and points to the front door, the betas hanging off each other, “You get them off the property, all right.”
Steve checks his watch once more, “Don’t know why you’d send him.”
Ari chuckles, following the girl upstairs, “that’s why.”
Bryce roughly shoves the betas out of the house, careless and obviously not trying to be gentle. There’s a distant cry and some shuffling before the front door shuts, and with that, the troubling betas are gone too.
“You can always count on him for being obnoxiously ruthless.” Curtis has his arm wrapped around another girl, eyes shut in bliss as she kisses up his neck.
Right now, it’s just them until Curtis takes the beta upstairs too. The rest of his friends have moved elsewhere while Steve stayed in direct view of the front door.
Steve feels a heat building in his stomach, anger and annoyance bubbling in his veins as the seconds tick by. Storm’s bike engine could easily be drowned out by the music.
He knows you’ll show up, you wouldn’t willingly let your friend be rejected from Kappa again when you can do something about it. He was positive about that.
Suddenly, there’s another commotion at the door, and as another group of people are denied. When they move, his heart swells in his chest.
The dress flutters as you step into the house, the music vibrates the floor from the basement as people talk and laugh loudly. Some spare a glance, others check you out.
You cling to your jacket that Johnny made you take off after hopping off his bike, the dress is practically lingerie. A slightly asymmetrical lace hem above your breasts, thin blue silk that brushes your upper thighs, and a cut-out that exposes more than what you’d like in a public setting. An inch higher, and you’d see the strap of your underwear.
The panties may be the worst. They weren’t like anything you owned and made your face heat up—skimpy and white, lace straps that were soft against your skin with barely any fabric for actual coverage. In this houseful of people, you feel naked. Bare without your consent but did you feel a little bit desirable?
You were still undetermined about that.
The students part like the ocean as Steve strides towards you, his 6’6” sturdy frame swaying with his broad shoulders as the light highlights his features. He’s dressed in a dark blue button up and black jeans, his blond hair styled. He grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he draws closer, his smell overpowering that of everyone else in the room.
“Sweet girl, I knew you’d look beautiful in this.” His warm hands land on your hips. “Fits good too, tight and loose in all the right places. Don’t you think so?”
You shrug him off, irritated and upset as Wanda’s dejected voice replays in your head. When you explained your situation with Johnny sifting through the knick-knacks on your desk, Wanda was downcast and split—she wanted to help, she begged to aid in any way, but you didn’t let her.
What could a beta do to an alpha, especially one as mean and high status as Steve with his friends right behind him?
Steve reaches for you again but you push him away. Then, he steps closer while you step back. You peer up at him fearfully with your back flat against the wall, the front door is open as a wisp blows, cooling the sudden heat on your skin. You can’t see anyone beyond Steve, with his looming stature and captive eye contact, you wouldn’t dare look away.
There was no doubt the Arcadia alphas would rip her to bits and make you watch as punishment. It was enough that you knew she didn’t get in and that guilt weighed heavy as she desperately tried to uplift the conversation with a mention of Kappa Phi—“I heard they have sleepovers every month, imagine it; the movies, the snacks, oh, the bonding! I can’t wait!” You kept that truth to yourself and had to cut the call short when Johnny impatiently tapped his wrist.
Now here you are, not even two minutes into the party and shoved up against the wall with the football captain inches from your face.
His jaw looks are sharper with the shadows, and the darkness bleeds into his eyes, painting a dangerous and threatening blue. “You want to do that again? I gave you this dress, don’t make me take it back right now.”
A whimper nearly crawls out of your throat but you swallow it down. “Please, no.”
Steve’s fingers trace your neck to cup your cheek, he leans close, the smell of beer in his breath. “Hush now, baby,” He coos, and cuts to the chase. His ring finger softly rubs your spot as his thigh slips between your legs, a direct replay of your last meeting. His scent clouds your mind once again, the grittiness fuels fantasies that you’ve kept hidden and tried to forget. This time, you attempt to fight it and fist his shirt, weakly pushing him away but just like the previous encounter, he doesn’t stir.
“That’s it.” He adds another digit, his other arm wrapping around your waist and pressing closer, the denim rubs against your inner thighs. “There’s my girl, you missed me, omega?”
You don’t answer and slightly turn your head as he kisses your cheek, soft pecks trailing to your mouth until he meets your lips. His growl vibrates his chest and you can feel it in yours, and subconsciously, you moan. The tentative nips turn into passionate strokes as he slips his tongue into your mouth, applying pressure to your gland and your haphazardly built defences crash to the ground.
Perhaps it was stupid to think you could keep him away—both physically, mentally and internally, because, in a way, Steve is woven deep inside you. Alpha and omega, two sides of a shiny coin, and you’ve fallen victim to your designation and his sick charm.
The realization only makes you more discouraged as you pull him closer. Under your dress, slick coats your panties and the scent wafts to Steve’s nose. He leans back with a grunt, a ravenous glow in his eyes as his muscular chest rises and falls in rhythm with yours.
“I seem to always have to repeat myself around you…” He trails off, voice gruff, “Did you miss me, omega?”
You whimper, shame filling your body as other people turn their heads. You want to run and hide as your scent flows through the air, desperation, arousal, with a tinge of fear.
“Yes, alpha.”
He growls appreciatively and noses the top of your head, soaking in your smell with every heavy inhale. If he could, he’d bathe in your existence until your beings were eternally entwined. Holding you with your warmth against him, Steve feels untouchable and utterly relaxed, there’s nothing like it.
He berates himself for waiting so long.
You don’t realize you’re trembling until Steve grips your waist and turns you towards the rest of the house. Just like that, the audience faces away and pretends they were never watching the exchange. You clench your fists, ducking down as the whispers inevitably start, you can’t hear them clearly but you know they’re there and somehow, that only makes it worse.
“Are you going to make be good and make me proud?”
Proud, somehow you do want him to be proud of you. “Yes, Steve.” You’re still dazed since he just scented you.
He brings you to the kitchen, easily lifting you and sitting you on the counter. The cool surface sends a wave of goosebumps over your skin as he grabs a drink and steps between your legs. You lean back slowly, trying to put distance between the two of you.
He holds the cup to your face, “want a sip?”
You look around and frown, “…I didn’t want to come here.”
He sets down the cup and pulls you to the edge of the counter. His thumb drags over your cheek, “But you missed me, omega” Steve says softly, blinking down at you with blue eyes, “Haven’t you thought about me every day? How good I made you feel here,” His touch ghosts your gland before trailing down the front of your dress, tugging at the lace hem before barely slipping up the slit. Now, your upper thigh is dangerously exposed.
Admittedly, you’ve tried to. You had every reason to not want him—desire his touch and presence but it was so hard to not think of him. You wanted him off of your skin and out of your mind but your attempts of pushing him out and away were feeble at best. You didn’t want to think about him, let alone, miss him.
You feared that deep down, it didn’t matter what you wanted because he’s already chosen you.
And perhaps, you’ve accepted and chosen him too.
“Was it just sex?” The words fly out of your mouth before you could think.
Steve stiffens, visibly caught off guard. “No. Of course, it wasn’t.”
He’s wanted you for a year but kept his distance for the sake of himself and maybe his girlfriend at the time. Like every other alpha, he’s possessive and thrives off ownership. He wants you to reciprocate his feelings, to want him like he wants you and be dependent on him like omegas should be to their alphas.
“I didn’t use you like that.” His tone is sickenly delicate, “I wouldn’t do that for our first time together, you wanted it and I was more than happy to help. Sure, I pushed you a little bit in the right direction, but it was more than just sex. And, I think you know that too.”
You don’t answer, and let him hold the cup to your mouth as you take a small sip.
He looks down at you, swiping the drop of alcohol from your lips. “I could be so good to you, sweetheart. But, don’t think you can talk back, I don’t take that shit lightly.” He pauses, “Actually, maybe do it so we can have a little fun. I have a few ideas to get you under control.”
Steve helps you down from the counter and holds out his arm, “Let’s go say hi to my other brothers, they’ve been waiting to formally meet you.”
“Who?”
“You know Bucky and Curtis, Ransom is around here somewhere.” The crowd parts as Steve leads you both deeper into the house, you try to face forward as dozens of eyes fall on you. Perhaps curious, jealous or downright disgusted, you didn’t want to know. “Nick and Sam live off-campus but always come by for parties, Thor was invited but who knows where the hell he is, and Ari got back today, you still haven’t met him—”
“—Steve!” Two young men call, waving their arms as they stand by the backdoor, “You’ve got a visitor. He’s uh, very adamant.”
“Give me a second!” He turns back to you, “can I trust you to stay with my friends while I go deal with this?”
