#he was kind of a nothing character in the first book but I just read the part from his perspective after he meets grace and

[malfoys-demigod]

Big Eyes, Little Lies

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ JOHNNY STORM X READER

summary: Johnny picks up his nephew Franklin from school just once. That’s all it takes. Now he’s suddenly volunteering to pick him up every day. Sue knows something’s up — but Johnny’s not talking. Not until he's got a plan. Warnings: None, just sweet chaos and mutual pining.

a/n: requested by @totaldystopiannerd !! thank you for your request!

this is the prequel to Big Eyes, Little Rings

It started with one favor.

Sue had a meeting downtown. Reed was in his lab, locked in some dimensional whatever. Ben was on asteroid duty. That left Johnny.

“Pick up Franklin at 3. Don’t be late.”“Yeah, yeah, sis, I got it.”

He hadn’t expected anything life-changing. He parked the car (slightly crooked), adjusted his sunglasses, and strode across the parking lot like someone being filmed in slow motion — until he tripped on a sprinkler head.

Kids were spilling out of the classroom, tiny backpacks bouncing, and that’s when he saw her.

You.

Standing by the door in a sunflower-yellow cardigan, kneeling to tie some little girl’s shoe, speaking softly. There was something familiar about the softness of you — like the end of summer, or the first hot cocoa of the year.

Your eyes — God, your eyes — went wide and warm when you looked up and said, “You must be Franklin’s uncle.”

Johnny blinked. Twice. Maybe three times.

“I — Yeah. Yep. That’s me. Flame... Johnny. Just Johnny. I’m Johnny.”

Smooth.

You giggled. Actually giggled. Like a Disney character or someone who made their own granola.

Franklin ran into his legs, breaking the moment. “Uncle Johnny! Can we get donuts?”

“Kid, you can have whatever you want.”

You smiled and handed Johnny a paper folder. “He’s been very curious this week — lots of questions about space. I think someone’s been bragging about his uncle.”

Johnny glanced at you, then the folder, then back at you.

You had those ridiculous, round eyes and this calm, sparkly way of speaking. Like nothing bad ever happened in your world. He didn’t even try to be charming. He just stared at you like a man who had seen the sun for the first time.

When Sue called him that night, she sounded suspicious.

“You picked him up today?”“Sure did.”“...You offered to do it again tomorrow?”“I’m a giver, Sue. A saint.”

By the third pickup, you were expecting him. You greeted Franklin first, always, with the kind of gentle authority that made Johnny consider asking you to organize his schedule.

Then you looked at him, smiled like he was already part of your day, and said something like, “Hi, Johnny,” like it meant something.

Which was insane. Because you didn’t even know him.

Except… maybe you did. You didn’t fawn over him like fans did. You weren’t impressed by his hero status. You just talked to him. About Franklin. About your class. One time you said he had “mischief in his smile,” and he barely survived the moment.

Johnny Storm — chaos incarnate — was melting over a kindergarten teacher.

By week two, he started dressing nicer.

By week three, he learned what time the class went to recess, just so he could “accidentally” show up early.

He brought snacks.

He helped stack tiny chairs.

He took a “volunteer” flyer from the bulletin board and asked you how many hours counted as “a few.”

He told Sue nothing. She was watching him like a hawk.

It wasn’t just the big, soft eyes. (Though God, those eyes…) It was the way you leaned in when kids whispered, like their thoughts were treasures. It was how you made every day sound magical. Like watching the world through glitter and hope.

It made Johnny — a man who flew into battle and called it Tuesday — want to slow down.

Want to stay.

One Thursday, Franklin forgot his lunch, and Johnny offered to drop it off.

“Class is in story time,” you whispered, when you met him outside the door.

Inside, a sea of little heads sat crisscross on the rug while you held an open book.

“Would you like to read the next page?” you asked, voice mischievous.

Johnny froze. “Me? Oh — uh. I don’t really—”

But then you smiled and held out the book. The kids squealed. One asked if Johnny could make fire from his hands.

He read the page. You sat beside him, calm and radiant, like this was exactly what should happen. He smelled your vanilla perfume and forgot the plot halfway through.

After, as you walked him to the door, you said softly, “You’re good with them.”

Johnny snorted. “I barely survived that page.”

You shrugged. “Still. You’re gentler than you let on.”

He stared at you again, all stupid, until a kid asked if he was your boyfriend. Johnny nearly combusted.

You just smiled. “Not yet.”

That night, Sue cornered him. “You’re in love with her.” “I am not.” “You picked up Franklin in a collared shirt, Johnny.” “I can wear collars!” “You ironed it.” “I did not— okay, I might have steamed it—” “You brought cupcakes to the staff lounge!” “Okay, now you’re just making things up.” “Franklin said she has ‘princess eyes.’” Johnny blinked. “That’s… actually very accurate.”

Sue smirked. “Ask her out.”

Johnny hesitated. “What if she says no?” “Then she’s got terrible taste and you move on. But… I don’t think she will.”

He showed up on Friday with a coffee just the way you liked it (you once mentioned it, in passing — he remembered).

You took it with a surprised smile, eyes going even wider than usual. “This is… exactly right.”

“Yeah, I pay attention.”

You looked up at him, gentle and glowing. “I know you do.”

That did it.

“I was wondering,” he began, tugging at the hem of his jacket, “if maybe, sometime when you’re not, you know, herding thirty tiny humans, you might want to… get dinner?”

You tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. A real one. No crayons involved.”

Your smile lit up your whole face. “I’d love to.”

Later that night, Franklin announced to the room:

“Uncle Johnny kissed Miss Y/N’s hand and then walked into the door.”

Sue just laughed and shook her head. “I told you,” she muttered. “Big eyes. Big trouble.”

[anakinmoser]

I had a — luckily — civil discussion with someone on Reddit about this!

It was a rather long conversation so brace yourselves for it:

(Yes, I am one of those people who will repeat again and again their point when they think they're in the right. But I'm also the kind of person that will apologize if someone tells me I was wrong. So I need yall to tell me if I was misreading something, thanks.)

This was the og post:

I'm working on a fanfic for a pretty big fandom, and it involves a major event. My readers have gotten attached to the characters, and the truth is... pretty much everyone will die

I'm genuinely torn about what to do. Should I give a warning in the end notes before that point something like "stop here if you want a happy ending" or should I just let it hit? It wouldn't exactly be a surprise because its pretty much canon, but it is going to be emotionally devastating.

The thing is, I want readers to continue into the sequel, which picks up after the event. But I'm afraid if they will feel sad, and they won't want to keep going. I also don't want to put any additional tags that may spoils things.

Advice is deeply welcomed!

Like to add: Readers will know such and such event will happen anyways. I also already added CCNTUAW from the begining

And this was my first answer:

I'll go against the other comments here.

One thing is if all the characters deaths is a main plot point in the story that sets up something else — namely the sequel.

Another is if it's simply that and nothing more.

I wrote a story character study from the 1st person pov and, had I tagged MCD, I would've spoiled it greatly since my main character is the one of the two who dies in canon. Now, I did turn that story into a trilogy where the MC comes back to life in the sequel, but still, he dies in that one just like he did in canon. I simply decided to use CCNTUAW instead, and warn readers in the tags with ones such as "angst" and "unreliable narrator" (since the whole story took place in main character's head in the seven minutes of brain activity post death).

With all due respect to the readers who don't want to read MCD, ao3 is a place where to read stories. I always interpreted it for that. And, last time I checked, unless we're getting into stuff like Hunting Adeline, when you read a book you don't get trigger warnings at the start. It's the point of reading the story. Getting interested from the summary and deciding to give it a go, whatever happens happens.

That's why, on ao3, there's the CCNTUAW tag, so that authors can tell you "either Main Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage Sex, apply somewhere in the story, do with that information what you prefer."

To which that person said:

I'm a fandom old. I remember the days of click and hope. People started adding tags because the surprise was often unpleasant. Also, the TOS also requires either using the creator chose not to warn or tagging.

Also, fanfiction is not analogous to published original works. First, we go in knowing the characters and world, and second tagging is not only an option but a requirement.

{I'd like to point out the last piece of the sentence: tagging is not only an option but a requirement. When the Terms of Service section II.J point 3 esplicitly states: "Applying a non-specific tag (such as "Not Rated", "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings", or "Unspecified Fandom") is always considered sufficient tagging for that field."}

So I:

I understand where you're coming from, and I agree that tags have a purpose. That's exacly why the CCNTUAW tag exists, to tell the readers to beware for any possibly triggering content, which I see we both agree on.