You glance at the group of alphas by the beer pong table, red solo cups or bottles in their hands as they talk. From a few feet away, you can already feel the constricting force that surrounds them. You shake your head, clinging to Steve’s arm.
Pride flashes on his face, “I’ll be right back, then I won’t leave you for the rest of the night.“
It was a promise, but did you even want that? Perhaps he is better than anyone else in this house, than his brothers. As they say, ‘better the devil you know than the devil you don't know.’
“Go, sweet girl. I’ll be back before you know it.” He kisses your forehead before pushing you in the direction of his friends.
You stumble slightly, catching yourself on one of them.
“It’s nice to see you again, legacy.” Bucky smiles coyly, his eyebrows raised as you quickly right yourself. “I would say that I miss you in your little uniform, but this number is quite the treat.”
“You want something to drink?” Another alpha asks, his warm brown eyes meeting your gaze. “I’m Sam, by the way, and that’s Nick.” He points to the man participating in the party game and getting fawned over.
“You smoke, legacy?”
You shake your head silently.
These men are also on the football team, you’ve seen their photos but don’t know much about them besides their reputation that mirrored Steve’s. Entitled, selfish players with more omegas in their past than notches on their belts.
Time drags on a little longer. They ask you questions that you answer with a nod, shake of your head or shrug of your shoulders. You find yourself counting down the seconds before Steve returns, you never thought you’d prefer his company but compared to his brothers, you only hope he’d be better.
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
That gets a reaction out of you, which is exactly what they wanted. “What?”
Before Steve, you hadn’t been on a date in a while. Maybe a few flings or partners, but nothing too serious. When you first got to Howard College, you dated around a little bit, probably slept with more people than others would think—but then, courses got harder, your schedule got tighter and you didn’t even realize your bed had been empty for far too long.
“H? Harvard guy?”
“Hayden isn’t my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Unbeknownst to you, there was one other person responsible for your dry spell. Although Steve kept his intentions in his inner circle, if he got word about someone interested in you, he’d send someone to take care of it. Nothing was ever exposed as most people who had you on their radar were responsible for other things, and a little blackmail went pretty far.
Curtis hums, “What’s Steve then?”
Heavy footsteps stomp down the stairs before a figure appears. At that moment with the low lighting, the alpha looks like a giant. A girl stumbles down after him, dishevelled with flushed cheeks and smelling like sweat. She buttons up her shirt and wipes the side of her mouth before walking away—limping away would be a better-suited term.
“You don’t waste any time, huh, Ari?”
“As my father always says, time is money.” The man turns as a series of chuckles sound around the group.
Ari has a similar build to Steve, muscular and domineering, maybe an inch taller with those boots on his feet. His flannel strains against his biceps, the red plaid complimenting his slightly tanned skin. His beard is full and thick, matching his long hair that curls at the base of his neck. His blue eyes carefully flicker down then return to your face.
“Steve’s favourite colour is blue.” He notes, thick fingers wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as he takes a slow sip, “I can see why he chose that outfit for you.”
The underlying smell of sex radiates from him, along with a thick and earthly musk.
“So, he picked the whole thing?” His gaze drags over your body slowly, as if he’s tracing every inch of you in his brain for safekeeping. “How about underneath? You let him dress you up like a pretty doll, omega?”
Because that’s what you are, it goes unsaid but you hear it ringing in your ears. Of all people, that would be his mindset. Omegas are objects to be bought and sold, baby-making machines against their will. Bile rises in your throat before you force yourself to stop thinking about them, the people just like you, poor and disadvantaged souls trapped in a heinous system. On the foundation of pain and suffering is where Ari was raised and where he currently stands tall, and you despise him for it.
You just keep your lips shut, neck tensing as a million rageful responses implode your head.
Ari blinks, his tongue running over the edges of his sharp teeth. “I heard you’re a bit feisty. Care to give me something to think about tonight?” He steps closer as you stay firmly against the wall, heart pounding in your ears along with his deep, gravelly voice. “I’ve always loved a little fight, something to tear down only to rebuild into whatever I please… And omegas are perfect canvases for such a thing—potential for an ideal mate.”
Of course, he would, you bitterly think. With his family and past, he’s probably disgustingly bred some of your kind. You weep for them, but all you can offer is a deadly glare directed at the towering, built alpha.
“And, Steve thinks the same, sweetie, always have and always will.” He winks.
You keep your lips sealed.
The rest of the frat brothers continue their conversation as if you aren’t there. Only bringing you in for a little more teasing, but that grace period doesn’t last very long.
Curtis juts his chin, “What do you think about it? The list.”
You clench the full cup in your hand, not daring to spare a glance at the horrid whiteboard pinned on the wall. You didn’t want to read the names, the number of people subject to their heartless games. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, but like most things at Howard College, that hope didn’t work.
“Say something.” Ari cocks his head, “Are you going to make me use my voice and force you to open that pretty mouth?”
“Ari.” Bucky warns, “Steve won’t like that.”
“Steve doesn’t like a lot of things. Especially disobedient omegas.” He replies swiftly, “Give her one night with me, and she won’t breathe if you don’t tell her to.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the girls leave your room. Practically moulded by your hands,” Sam nudges him, “He’s got a control thing, legacy.”
You look down at the cup, it doesn’t seem any different from theirs but you wish you watched him make it. You don’t trust anyone in this house. With their eyes watching you carefully, you fake a sip, licking your lips then you set it on the windowsill.
“I’m a little disappointed I missed the show last week. Maybe the next one could be filmed so that doesn’t happen again.”
That starts a whole discussion about certain tapes they’ve done. A few names fly around and confirm that they’ve been this disgusting forever. Their voices hammer into your head, vile and even sparking some fear. How they can just blatantly speak about intimate experiences was beyond you, like everything was a game and they were always on the leaderboard. You wanted to knock them where they stand. In their words, they’ve only done a few films with willing participants—do you even believe that?
“This one girl, definite pornstar material, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s in the business now—”
“—You’re all terrible.” You interrupt, unable to conceal your displeasure. “You make me sick.”
One of them winces, “Ouch, legacy, that really hurt.” Curtis pouts mockingly, “I’ll certainly change my ways in your favour, do you want me to kiss your shoes too?”
A big hand lands on your arm. “Don’t touch me.” You pry off his hold.
“Keep sweet talking me and I’ll just have to find out why Steve is so hooked on you,” Ari murmurs, leaning close.
Sam scoffs, “Yeah, and then, get your ass beat for it.”
“We haven’t shared anyone before, but we’ve talked about it. Care to be the first, legacy?”
You whip around to shove him with all your strength but he already steps away, half-empty bottle in hand as he announces his trip for a new round. You watch him leave with another alpha, Curtis winking at you as they turn the corner.
Then, a warmth ghosts up your back before pulling you into a strong chest, a familiar smokey scent crawls up your nose. “That was entertaining. You’re hot when you’re mad.”
Something catches your eye, Steve’s knuckles are red and a little purple, well on the way to a bruise. You look up at him as he chats to Bucky and Sam, he looks unharmed and his clothes are the same. Clean, smooth and clinging to his muscles, but his cheeks carry a soft flush.
Who was the visitor?
“She’s got quite the mouth, huh?” Sam chuckles as Steve firmly grasps your waist.
You stare at his hand, slowly reaching out to touch the battered skin. He doesn’t flinch, but he does look down at you, “What happened?”
“Someone who isn’t allowed here decided to come anyway.”
Unease settles in your body, “So, you beat them up?”
He smiles, “Is that what you think happened?”
“Your hand.”
Steve leans against the table with an outstretched hand. You don’t move from your spot and he clears his throat, gesturing you closer with a curl of his fingers. “Come to me, baby.”
It’s almost laughable how quickly you give in, but there wasn’t anything else you could do. You couldn’t just up and leave, not with his frat brothers stationed at every corner and him a few inches from you.
“You want to know who showed up?” He cups your face as his other arm wraps around your back, keeping you close, “It was some dick from another frat. Someone you don’t know, and I don’t think you want to know them anyway.”
He keeps the details to himself, including the name, the fraternity and the reason for their visit. You didn’t need to worry about that now.
“Why?” You press,“Not like anyone is worse than you.”
Steve raises his eyebrows in amusement, “You’re so blissfully ignorant, aren’t you? You may think I’m the worst that can happen to you, but I can assure you that I’m not.” His azure eyes pin you down, searing into your mind, “There are plenty of other people who aren’t as kind as me.”
“Kind?” You shove his hand and step backwards. “That’s bullshit.”
“Compared to what they’d do to you—I’m an angel.”
“Although, next to Ari, that guy could be a saint.”
Natasha wasn’t wrong.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He took you away from Wanda, dressed you up like a doll and practically forces you into the Arcadia house yet again.
He grabs you, and your weak pushes are useless so you start swatting his chest, landing harder blows until one of your palms collides with his cheek. It wasn’t full force, but it was enough for his head to turn slightly, and his shoulders go rigid.
The music is still playing and vibrating the floor, but the air goes still, stale and awfully cold.
Bucky, Sam and everyone else stares at you and Steve, their bewildered expressions visible in the dimmed lights and with bottles and solo cups in hand and conversations paused as if they've just witnessed a crime.
Might as well be one with the despair solidifying in your veins, freezing you where you stand. Worst of all, your hand tingles with either guilt or fiery pride, you can’t tell the difference with your thoughts firing like canons.
What did you do?
Why did you do that?
You’re fucking screwed.
While you attempt to silence the guilty pleas in your head, Steve calmly smooths down his blue shirt, the wrinkles disappearing with a simple stroke of his hand. Then, his gaze meets yours. The colour is darker than normal, but eriely soothing, like a storm brewing in the ocean and you’re standing in the eye of it.
“Upstairs. Now.”
He wasn’t using his alpha voice, yet you feel the instinctual need to obey, although your feet are cemented to the floorboards.
“Don’t make me repeat myself—” He’s not quiet or loud, his volume is in between and slow like honey. “—again.”
You turn around, wrapping your arms around yourself. An overwhelming flood of shame, despair and hatred fills you—whether the hatred is directed towards yourself or Steve, you didn’t know.
As soon as you reach the stairs, the first wave of tears falls. They drip down your face as everyone watches, their laser gazes only intensify your rush of feelings.
Guilt is the most prevalent, it’s impossible to not feel at fault for making Steve upset. Being faced with an alphas disappointment was gut-wrenching, that was all you could call it. He didn’t seem angry, or vengeful, but entirely too calm and it made you full of self-blame.
Omegas are naturally caring and loving, submissive in other words. You, a sweet yet strong omega, were no match to your seemingly innate instinct. And, one of them was striving for approval, an alphas praise. That was also why you gave in so easily last time, Steve strummed all the right chords and made you sing for him.
And sing you did, and sing you will again.
You fear deep down you’ll start relying on his acceptance and commendation about yourself and things you’ve done, accomplishments and rightful acts in his eyes because his opinion and perspective will be all that matters. It will be above your own conceptions, and you’ll glorify him for it.
God, the things you’d do to have him compliment your nest. Or add to it.
You cry even harder because you don’t know why you’re thinking this way. He’s a nightmare on legs with an ego so big it reaches beyond the Andromeda galaxy.
You weren’t only scared, but you were ashamed and revolted by it.
He strides down the hallway and with every step, his biceps flex, firm feet sound off the floorboards as he pulls out his key. He reaches you and his shadow is painted on the wall, and you. He blinks down at you, then clicks open a bottle before holding it to your mouth. “Drink.”
You refuse, sniffling and wiping your nose.
“It’s only water and you’ll need it.” He presses it to your lips, “Now, omega. Unless you want more than what I have planned.”
You gulp down the water, it cools your heated skin and soothes those insistent nerves.
“That’s it. There’s daddy’s good girl, ” He pulls away from the bottle and wipes the bottom of your lip with his thumb, lingering there as he growls lowly, “see what happens when you let me be kind?”
Let him—as if any choices are your own anyway.
This time when you enter his room, you don’t get to observe it. After shutting the door, he grabs your face and turns you towards the display of paddles on the wall. “Don’t make me use one of those on you. I’ve done it before, and every time it ends in tears.” He squeezes your cheeks until your lips picker, “actually, maybe I should do that. I’ll let you pick one and take you downstairs, punish you in front of everyone and give them a show. Teach them how to tame a fiery little thing like you.”
“I’m sorry.” You apologize, voice muffled by his hold on your face. “Please—I don’t want to… Not in front of everyone.”
A thoughtful expression combs over his features, “But, I can’t let you go unpunished. You hit me, omega.”
“P-Please, Steve,” You whine, you couldn’t be punished in front of everyone, “I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Not in front of everyone—I can’t promise I’ll be as lenient next time.” Because he knows there will be another situation like this. “Pick one.”
“But you—”
“Pick one now or I’ll pick one for you, and I’ll choose one you haven’t seen because it isn’t a paddle, and I’ll do much worse than spanking.”
Your eyes dart to the headboard, the bars rid of any handcuffs. There were other toys around here somewhere, and you had a feeling that’s what Steve was referring to. You tentatively walk around his bed and observe the choices, through your teary vision, you point at the red, blue and white one. It had the least protruding letters, although Steve’s name was big and bold.
“Good girl, now take off your panties and bend over my lap.”
Still sniffling, you reach under your dress and pull down your underwear. To your horror, you feel the fabric stick to your folds as the smell of your arousal spreads throughout the room. You crumple them in your hand, hiding them behind your back as Steve sits on his bed. His blue sleeves rolled up and legs spread with the freshly cleaned paddle beside him, front-facing up with the glaze reflecting the lights.
“Give them to me.” He’s so patient and calm that it slows down your heart rate.
Tentatively, you place your panties in his outstretched hand. He unwrinkles the lace and hums, your wet spot is bigger than you thought. He rubs over the gusset, bringing the material to his nose and taking a deep breath. When his eyes meet yours, his pupils are blown wide and nothing but a thin ring of blue is framed by his thick eyelashes. Then, you’re bent over his lap with your dress flipped up.
You stare down at his bedsheets, shakily fisting the comforter in your hands.
“Sweet girl, you’re soaked.” His fingers trail through your folds, and your toes curl in your shoes. “Who would’ve thought you’d be into this, huh?” Wet noises fill the room as he sucks on his digits before his touch returns to your pussy, with the extra slickness, he rubs your clit slowly. “That’s it, just relax for me, and it’ll all be over soon enough.”
You duck down, soft moans escaping your sealed lips as he plays with you. You should have known the pleasure would be immediate, Steve knew you like he’s had you for years, but it’s only the second time, and he already has your body memorized.
“Daddy missed this little cunt, I’ve jerked off with your panties, did you know that?” He groans, spreading your folds and watching your juices drip down to your nub, “Of course, you don’t, you never answered the fucking phone.”
You squeal as his palm lands on your cunt, a shock shoots straight through your body. Then, he pierces deep with two fingers, scissoring them inside you.
He takes the paddle, waving it in front of your face. “Kiss it, baby, just a little peck for me.”
With his fingers still pumping in and out of your tight hole, you’re completely at his mercy. You press a short kiss to the paddle, right on the fraternity crest. As you pull away, you fall face-first into the sheets, his hand increasing speed and power as sopping noises bounce off the walls. You shudder as he spanks your pussy again, your juices soaking his skin.
“You’re going to cum when I say to, got it?” His palm swats your cunt before he cups your mound, his big hand making you feel even hotter.
“Yes, daddy.” You weep, breath hitching as your stomach clenches. “F-Fuck—please, don’t stop.”
Steve groans at your high-pitched whine as he pulls away. The paddle is cold against your behind, he lets you feel the protruding letters. “I won’t make you count this time, but we’ll do fifteen, okay? You try to move, and we double it.”
Your chest heaves and you nod, bracing yourself against his leg with your eyes squeezed shut.
The first swat lands firmly on your right cheek. A hot pain erupts from the spot immediately. Then, he rubs your ass, groping the flesh, soothing the burn and dipping between your folds again. He spreads your slick to your ass, tracing up to your puckered hole. Steve groans, “That’s it. You going to take the rest just as good?”
“Y-Yes, daddy…” Your voice trails off as he runs the edge of the paddle between your folds, “I-I, no!”
“Shh, just on your ass for now. But I can’t neglect your pretty pussy. Is that what you want?” Steve spanks you again, this time on your left cheek, “You want me to leave you a drippy mess, let all this cream go to waste? I know how much you like getting hit down here.” Once again, the edge of the wood touches your nub delicately, “You love it, baby. That’s why you’re grinding against the paddle.”
You didn’t even notice until he said it, your hips moving on their own accord. Streams of pleasure soar through your veins, bleeding euphoria into your brain as they expose your deepest desires. You wanted this, you wanted it just as bad as him.
That didn’t stop the shame, though darkly, it only made you more eager.
“Fucking slut, you going dumb already?” He mocks, “I can only imagine how slutty you are when you’re in heat—bet you’d fuck anything just to get off. Tell me, baby, you have toys in your dorm?”