But people here in the comments are pushing to tag MCD even when it's a major plot twist in the story. Like that, it defeats the whole point of storytelling.

In the case of my story (the example I made before) had I tagged MCD it would have completely unraveled the mistery and tension of it, because readers would've gone in expecting exactly who dies, and how.

I'm not suggesting that people shouldn't use warnings. I'm saying we have a system that already accounts for this, signaling to people that "hey, you may wanna think twice before opening this story", while also preserving the experience for those who have no problem going in blind.

Fanfiction is different from published books.

Absolutely. But that doesn't mean every story has to be tagged to the point of spoilers. Some authors, like me, write for themselves first and want the simple freedom to tell the story as it unfolds, not as a content list.

What's important here is that it doesn't become an obligation to tag your story thoroughly just because some people don't want, or can't, read about certain things.

I totally understand not expecting tags like MCD in, say, a My Little Pony fanfiction. But, when it comes to fandoms like Dexter, I don't think tagging every warning is mandatory as it's already intended that whoever watched the show had the mentality and guts to whitstand all warning present in the site.

Ultimately, readers can make their own choices based on the tags provided. No one is being tricked or harmed when CCNTUAW is used correctly.

They're simply being invited to read with care instead of being told about every major plot point outfront.

TL;DR:

I also understand that what I'm saying might be misinterpreted by some, and I want to clarify that's not my intention at all. This entire comment wasn't about disregarding people's boundaries. It was about simple mutual respect between reader and author.

Readers have tools like CCNTUAW to filter out content they're not comfortable engaging with, and authors are within their rights to use that system when more detailed tags would spoil the story. That balance is already built into A03's system. I'm not saying "don't tag," I'm saying "don't force authors to sacrifice the narrative's integrity just to preempt every possible reaction."

And they:

I mean, I get not wanting to spoil. However, in my mind, because fanfiction is wish fulfilling, both for authors and readers, I feel it's always better to give people the chance to opt out. Especially newer people who don't know what CCNTUAW means. I feel there's a way to tag without spoiling like a tag saying check chapter notes for warnings and then putting warnings on the individual chapters.

And I, again:

I understand what you mean, but I feel like you're not getting my point.

What gives readers a chance to opt out is using the CCNTUAW tag itself. It exists, as I said before, to say "Hey, one of the major warnings apply here, proceed with caution."

That's already a clear and functional way to alert readers of warnings without putting them into the story. It's the exact purpose for which CCNTUAW exists "Use this if warnings may apply but you don't want to use them." (from the AO3 FAQs)

Expecting authors to underline everything in the chapter notes, especially for longer chapters where the warnings could spoil a big twist, undermines the point of storytelling.

I understand that some newer readers may not know what CCNTUAW means right away, but that's the part of being in any fandom space: learning as you go. AO3 has resources, and honestly, a quick search (on either AO3 or Google with Urban Dictionary) would give any new reader the answer in less than five minutes.

We have a system that works, with clearly spelled out warnings, whose meanings are easily accessible to people with a simple search.

I really don't see the necessity in tagging everything.

And them:

We did end up on that moot point (mostly because I was tired of repeating myself and felt like I was talking to a wall so I just dropped it) but I still feel like I was right and they were not actively reading my comments.

I see what you're saying. I think we fundamentally see things differently, and that's okay. For me, I'm not concerned about spoilers, and I'd rather provide extra warning. To use a published work example, the book John Dies at the End literally gives a spoiler in the title, but readers read it anyway to find out how it happens and why. In my experience, most readers, even with a spoiler, will read for the details, so it ends up a moot point.

CCNTUAW exists for a reason. If tagging the Warnings had been a mandatory requirement, that option would've never been created to begin with, you get me?

Let me know if I missed anything or misinterpreted their words cause at this point I think I did but I can't figure out where.

This is a Moving Forward PSA for everyone using AO3. I am witnessing the results of a culture clash and communication failure. Not a lack of communication, but a misunderstanding caused by changes in fandom culture.