You weakly nod and moan when he meets your grinds, his gifted bulge digs into your side. “Y-Yes, daddy.”
Steve’s mind is overcome with visions of you withering and sweating on your bed, possibly in a little nest with a one-track mind. If he closes his eyes, he can see you riding a silicone cock, stretching your tight hole while your slick drips down your legs. He would bet you love riding your pillow too. “Poor omega, all alone for your heat. Do you know how much better it is with someone else? With an alpha?” He grunts, “You going to let me help you out next time?”
You can feel your high approaching once more and you answer without any hesitation, “Please, fuck, want your knot, need it so bad.”
You whine as he pulls the paddle away, your sound cut off by a squeak as he spanks you once and twice in quick succession.
“Maybe after this, you’ll be better and listen to me.” He marvels at your slick shining against your skin, gathering at your tight hole and pouring out before his eyes. His mouth waters, “And not disrespect me in front of everyone—stupid little girl, that attitude could get you into a whole lot of trouble.”
A hand runs down your spine, then shoves your dress higher, the paddle making contact with your sore ass even harder than the last, a slap echoing through the bedroom. “Don’t worry, daddy’s here and I won’t be mean unless you deserve it.” Maybe that was half a lie, but you didn’t need to know that now. “I’m going to let you cum this time, I missed you so much, missed this pretty fuckhole. God, should’ve just fucked you last time, huh? Knotted you in that little uniform and locked you up in here.”
You try to move your hips for some release, but you’re only met with air.
“I know you want it, sweet girl, and you’ll get it soon.” He rasps, his fingers press into your gland as your bones almost turn to liquid, completely slack and in his care. “Don’t even know if I’ll fit in this little hole—I’ll have to hold you down and force it in.”
You whimper at that, your body pleads for him, crying out in every way for relief, but this is punishment.
You don’t deserve his cock right now, and it makes you more upset than your crushed pride.
He continues to spank you, hard enough to embed his name into your soft flesh. He wants you branded, owned. “Think about it, legacy, my big cock spreading you open, you’ll cry those pretty tears and it’ll hurt so good—but you’ll take it, right?”
“I—”
“You’ll take it or I’ll tie you down and make you.” Another hard spank makes you cry out loudly, shouting his name as he doesn’t stop and repeats it, this time, more directed towards your pussy. “You’re going to be my little cockslut, take me whenever I want, wherever I want, and you’re going to love it.”
He’ll do anything as he pleases.
“Steve!” You scream as the burning tingles bloom from your core, vibrating your whole body, you can feel your juices smear down your thighs.
“You’re mine, don’t you ever forget that.” His voice drops, so gravelly you almost don’t recognize it. He focuses the next spank on your pussy, cursing at the strings of your arousal connecting you to the paddle. “This fuckhole has been mine since you stepped foot in this house, and I’ll spank it if I want. That’s a promise.”
“You’ll never even think about hitting me again,” It’s ironic as he lands another swat on your sensitive centre, your moans increasing in volume and undoubtedly audible from downstairs, “Aw, am I being mean, sweetheart?” He coos. “Answer me.”
“Yes!”
“Good.” He answers short, bringing the paddle to your face, “Lick it.”
You surge forward as he shoves three fingers into your cunt. As you clean your slick from the paddle, Steve doesn’t know where to look. His eyes bounce between your sweet pussy taking his thick fingers, to your greedy mouth drinking down your juices like a whore.
“That’s enough. A few more and you can come.” He rubs your clit a final time before taking his digits in his mouth, swirling them around his tongue as your taste takes over his senses. “You’re going to wake up with your pussy in my mouth.”
In a matter of moments, the sheets below you are soaked with your saliva and some tears. The comforter is clenched between your teeth as drool seeps into the material, every swat pushes you forward and makes your legs flail. He’s relentless on your throbbing cunt, every cry of yours urges him on, he wants you louder so everyone knows exactly who you belong to.
And that whatever happened downstairs will never occur again.
You stay exactly where you are, bent over Steve’s lap as he spanks you with one of his fraternity paddles. He manhandles you and spreads your folds as your face digs deeper into his bed, “Cum for me, omega.”
You squirt as the paddle swats your cunt, your juices spurting out and down your legs as he ruthlessly continues the torment, prolonging your high. Filthy noises dance among your pathetic mewls, your shuddering body twitching over his thighs as the pressure on your belly makes you a little lightheaded.
“Fuck, that’s it. Good girl,” He rubs the edge on your nub, like he’s bullying it, “Show me how much you missed me.”
As you catch your breath, Steve hoists you up and captures you in a kiss. It’s messy and hungry, his guttural groans flow into your mouth. When he pulls away, you’re standing in the middle of his room with a string of saliva between you, he turns you to face the mirror. “Isn’t it pretty, baby?”
You gasp, the bumps over your ass are more noticeable with the shadows. Your cunt weeps between your thighs, humming with little shocks of your high. Even when you try to move, a throbbing blooms through your body, and you wince as he traces over his name. It’s repeated over your skin, and every stroke of his fingers makes your knees buckle, but he keeps you standing with an arm around your waist.
“You made me so proud.”
“R-Really?” You sniffle.
Steve hums, nuzzling your cheek, “So proud, sweet omega. See what happens when you don’t listen?” He kisses your gland, suckling. “Did you learn your lesson?”
You sink into that abyss and his hold, you’re lax as his smell surrounds you. “Yes, daddy. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you, baby.”
When you fall asleep, he spreads ointment over your sore cheeks and probably spends too long admiring his protruding name on your skin. He covers you up and forces himself to keep his distance. He fists his cock in his desk chair, those skimpy white panties in his mouth as he cums, the base of his dick was swollen the moment you bent over his lap.
He doesn’t go downstairs again that night. Only calling Johnny for some water and snacks before he pulls you into his arms, also nude under the sheets.
This, the feeling of your skin against his and your breath fanning over his chest, is what he’s longed for.
And, he most definitely fulfilled his promise the next morning and his fraternity brothers and passed-out party goers got a lewd wakeup call.
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𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and here it is ! this chapter was way longer than I predicted, hence the very late upload, but I do love this verse and the characters. I can't wait to explore more of this world and the dynamics !! the main pairing will always be Steve x reader, maybe a blurb in the future with another frat member, but I'm pretty sure it won't be in the main story. I'm also going to make a meet-the-characters post so there's something to keep track on, bc I have many hehe. Oh, and for the next part, I hope you all bring your school spirit bc we're heading to Howard College's football game !
𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! this is for my 6k celebration & sleepover ! feel free to join hehe
I don’t have an update schedule.
As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3
Taglist link in my bio. Follow my sideblog and turn on the notifications so you can see whenever I post: @onsunnyside-fics in case if I discontinue my taglist.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠. — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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I NEED MORE I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUNT MOUTH
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ʚ♰ɞ 𝟑. 𝐒𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐫
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𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | dads best friend!Chris Evans x camgirl!reader, friends-with-benefits!Ransom Drysdale x camgirl!reader
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | fluff, AGE GAP, spending a rich man’s money (mhm), SMUT - minors DNI, sexting/nudes, choking (not really?), fingering, daddy kink, dirty talk, degradation, dumification, protected sex (p in v), anal (a little thumb action), spitting, manhandling, rough but sweet sex, threesome (mentioned), oral (m), squirting, facial, after-sex sextape, jealousy, possessive (petty) behaviour
𝗪/𝗖 | 7.2K
𝗔/𝗡 | this is ch.3 of holy grail !! here comes dbf!chris evans, a new neighbour and then some jealousy. I’ve missed this story and can’t wait to start on the next part ! No gifs/photos belong to me, found bottom ones on Pinterest [1 | 2 | 3] all credits go to the original creators. All mistakes are my own.
Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!
𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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Ransom: Oh, so you’re ignoring me now? After all the orgasms I’ve so graciously gifted you?
Aren’t you at work?
Ransom: Lunch break.
Ransom: Are you alone?
“Babe, are you okay in there?”
You meet your reflection, blinking at the thin bralette covering your breasts—barely, considering it was mostly constructed with lace and sheer fabric. Once it gets wet, it will cling to you like a second skin.
“Are you sure that this is a bikini?”
Natasha sighs from the other side of the door, “yes, it was right next to the display.”
“I think it’s lingerie.” You reach for the bottoms, cursing lowly, “this is a thong, Nat, what the hell?"
“Just come out with the top then, I still want to see.”
You button up your pants and slowly exit the fitting room. Peeking around the corner as your friend asks for you to stand in better lighting.
Your father’s fiancée comes out too, her hair in a loose ponytail as her gaze falls on you, “I love that colour on you. It brings out your eyes.” Carol gleams, spinning you by your shoulders, “My ex had something like this, she wore it to pool parties under a coverup.”
Your jaw nearly drops to the floor, but Natasha is better at schooling her reaction. Just a twitch in her cheek.
“Oh, your father didn’t tell you? We met when I took a spontaneous trip—intending to heal my broken heart.” The blond laughs lightly, surveying her reflection, the blue dress swaying by her hips. “Look, I know there’s an obvious age gap between your father and me, but I do love him.”
“He didn’t tell me anything.” Your phone dings in the changing room, “Has he mentioned any of his ex’s to you?”
“Yeah. I didn’t let him take me to bed until he came clean, I knew there was something up.”
You gag, “A simple yes would have sufficed.”
“There are major positives of having a young step-mom.” Carol slinks behind her fitting room door before returning with a card, “I convinced your father to take Chris’ offer of funding this shopping spree…”
“Are you trying to buy me?” The words fly out before you can even think. Your eyes widen, “I mean—”
“No, I’m not trying to buy you.” Carol snorts playfully, “I will earn your respect, even though you already have mine.”
Natasha glances between you both, the silent observer when you know she’s more than that. “I’m in favour of spending the rich guy’s cash, god knows he has more than enough to spare.”
Carol cheers, “Great! There’s a boutique I think you’ll both love, it’s got your style and hers.” She gestures to Natasha’s fishnets and black leather boots. “And mine too. We’ll head there after we check out, I think I need a different size dress.” She turns to find an employee while you face Natasha.
“You’re a good judge of character, what do you think?”
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“I think she’s cool.” The redhead shrugs, “She’s funny, not easily offended, and is determined to be your friend—and mine too, I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find someone other than you.”
You slap her arm, “shut up.”
“I thought you liked getting degraded.”
“You know what? I’m going to change and forget you even said that.” You shut the door as she calls out, “just because you forget it doesn’t make it untrue!”
A slew of texts pops up on your phone screen, the majority from a certain playboy.
Ransom: I miss my pussy and I know she misses me too.
Ransom: My assistant forgot my lunch, can I eat you instead?
Ransom: Okay, that was bad.
Ransom: I think I’m actually losing my mind.
Ransom: Just one picture and I’ll buy your groceries for a week.
Do you mean you’ll live in my apartment for a week and order food?
Ransom: You know me so well, baby. Now, be my good girl and send me something.
There was also one from a new number:
Unknown: Your father and I are heading back soon, do you girls need a ride?
We’re still shopping, I don’t know when we’ll be done.
Chris: Okay, sweetheart, just let me know and I’ll send a car over.
Another message appears, a dark photo of Ransom’s hand over a bulge in his pants, a piece of cotton crumpled in his fist.
Ransom: Do you remember these?
Have you had them this whole time?
Ransom: Duh, I bought them.
You’re a dick
Ransom: For you, I’d be anything.
You giggle and contemplate for a moment, then shake away those vague concerns, it was just flirtatious, cunning and captivating Ransom. Nothing more, nothing less.
Chris: Your father and I are going to start dinner, any special requests?
Ransom: Still waiting on that picture, sweet girl…
A warmth flutters in your chest as you yank down your pants and pose in front of the mirror. Arching your back and pulling down the bralette, you snap a quick photo and send it off.
Chris: That’s a pleasant surprise. I’ll add that to the collection.
You blink once, then twice, then squeeze your eyes shut in hopes you’re just seeing things that aren’t real—but it is, and it’s glowing on your phone. Right in the chat with your father’s best friend is your nude.
A payment notification appears at the top of your screen, a familiar username and a greeting with your first name.
New notification! 81Robert sent $50.00
81Robert: I’m already so used to paying for intimate treats like that. I don’t want to break my streak…
“Babe, did the bra get stuck on your tits? What’s taking so long?”
“N-Nothing!” You tear off the bralette, not ripping it thankfully. You quickly get dressed again,
Another payment comes in, this time it’s double.
81Robert: Buy yourself something for a show. Make sure it’s crotchless.
81Robert: Oh, and we’re having lasagna. Come back soon.
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Water drips from your skin as you walk across the porch. Carol and Natasha lounge on the floaties in the pool, sunglasses over their eyes as they converse. After drying your feet, you step through the french doors. You head straight for the fridge and sift through the shelves.
“That isn’t the bikini I bought you.”
Your jump and squeak, putting a hand over your chest. “Asshole.”
“What was that?”
You exhale deeply from your nose. You’re still confused and partly irked that Chris bluntly exposed the truth. He wasn’t hiding it either, openly leering at you and licking his lips. Whenever he’s walking past you, his hands trail down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but if anything, you’ve leaned into his touch. Encouraging him with returned stares and putting on a show as you relaxed by the pool.
He’s been watching you—for how long? When did he find out? How did he find out? At least you’re positive he hasn’t told your father, because then you’d be interrogated for hours. Who knows what your father would do.
“Where’s the sparkling wine?”
“The cellar. I can show you.”
Soon enough, you’re tucked away with Chris. The cellar is a few doors from the kitchen, past the formal living room and office. Black shelves and cubbies stocked with different drinks, varying in size and colour. The glasses shine as the light switches on, illuminating the abstract painting on the wall above a collection of liquor from across the world.
Chris beelines for the far corner as you follow quietly. His swimming shorts hang low, and his tank top outlines his body. “I heard you on the phone this morning. Was your boyfriend checking on you?”
“Ransom isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Ransom.” He repeats, taking his sweet time reading the labels on the bottles. “Now that I think of it, that name sounds familiar… Oh, in that one video where you were screaming his name.”
You would have expected he'd see that.
You cross your arms, “He’s my fuck buddy, friends-with-benefits, whatever you want to call it.”
“So, it isn’t a relationship?”
You huff, not appreciating the grilling or whatever he was doing. Repeating to yourself, it isn’t any of his business, none of my private life is. You wouldn’t admit it, but it’s also because you didn’t know the answer either.
“Why do you care?”
Chris chuckles, “What happened to the sweet angel who begged for her daddy? She isn’t soft anymore, huh? Or, she just hasn’t been fucked dumb in a while.” He moves fast, pulling you against his body and pinning you against the counter. “I think it’s obvious why I care.” He breathes, towering over you as his hand lands on your hip, fingers tugging on the string of your bikini bottoms, “I’d like to finish what I started last time.”
You can see the thickness of his eyelashes framing his blues, and the slight dip and bump of his nose. Delicate fingers pierce into your hips as he presses flush against you. He says something, but you aren’t listening, instead, you’re admiring the contrast from his plump pink lips to his pale skin and thick beard.
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Fingers snap in front of your face as Natasha quirks a brow, “Hello? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes.”
You shift, the towel slipping from your shoulders, “Huh?”
Her eyes fall to your chest, your wet bikini top cupping your breasts firmly, but a little mark catches her attention. “Is that a hickey?”
With lightning speed, you secure the towel again. Peering across the porch as your father, Carol and Chris chat by the grill. The barbeque smell wafting to your nose. “Can you say it any louder?”
Her mouth falls open in a smile, “you bitch, what happened?”
After kissing the life out of you while fingering you against the counter and making you soak his hand, he asked if you brought any toys, which you didn’t.
“Shame… I’d like to use a few on you. But I did promise you a special present for being a good girl during that show. What do you want?” Chris asked, trailing his fingers along your wet cunt, “Money to treat yourself… some toys or you need tuition money?” He smirks as you whimper softly, hands clenching his shoulders, “How about a new train ticket so you can stay a little longer?”
You shiver, “I-I have school and work.”
Chris hums absentmindedly, listening to the wet noises coming from between your legs, “I don’t mind.”
You glare at him.
“I’m kidding, baby, you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”
Now, sitting here at the table in Chris’ backyard, you’re helping yourself to the fresh food. You’re half-listening to your father and Carol talk about their upcoming cruise, something about couples getaway. Feeling a heavy gaze, you look up. Green eyes are locked on you, Natasha pulls a face as she nods towards Chris.
A silent, I can’t believe you.
She was in as much disbelief as you and you knew she wanted to ask dozens of more questions, thirsty for the details of your abrupt escapade, but now wasn’t the time. Not with everyone so gleeful and calm, and blissfully oblivious.
“How long have you known?”
Chris looks away, his brows furrowed, “What month is it?—oh, almost a year.”
A year. Your father’s best friend has been watching you perform, and has been a loyal fan for almost a year.
“Why? Can’t find anyone your own age, old man?” You taunt. “Felt lonely, daddy?”