Before fic tagging was common, fics weren’t tagged. You had a pairing, if applicable, an author’s note about genre or general content, and if they were feeling charitable, a vague content warning. There are even a few genres of fic where even vaguely tagging literally spoils the plot and impact (such as horror, psyche thriller, in which the likely content is implicit to the genre). As a result, there is a basic category tag that permits this, as a courtesy to “old-fashioned” writers.

“No Archive Warnings Apply” means the fic is PG13 at worst, probably fluff, totally safe.

“Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings” is the polar opposite. It’s a glaring Enter at Your Own Risk billboard. It means: a shitload of warnings apply but I ain’t telling because this story requires shock value. It’s very important to read the author’s notes for those fics because they might be using that older format from above.

But without the context of fandom culture that generated AO3, it’s understandably easy to conflate the two categories, given their similar wording.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Heatwave antidote

Characters : Aizawa/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Sexual intercourse/ Creampie/ Drabble

Masterlist | Second Masterlist | Third Masterlist

You've tried it all already. Ice cream, cold beverages, freezing showers, and even lying on the floor while only wearing one of his t-shirts.. but nothing seems to be working.

Even the air conditioner is blowing warmly now.

You shift your gaze to the side, noticing the way Shouta is just sitting there on the sofa, long luscious hair tied up in a messy bun, bare scarred chest teasing your vision, and simple black shorts reaching his mid thighs.

He looks like a work of art sculpted by the gods, and he doesn't even realize it.

He notices your lingering gaze, and a cool smirk slowly curves up the corner of his lips. He places down the book he's been reading through for the past hour or so, gesturing for you to approach him, "come here," his voice is deep and commanding as he speaks, and you immediately comply, getting off the floor with a slightly annoyed huff, and dragging your feet towards him until you're standing right between his spread legs.

_ "Aren't you bothered by this stupid weather at all?" you ask him with an irritated mumble, striving to ignore the way he's now making a different kind of warmth form in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe it's the unbearable heat, or the fact that it's not affecting him at all, but this is frustrating you to no end.

_ "No not really, I'm fine." he replies in that same deep and unbothered tone, a mischievous glint appears in his visible eye, and before you could come up with a proper response, a gasp escapes your throat instead when he reaches out and pulls you onto his lap.

_ "Hey what the hell?" you whine in protest, placing both hands on his shoulders for support, and shifting slightly so you're now straddling him properly.

His gaze travels down to where you're pressed up to each other, noting the way his shirt on your body has ridden up your waist, leaving you bare and throbbing on top of him.

_ "Would it make you feel any better if I sweated a little?" his eye snaps up again to bore into yours intensely, filled with hidden meanings that you quickly pick up on, especially with the stiffening bulge rubbing your folds through the thin fabric of his shorts.

_ "Yeah, it would make me feel much better." you murmur softly before crashing your lips against his own in a searing kiss, and he wastes no time reciprocating the gesture.

His large calloused hands squeeze your hips tightly while his mouth moves against your own with practiced ease, he nips at your bottom lip and you whimper softly, allowing his tongue to delve in and writhe with your own in a sensual dance.

You're too lost in the sensation, too lost in fact that you fail to notice the strong arm sneaking around your waist to lift you up just enough for the other one to swiftly free his already hard length from its confinement and slam you down on it without warning, "let's get me sweaty princess."

A high pitched squeal tears from your throat at the sudden invasion, but it soon turns into a needy moan when his lips latch onto the soft skin of your neck, kissing sucking biting, just to distract you from the inevitable discomfort of that first thrust.

He keeps you impaled on his thick length while his mouth explores every bit of skin it can reach, and his hands sneak under your shirt to trace and squeeze your heated flesh.

You arch into him, eyes fluttering shut and head leaning back as his stubble tickles your skin and sends arousing tingles up your spine.

Your hips move on their own, shifting slightly on top of him just so you can feel that delicious friction your body is craving.

You can feel his lips curving into an amused smirk against your skin, and his next words send a vibration cursing through your veins, "oh, impatient already are we? Fine, whatever my princess wants, she gets." and with that, his hands slip from under your shirt to tighten around your hips before lifting you up and slamming you back down onto his raging length with a hungry moan leaving you both.

He sets a brutal pace from the get go, bouncing you up and down on him while meeting you halfway with deep, almost brutal thrusts, his mouth carries on marking your skin and soon, your shirt -his shirt- is peeled off your glistening torso and discarded heavens know where.

_ "There, much better." he growls huskily before latching onto one of your teats, sucking and nibbling and eliciting needy whimpers of his name from your parted lips.

His mouth moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment while still bouncing you hard and fast on top of him.

You're close and can feel it, that delicious sensation only he can bring you, it's building up rapidly in the pit of your stomach, and it will only be moments before you finally reach your blissful high.

Your hands move to tangle through the luscious strands of his hair, messing them up and undoing his bun without meaning to, "I'm close, Shouta.. I'm so close!" You whimper breathlessly, your body already tensing.

He lifts his head up, licking his lips and smirking amusedly, his gaze is dark and intense, "go ahead princess, let me see you lose control."

And that's when you do...

You come apart on top of him, body convulsing and eyes rolling back as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

He watches in awe, your orgasm triggers his own, hips stutter and cock pulsates within you as he follows suit, growling almost animalistically while ropes of his hot seed coat your fluttering core.

You slump forward onto his chest, body limp and boneless but fulfilled, and you're almost lost in the moment when his voice comes out deep and gruff, "mission accomplished princess, I'm all sweaty now."

Oh right, the heatwave.. yeah, that's no longer a problem, because you're too satisfied to care about it.

Divider by : @/cafekitsune

[musaa34]

✩“𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 ?“✩

The train had barely left the station, and Y/N had already ditched her friends to hunt for coffee like her life depended on it. The hallway was bustling, students settling into their compartments, and she, still in her skirt and oversized cardigan, barefoot in her slippers, marched with purpose and a sleepy pout.

She passed by a half-open compartment—and paused. Inside, sitting alone, was him. Draco Malfoy. Of course she knew who he was. Everyone did. Though she was surprised by the sight of him alone. He was always with his friends so that made her stop for a moment.

Hair like he was in a shampoo commercial, that annoyingly elegant posture, and a reputation for being exactly the kind of cold she secretly found fascinating. But right now? He was reading.

A real book. Paper. Ink.

That was it—curiosity won. Without thinking (she never does), she slid the door open like it’s her compartment and not his.

“Hi” she smiled politely. He blinked, looked up, visibly confused. Did hogwarts include the attendance service this year ? No way, Dumbledore would sooner pour galleons into castor oil for his beard than spend a knut on this school..

“…Hello?” He said, opening his eyes like a creature got into the compartment.

The ‘why-are-you-here’ practically echoed off the walls. She didn’t even flinch. Just plopped herself down beside him as if they were lifelong train buddies.

Comfortable.

“I’ve read that,” she said, gesturing at his book. “What did you think when the guy tried to—”His hand was suddenly over her mouth. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he said, deadly calm. “Respectfully, please.”

She blinked, her eyes wide…then giggled. Like he was the most adorable little grump she’d ever seen and not like she almost got killed politely.

“Oh my god—I’m sorry! I was gonna spoil it, wasn’t I?” She smiled. “Yes.” He dropped his hand and sighed like he aged ten years. “Tragically.”

She tucked her legs under her, sipping her coffee as if nothing happened. “It’s so good though, right? The pacing in the middle’s a bit slow, but the ending ?-“she caught herself. “I’m not saying anything. Promise.”

He side-eyed her like she was an unpredictable storm cloud made of caffeine and spoilers.

And yet… he shut his book.

Set it down.

That’s when the real chaos began.

She talked.

And talked.

And talked.

About book covers, café aesthetics, the tragedy of fictional men, how she cries over characters but not real people, and whether Hogwarts needed a better espresso machine. Draco just stared for a while a bit stunned also slightly offended.

But maybe..maybe..a little entertained.

“So… who’s your favorite author ?” she asked brightly, chin in her hand. He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t have one. I read what looks interesting. I’m not obsessed with books or anything.” He said by, clearly aiming at her.

She nodded like he hadn’t just committed a crime. “Fair enough. Do you like the one you’re reading, though?”. He smirked, eyes narrowed. “I was enjoying it… until I was ambushed and nearly spoiled in my own train compartment.”

“Fair” she grinned, completely unbothered.