Chris laughs, patting over your tingling mound. “Can’t find anyone like you. Came home one day from a trip, and I saw a familiar face trending on a site I frequented. And, what do you know? That angel is my best friend’s daughter—and she’s fucking some dude and screaming his name. When all I got in her was a finger or two.” He says, “After everything I’ve done for her, is that how I deserve to be treated?”
Chris had played his cards right, flawlessly bringing you closer with his magnetic pull. And fully conscious, you have a choice, to follow the script he had in his head or you could leave.
You stifle your giggle and turn around, only to be yanked back in this chest, one arm hooks around your waist as the other is snug against your neck. He doesn’t apply pressure, just keeps you there with his bicep against your throat.
“Baby, I want you to think carefully about your next move.” His breath fans across your cheeks.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll have to go out there in this awful excuse of a bathing suit with a bruised ass. Does that appeal to you?”
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It’s the final day of your trip. You and Natasha had slept in and decided to spend the final hours lounging by the pool. Carol and your father were cooking a late lunch, Chris was somewhere else—you hadn’t seen him since the previous night when he retreated to bed early. It was a silent invitation directed to you that you would have taken if Carol hadn’t wanted to stargaze and begged you to stay up.
Today, the sun peers through the trees, a light breeze ghosts over your skin as Natasha soaks in your words. “Holy fuck, that’s so hot. Good for you, babe, getting some while we’re here.”
“Can you stop?” Heat rises to your cheeks as you splash her.
She grabs your wrist, rubbing your hand on her stomach. “Rub off some of that luck, I need it for my horrible online dating record.”
You burst into laughter, “Fine! Take some!” You push up, the floatie sinking into the water as you flip hers over. She squeals, disappearing under the blue before popping up with hair all over her face.
She opens one eye, “Oh, you want to play? You of all people should know just how rough I can be—” She’s cut off as you splash her again, she sputters and shoves the floatie to the side before lunging at you.
Now, the sun has lowered behind the trees slightly, a dark blue painting the sky behind the white clouds, the golden rays reflecting off the pool. It’s a beautiful view, but it isn’t the one that has your attention.
You gulp, watching the water drip down his body as he shakes out his hair. Muscles shifting under his taut skin, inked with tattoos. His chain sticks to his chest, nestled between his pecs dusted with dark hair. Finally reaching his swimming trunks, you audibly whine, the budge so vividly visible, you can’t look away.
Chris smirks, lazily drying with a towel. “Do you mind helping me make more lemonade?”
You look over your shoulder, Natasha lying on the lounger with her glasses drawn low as she smirks. She covers her face with the magazine and winks, doing a quick blowjob motion before shutting the magazine. She goes towards your dad and Carol, “My parents went on a couples cruise once, they had the best time and make plans to go every year for their anniversary!”
“Oh, yeah? Which one?”
Their voices get more distant as you follow after Chris, your bathing suit is mostly dry in contrast to his. Entering the kitchen, you stand by the door, “Where’s the—” you avert your eyes from him adjusting himself, “the pitcher?”
“The cabinet beside the fridge.”
You bend down, searching through the various containers and Tupperware, coming up empty. Your heart beats against your chest as footsteps draw closer, and hands land on your hips. Suddenly, the knot is undone, your bikini bottoms fall to the ground.
“What happened to the bikini I got you?”
You stand up, “My friend, uh, took it.”
“You let them, with a gift like that?” His voice lowers in disappointment. He gropes your ass, then cups your mound, only then do you notice his fingers are wet.
You shudder, leaning against the counter and spreading your thighs. His digits slide between your folds, seeking your little nub. “He wouldn’t give it back.”
“Let me guess, Ransom?” He finds the bundle, rubbing it slowly, spreading your slick. He doesn’t drag it out much longer, slipping two fingers into your hole. Working them in and out, reaching that little rough patch instantly as you cry out, he covers your mouth, “We should take this upstairs if you can’t be quiet.”
You fall against his mattress, not even ogling at the furniture and size of his bedroom. Too caught up in Chris and his lips against yours, he groans into your mouth, rutting against your hot centre. Your top and his shorts are flung somewhere across the room.
He moves fast, eager and enthusiastic. Big hands gripping your soft parts, as his heavy cock nudges your tight hole. You gasp as the head catches, barely sinking in before he pulls away. “Wait,” Chris takes a foil packet from his dresser and tears it open. He slips on the latex and catches sight of your pout, he tuts. “You wanted me bare?”
You grasp his broad shoulders. Hips thrusting up as the top of cock just barely touches your tummy. “I wanted you to fill me up, daddy. Wanted it for so long.”
His heavy breath mingles with yours as he moves over you again, twisting your nipple before taking it between his lips. He suckles the nub, as he stretches you open with his fingers, “Can’t do that if you’re still banging your friend.”
“We’re both clean, we get tested regularly.” You squirm, weakly meeting his motions.
“But does he sleep with anyone else?”
You open your mouth to answer but find yourself unable to. You don’t even know if Ransom has hooked up with anyone else—would he even have time to find someone else when he’s always blowing up your phone and showing up to your apartment?
Maybe.
You want to say no, but can’t be certain.
Chris pulls out his digits, shoving them into your mouth, groaning as you clean your juices. Then, he caresses your cheek with his wet fingers. “I’ll tell you what, the next time I see you and if you’re a good girl, I’ll fill you up, cum in this little pussy until you’re leaking. But now, you’re going to let me cum on your face, got it?”
You almost lose yourself as he breaches your tightness. The thick girth spreads you wide, making your ankles lock behind his back. He shushes you softly, spitting down on your pussy and leaning forward, sending his dick deeper until he’s balls deep. Your cunt weeps, taking everything he has to offer.
Chris grunts as you move your hips, his eyes glued to your centre already dripping on the sheets, “Look at that little pussy—those videos don’t do you justice, baby.”
He falls forward, pinning you to the bed with your wrists in one hand. He nuzzles your neck, kissing along your sweaty skin as he starts thrusting, “Fuck, that’s it, you want to be filled up all the time, huh? Stupid of you not to bring any toys, don’t you feel dumb?”
You nod desperately. Your walls clench around him, the head of his cock reaching so deep that you lose your breath as he builds speed and strength. His sack slaps against your wetness, the lewd sound filling the room and your mind. You arch your back, trying to meet his pumps but you give up immediately, too fucked out already.
Chris chuckles darkly. “Pretty girl, I knew you’d get like this—going cock drunk already?”
You soak in his presence, helplessly nodding. God, you’ve been wanting this for so long, you’ve wanted him. As Chris captures your lips in his, moving to hold one of your hands and set your other one free. You realize how much you missed this, the pleasure, the intimacy.
Ransom was right.
Your fingers knot in the hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him away as you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, his pounds unrelenting and the headboard bangs against the wall. Chris dips to kiss you again, not before spitting into your mouth.
Suddenly, he draws back. Manhandling you onto your tummy, keeping you flat on the mattress before sinking back into your pussy. He moans gutturally, massaging the globes of your ass, “Under different circumstances and if we had the time, I’d fill up all your holes. I know how much you love cum, huh, dann baby?”
“So much, daddy. Love it so much.” Your voice is muffled by the pillow, your nails dig into the fluff as he rams into you, forcing you a few inches up.
“Fucking little cumdump, daddy’s dumb little cumrag.” Chris’ hand collides with your ass, “You don’t know how many times I’ve got off thinking about you like this. Taking my cock like a fucking slut, until you’re just a pretty mess.”
He turns your head until your cheek is against the pillow. Silent tears slip down your skin as he pounds your cunt, your cream coating his length down to his balls. He spears into your poor pussy, the tip hitting your cervix every thrust. Your pathetic whimpers flow over the banging of the bed and his heaving breaths.
Chris’ beard is rough against your face, he kisses your cheek and down to your neck. “Gotta be quiet, baby, the window is open.”
You struggle to sit up and he’s right, the window that was facing the backyard, just above the deck, was wide open. A high-pitched whine escapes your throat when he presses to the hilt, filling you to the brim with his length. Your thighs quiver under him, arms failing before you faceplant in the pillows again.
He stills, and you can hear the faint sound of the radio playing outside, along with voices.
“Let’s hope your friend is good at keeping your dad and his fiancée company.”
You cover your mouth, and crane your neck, your unfocused eyes meeting his. The blue is dark, heavy lashes brushing against his red cheeks, his lips stretched in a smirk. Your gaze travels to his body, down his tattoos that contrast against his pale, flushed skin. His muscles ripple under each movement. He works you like that, watching your ass bounce against his hips, spreading your cheeks to spit on your ass and your cunt. Getting you filthy.