He blinked again.

“…Do I know you?”

She sipped her coffee, smiling innocently. “Nope.”

He stared.

She winked

And for the first time in a while, Draco Malfoy didn’t mind being interrupted. Not if it meant something could make his day interesting like this. Draco blinked, still mildly disoriented by the fact that someone had willingly walked into his quiet space, chattered non-stop, spoiled his book and was now treating him like an old friend she had coffee with every Tuesday.

She was halfway through rambling about another book she loved when he finally interrupted, voice low, a bit cautious:

“…What’s your name ?”

But she was on another planet, a totally different one..“Oh, but before that ! You have to read this one I just finished last week. You’ll adore it. Like—it’s heartbreaking in a good way. You’ll hate me for making you love it. I’ll lend it to you if you want.”

He blinked. “Adore it?”

“I swear,” she insisted, eyes wide with excitement. “Even if you’re not a book guy..which, ew, by the way—you’re going to fall in love with this one. Promise.”

He had never been this aggressively recommended something before. He wasn’t even into books like that..but… she was. And instead of stopping her, he leaned into his palm, eyes trained on her animated face. Her hands moved when she spoke. She had a spark in her eye.

She didn’t just like stories..no..she lived in them.

He didn’t get her name. But suddenly, he really wanted it. Just then, the door slid open with a chaotic clatter. Blaise, Regulus, Theo and Lorenzo strutted in like the train was their runway.

Y/N stood up in a soft little rush. “Oh-sorry!”

In her attempt to step aside, she accidentally stepped on Blaise’s foot.

“OW—” Blaise yelped dramatically, hopping like he’d been hexed. “My foot, woman ! I need that to walk !” He scowled and his expression dropped when he saw her face. Wow

She gasped “Oh my god-I’m so sorry !”

Her cheeks flushed. Not bright red but soft pink, like morning light. Draco sat back, amused now. Regulus raised a brow, Theo just… stared and Lorenzo blinked, clearly trying to figure out if they’d just walked into the middle of a moment.

Y/N smiled politely, the charm still glowing off her without trying. “Have a nice…lecture—I mean, journey !”

She gave them one last smile before slipping out like the scene had never happened, leaving behind the scent of coffee, vanilla, and too many unanswered questions.

The compartment went quiet.

Blaise turned, narrowing his eyes at Draco.

“…Why was that pretty girl sitting here like you two were discussing your wedding playlist?”. Draco just exhaled through his nose, biting his bottom lip, gaze still on the door.

“…I don’t know.”

But he wanted to.

What’s her name ?

[leenloveslotsofthings]

Some people genuinely lose their minds the second Jameson is held accountable. Like clockwork, they get defensive, borderline feral,I wouldn’t even be surprised if they bowed at his feet mid-discussion.

They throw around insults, call people stupid, claim we “lack reading comprehension,” all because we’re not romanticizing harmful behavior? Be serious.

They’re not analyzing — they’re deluding themselves. Justifying every mistake, twisting scenes, rewriting character motives. It’s not critique, it’s coping.

And the worst is the “ooo angry Jameson is so hot” crowd. He wasn’t being edgy. He was breaking down, being shady, out of line, and destructive. That wasn’t attractive. That was alarming.Also I felt so bad for him when Avery got kidnapped so I don’t get why people are romanticizing the scene????

Jameson wasn’t being noble,he was just abusing his power. And I don’t hate him for crashing out. I hate the collective of his actions, even before that moment, and everything that led up to it.

They love to say things like “you assholes Grayson fans criticize Jameson but Grayson-“be so fr???.I’m not being biased for calling out behavior and let’s not act Grayson and Lyra don’t get hate-they get plenty.You just don’t care because it’s not your fave on the receiving end

Also it’s been 7 books I thought in the brothers Hawthorne his ark was kind of complete ??but it seems like Jameson still hasn’t grown out of that behavior,in fact,now it seems like he’s doubled down.

The irony is actually hilarious — they swear Grayson and Lyra fans blindly worship them, but they’re the ones turning a blind eye to their own fave’s faults and attacking us for calmly stating opinions. No personal attacks, just analysis — but apparently, that’s too much for them.