“Sweet girl, you’re doing so good for me. Keeping that mouth shut—but your cunt is so fucking wet, you hear that?” He punctuates his words with a series of harsh thrusts, the wet squelching filling the room. “Fucking slut, so wet for daddy, yeah?”
His shaft forces your juices out, dripping down your thighs and marking the sheets below you. “You feel even better than I dreamt.” He sighs and rubs the back of your neck, those magical fingers putting pressure on another knot. It would almost be romantic if he weren’t fucking your brains out and making you weep.
He grinds against your ass, his heavy balls slapping your throbbing clit. Your high approaches, as you whimper and drool on the pillow, clenching the sheets in your fists. His fat cock spreads your pussy, making you feel every vein along your walls. You try to meet his pounds, but Chris pins you down on your belly, straddling your ass as it ripples against his hips. “Stay there, yeah, just like that.”
“D-Daddy, my—”
“Hm?” His hands help you move your head, now lying on your cheek but you still can’t see his face. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You nod, taking a deep inhale. “Good, daddy, so good.”
He spreads your ass, spitting down. The salvia lands on your puckered hole, he groans, watching it drip to your cunt. “Yeah, I’m tearing you apart, huh? This little pussy is crying all over my bed.”
“I’m s-sorry, ah!” You squeal as his thumb barely dips into your other hole, it’s wet and circles your rim.
“I’ve watched you take two toy cocks before—” He spits again, the sheer sound making your back arch. Chris rams into your poor cunt, sending tingles to your clit, “one here, and another here,” he presses his thumb into your ass again, hooking it inside. “You ever think of taking two real cocks, baby?”
You hum, and nod weakly, looking over your shoulder to try to meet his eyes. “It gets me so wet, daddy.”
“Yeah, gets you fucking soaked, huh? My best girl loves being fucked—if you really want it, I’ll pull a few strings, get you another gift.”
God, you want that.
“Look at that poor pussy,” He traces your hole, feeling how stretched you are. “You gonna cum for me, baby? Give daddy that cream?”
You cry out a weak yes, toes curling as he hits your spot again and again. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, I, uh! Pl-Please, please—”
“I know, baby. Feels good, huh?” He moves you on your knees and reaches down, his big hand sliding to where you’re both connected. He rubs your nub softly, petting you as his thrusts become harder, faster.
You can’t even speak, only make noises, pitiful and dirty as your orgasm builds.
Chris groans lowly, kissing along your neck, breathing in your scent. “Yeah, daddy knows, baby. I know. Cum for me, want to feel you soak my cock, c’mon.” He continues saying the most filthy things, all of which you can’t hear as your high topples over. Sending you into a convulsing mess, squirting all over his girth. You beg for his cum in nonsense, twitching under his final thrusts, as your legs nearly go numb.
Chris pulls out, takes off the condom. You’re in a daze as he flips you over and shuffles up the bed, fisting his cock inches from your face as your mouth falls open. He curses through clenched teeth, his cum spurts from his bulbous tip and covers your face. Some white strands land on your tongue, but most coat your heated skin.
“How about a picture? Smile for the camera, angel.”
Still coming down from your high, you close your eyes, smiling with your tongue out to show the cum.
“How about a little video?”
“Please, daddy.”
Chris smirks, aiming the phone on your pretty face, and rubs his cock on your tongue, tracing the sensitive head through his seed before slapping your cheeks with it. Getting you all messy. He smears it over your lips, growling when you sneakily suckle on the tip.
He grips his cock, jerking it slowly. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Daddy’s angel, spread open, your face covered in cum.”
You hum, swirling your tongue around the head. “Yes, daddy. I’m your little cumslut.” You look directly in the camera and replace his hand. Your fingertips don’t meet, his thick girth makes your pussy throb. You spit over the tip and suck his balls, moaning as you taste yourself. You wanted him again and again until you couldn’t walk.
“Mhm. How about that special gift, baby? Have you thought of anything yet?”
You glance at the clock, then meet his eyes. “Can I ride you, daddy?”
As you get into the car, Natasha throws over your bikini bottoms, “You can thank me with a night out, full of dancing and lots of drinks that you’ll be paying for.”
Mortified, you tuck it into your bag. Glancing at the driver as he faces forward, before you turn back to the house. Your father and Carol wave happily, arms hooked as they send you both off. Your eyes fall behind them where Chris stands, his shorts hanging low, plaid shirt half-buttoned and exposing his chest, a few marks scattered along his abdomen. Shameless, devilishly handsome, and smug as hell—practically emitting pride.
As he should, he just fucked you until you passed out. Then, your father started searching the house, calling your name. After a halfhearted excuse that you had taken a nap, you rushed to your bedroom, quickly hopping in the shower before finishing packing your clothes, most of which you didn’t even wear. But you liked to have options, there was nothing wrong with that.
On the way back, you post a new video. Raw footage of you fingering yourself in the little cabin on the train, covering your mouth with one hand while the other works at your creamy hole. A payment comes in from Chris after that.
New notification! 81Robert sent $50.00
81Robert: I should’ve just cum in you.
You text him back:
I told you, daddy. Won’t you give me what I want next time?
Chris: Anything for you, baby. Have a safe trip back.
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When you arrive at your building, you’re almost a walking zombie. Half delirious at the hands of a clearly talented man, and half asleep from the nap you took in the Uber ride back. Natasha was already at home, having been dropped off before you since you both carpooled. As the bell rings and you step out of the elevator, a loud crash makes you jump a foot in the air.
“Shit!”
You walk around the corner, following the loud curses as they bring you closer to your apartment. Your bags drag behind you as your legs slightly tremble.
“Well, there goes the essentials.” The light-haired man is bent over, grey hoodie clinging to his body as he slowly picks up the shattered beer bottles with his bare hands.
“Beer is essential?”
He snorts, “Of course, if you’re looking for a good time—” His words cut as he stands to his full height, his sweater is half-zipped, showing off his tanned skin and built physique, “—unless you’re not into that, then this beer definitely is not mine.”
You giggle and the man smiles widely, holding out a hand, “I’m Colin. I'm moving in.” Looking down, he realizes he was giving you the hand filled with glass, he drops it and wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’ll clean that later but as my mother says, always be a gentleman, so it’s very nice to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle with something you can’t put a finger on, but you brush it off.
Politely, you shake his hand and tell him your name. “I didn’t know we were getting a new neighbour.”
“Well, my friend, your neighbour is slowly but surely moving in with his girlfriend. He still owns the place but is letting me rent it out. I’ve been couch surfing since I cut it off with a chick I was seeing.”
“That’s unfortunate.” You frown, “Can’t be good for your back either.” You glance at the busted box of beer, about half of the bottles remained and the others were split and scattered on the floor.
“Yeah, she was deadweight, thrilled to be done with that.”
You blink at him, before turning to your door to unlock it.
Colin slaps his forehead, “Oh, you were talking about couch surfing—yeah, yeah, I was starting to feel like I’m fifty. Glad to have an actual bed now.” He leans against the wall, “For sleeping, and other things…”
You ignore his last comment and offer to help take care of the mess. After tucking away your bags and between his sly flirting, you and Colin clean the floorboards as best you can, but alas, it’s seeped between the slabs and the hall smells like cleaning products and beer.
You invite Colin in since Wanda is nowhere to be found. As tired as you were, you didn’t want to be alone right now. You and your new neighbour relax on the couch. A random movie playing on the television as you share the last of the beer because according to Colin, it was “a payment for your services.”
Soon enough, an hour goes by while you mindlessly talk and get to know each other, Colin was easy to talk to and you were trying to show some hospitality. Especially since he was going to be right on the other wall of your bedroom, perhaps if you started a friendship, he wouldn’t mind the inevitable loud moans and whimpers.
“Did you live with that girl you were seeing?”
Colin reclines on the couch, his hoodie is fully unzipped now. You can’t help but glance whenever he looks away—god, you were insatiable today. “She was my roommate's sister.”
You wince. “That’s messy.”
His arm swings over the back of the couch as he turns to you, and shrugs. “It’s ironic because he was a slob anyway. I’m relieved to be away from them.”
“Was it a rough breakup?” You ask, feeling more relaxed after every sip, the condensation of the bottle makes your fingers wet.
The television screen highlights his face, his cheekbones looking more defined. “If you could call it that. We were never official. I don’t do relationships.” Colin’s eyes widened, “I mean, I wasn’t into that ‘relationship.’ I do relationships… just not, uh, that one. She was jealous as hell.”
You nod in understanding. Of course, jealousy could be toxic but it could also be extremely hot. The gritty desire and greed, some of your most exciting hookups with Ransom were when one of you was feeling a little green.
“Do you classify watching porn as cheating?” Colin surges up as you choke, he pats your back and looks at you concerned. “Are you okay?”
Setting down the bottle, you nod and wipe your mouth.
He leans back, but leaves his arm around your shoulder, suddenly closer than before. You smell the beer on his breath. “The girl I was seeing caught me watching some but he didn’t dump me right then. She just started acting possessive and annoying. Then, I saw the nursery magazines she left in my bedroom. I had to call that shit off.”
As you process his words and try to figure out how to advise without sounding blatantly judgemental, the front door clicks. It swings open, banging on the wall. Ransom strolls in, arms full of takeout and a discrete black paper bag hanging from his wrist.
Okay, he certainly appears whenever I think of him, it’s happened far too often to be a coincidence.
One of these days, the doorknob will put a hole straight through the wall. And the last time you scolded Ransom about it, he talked about intentionally creating a gloryhole. A true artist always creates—they can’t help it, was the philosophical bullshit he spewed out.
His eyes land on you, then follow up the arm around your shoulders to your neighbour. He kicks the door shut, keeping his gaze trained on the stranger as he locks it. “Who’s that?”
You almost cover your face in embarrassment. With the audacity of this man to waltz into your apartment, and disregard your visitor, you can practically taste the bitterness in his tone. “Hi, Ran. Sure you can come over. This is Colin, my new neighbour.”
“If you didn’t want me to drop by spontaneously—”
“—randomly.”
“—then you shouldn’t have given me a key, darling.”
Colin doesn’t bother to school his expression, the corner of his lip quirks as he recognizes the man begrudgingly talking about the takeout he brought. As you sift through the bags, your mouth already watering, Ransom’s blank stare lands on Colin again.
“Oh! I thought this place closed down?”
“For renovations, baby, they’re open again.” Ransom answers.
You allow the tension to melt away, not wanting to ruin the night, or kick out your neighbour. If Ransom wanted alone time, he could have texted you beforehand, he already blows up your phone as it is. “Colin, do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Sure. It’s not like I have other plans, anyway.”
“Are you sure about that?” Ransom sits on your other side, smoothly wrapping an arm around your waist as you spread out the food.
Colin scans the man’s expensive bracelet and ring, and it only further solidifies his assumptions. That great video playing on the walls of his mind as you plate everyone’s food.
He’d recognize those hands anywhere. They were wrapped around your neck half of the time and spent a great deal inside of you. Those close-ups were fantastic, he came across your Twitter one night and was subscribed to all your socials by three in the morning.
Today just keeps getting better, Colin thinks as he compliments Ransom’s choice of dinner, earning nothing but a lame you’re welcome. Maybe he’s an asshole for being thankful things ended with that chick. Calling it off with her was insanely worth it, because now he was your neighbour.
The world works in magical ways. Not always cruel, or kind, but odd enough to throw curveballs of good fortune when it’s least expected.
Time passes by slowly like molasses. Between Ransom’s backhanded comments directed towards your neighbour, and Colin’s lighthearted, seemingly unaffected replies, you were losing your mind. These two men just met and were already acting like they had some bloodline rivalry—you force yourself to focus on the movie before you.
But Ransom speaks again, “I thought only deadbeat dads moved to these apartments.”
You whip around affronted, face confronted.
Ransom grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles gently. “Not you, baby, of course. You’re too pretty to be a deadbeat.”
“Actually, I’m here to escape a crazy stalker and ex-fling. Got tired of her showing up unannounced.”
You face him, confused, “You didn’t mention that.”
Colin scoots closer, “oh yeah, she dropped by wherever I was crashing for the night. Either starting an argument or wanting to work things out.”
“You should work things out then.” Ransom’s tone is stiff, “Seems like you’re the kind of guy who needs stability.”
“Eh, there was nothing to sort out. No need to waste time or energy.” Colin swiftly replies, “I wish some people would just know when to give up too… You’re throwing away all of this effort fighting what?” He wasn’t even talking to you anymore, his words directed to the man on your other side. “A war that doesn’t exist, seems like a lack of understanding to me.”
Ransom scowls.
You last ten minutes before Ransom and Colin’s passive-aggressiveness gets too much, because the rich playboy on your right decides to add innuendoes—you can’t take it anymore. You head to the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. Leaving the two men alone in your living room, the credits of the movie rolling on the television screen.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sitting on this couch is the closest you’ll ever get to her cunt.”
Colin cackles, head thrown back and hand over his chest. “Oh, god! You’re quite the character.” He raises his eyebrows, “You think I’ll steal your not-girlfriend?”
Ransom rolls his eyes, “She’s my fuck buddy and I’d rather not catch whatever fungus is growing on your balls.”
Colin shrugs, unimpressed. “You know, that video of you both is on Twitter? Like clips of it are posted on a few porn pages—that’s how I found her.”
“You use Twitter for porn?”
“You don’t?” The other man whistles. “Haven’t heard good things about other websites, and I’d rather not support any of that. Contracts, model treatment and salaries, shit like that.”
Ransom is quiet for a few moments, picking at a loose thread on his sweater. “I haven’t watched anyone but her in a long time.”
Colin does an off-stage whisper to no one. “Obsessed much?”
Ransom finds himself rolling his eyes a lot in this idiot’s presence.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding—I think we’re going to be great friends. Especially since you’re here quite often. You’re not bad, Ransom, just an asshole, but hey, aren’t we all?” The brunet goes towards the front door. “Tell angel I’ve got to hit the hay since I work in the morning.” He turns around and stops with one hand on the doorknob. “Oh, and tell her I’ll stop by tomorrow with a bottle of wine. Does she prefer white or red?”
“I’m not telling you.” Ransom feels like a child, grumpy and doing things in spite. His skin nearly turns vibrant green with envy.
“Well I’ll just get both. Maybe a bouquet too, but I doubt you’ll tell me her favourite flowers.”
Seconds later, you come out of the hallway, stopping short and fixing the band of your sweatpants. “Oh, where did Colin go?”
A pout appears on your face as you listen to Ransom, a little dejected that your new neighbour left so suddenly. Although, you could have expected such since you left them alone, what did they talk about? You wonder as Ransom briefly mentions he isn’t Colin’s biggest fan but maybe, this is a big maybe, he’s bearable.
“Well, are you staying?”
Yes, of course, a voice shouts in his head as his eyes fall to the empty bottles on the coffee table. Then, you come into view and start cleaning, gathering all the empty paper plates and napkins. Ransom silently helps, brushing past you in the kitchen as you put away the recycling. Unknowingly filling the silence with your little hums, as Ransom contemplates, just in case Colin comes in again and I need to protect what’s mine—what isn’t mine, he corrects.
Not together, not exclusive.
“Netflix just added this new show and it’s trending everywhere—I was going to binge it if you want to join.”
Ransom washes his hands, then dries them. “I have a work trip tomorrow. I just came here as a sort of goodbye—“
“How long will you be gone?” You sulk, you missed him.
“Either four or seven days, it depends if the deal closes or is denied. But, looking at the recent enthusiasm from the other company, they’re going to accept. So probably a week since Walt isn’t trusted to go alone on business meetings anymore, he got piss drunk last time and embarrassed us.”
You’re seconds away from stomping your foot, and it’s his fault for always giving you want. You were spoiled with his attention. “But, I haven’t seen you in so long.”
Ransom chuckles in amusement.
You cross your arms. “You’re one of my best friends and the best fucks I’ve ever had, is it a crime to want you around?”
“No.” He smirks. “Fine. I’ll say for four episodes. Then I have to go, my flight is at noon.”
“Ugh, what’s the point of having a private jet if you need a specific time to fly.”
“Well, sweetheart, when you’re in the workforce and you have a career to maintain, you have a schedule to keep and meetings have set times—”
“I know how jobs work, you dick! That isn’t what I meant!” You throw a towel at him, that he catches easily and rolls it, quickly swatting your ass.
“You watch that mouth before I put it to good use.”
“Whatever. Now, come to bed and watch with me or leave.” You weakly shove him away as he crowds you against the fridge, wrapping the towel around the back of your neck to pull you closer.
His lips meet yours briefly, a soft kiss that drags into a few pecks. “When will you learn that when you tell me to leave—I’ll never leave?”
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𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: ooo ransom doesn’t know about Chris as of now🌚🌚 hehehe, don’t worry, there won’t be much angst bc we do have a future gangbang. And Colin !! Oh, I have big plans for that man. Next part: CEO!Steve Rogers
As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3
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𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠.
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lil-sweater-slut · 2 years
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gorgeous gorgeous girls love talking to themselves in their room and living out their silly little scenarios until they realise they are exhibiting serious signs of mental illness
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