You can present an entire essay with logic and nuance, they’ll start acting like toxic boy moms and they’ll still say “My baby Jameson did nothing wrong idc you slow idiot .” Like… okay?

grow a backbone. Not everyone’s going to praise your fave 24/7. Learn to handle disagreement without spiraling.

All of this is fiction.if your first instinct when someone critiques a fictional character is to throw around insults and tantrums online,that’s not fandom passion that’s emotional immaturity.No one is coming for you,no one is putting your name in bold-it’s a character.The fact that you’re spiraling over basic accountability in a made-up universe is embarrassing.Go write a diary entry,light a candle,and remember to breath.

I really which I could say all of that to people on Pinterest and TikTok.

[yarrowleef-babbles]

been hearing rumors that the "i'm always straight" lines may have been cut from the GN and IF that is true, I expect everyone will be super mad about that--and ngl i'd mourn the loss of it too because it has become iconic to me

But. i can't believe i'm playing devils advocate for this, BUT it is not entirely unreasonable for an adaptation of this work to decide it does not want to reference Ronan's sexuality yet......coming to terms with his sexuality is (one) part of his arc in the 2nd book. Adam Parrish being ~the 2nd secret he doesn't want to admit to himself~ , Ronan's catholic guilt homoerotic nightmares and the like, all characterize his sexuality as something he might vaguely be aware of but seriously struggles to openly admit. I don't think he even uses the word gay or any other word to describe himself in the whole series? (unless I'm forgetting something?)

So, idk, it's not unreasonable to want the (hypothetical) audience to also not be aware of it until Ronan is forced to directly grapple with his identity next book.

i think this is one of those things that has become very dear to the fandom over time, but if i look at it objectively without my feelings, i just.....i do understand why someone could conceivably decide that this off-handed bitchy "he's gay btw" joke is not of dire importance for the sanctity of the story 😭 in the 'pros don't outweigh the cons' sort of way....

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[frobby]

i love madoka magica however i dont think we as a fandom talk enough about how tragic madoka herself is. probably because the narrative itself steers you away from thinking about her personally. shes not a character shes a desire that homura has, shes a force of good, shes homura's foil. but those are all madoka's narrative roles but madoka herself as a person is not really looked at because we are viewing this world from an unreliable narrator(homura) who only sees madoka as those things. The best thing homura could have done for madoka was give up on her, to let her go. because every time we go back in time the image of madoka is distorted, she loses more of herself every regression of homura's as she tries harder and harder to save her. We don't even know what madoka originally wished for to become a magical girl in the original timeline. and she actually acts quite differently than the madoka we meet. shes a lot more honest and caring and bold. by the time homura's has reached the actual anime madoka has been reduced by the sands of time to a figment of herself. she has no wants or desires of her own beyond wanting to do good and help her friends and when all her humanity is stripped away is when she finally acends to godhood because thats all thats left of her. an ideal and a faith in her. madoka kaname died a long time ago and all that is left is her ghost.

[gunpowder-gemini]

Controversial statement since I know it's super popular (at least on booktok for whatever that's worth) but I finished Acotar and it was mid

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Idia Shroud

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Idia Shroud x Reader 💀🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda)

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Idia’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 4.930 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 💀

Dating in a Dream: (Idia) / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / Ruggie / Leona / Deuce / ...

Idia had just finished playing with Muscle Red when the sound of a request from Ortho to make a video call started playing. Even though he finds it strange that he is calling him through Gloomurai's account, he answers anyway. However, he is surprised to see that it is not Royal Sword Academy Ortho, but a humanoid that looks like him.

“Bwha?! *sputter* What's going on, Ortho?! This is the first I've heard from you having an interest in cosplay!”

Ortho wants to try to wake Idia up in a gentle way and to do so he mixes the reality of being a humanoid created by Idia with the act of being any entity or something trying to convince him that he is ‘the chosen one’ to save the world. But Idia keeps finding excuses for it, like it being some kind of prank or something, and he laugh it off. But eventually, continuing with that act, Ortho gets the reaction he predicted from Idia.

“A handsome young humanoid is asking me for help from inside my computer?! I've read literally 500 million light novels with this exact premise! Is it finally time for me to be the chosen one?!”

Ortho almost starts to laugh, but holds himself back.

“That's right, Idia. The time has come. Awaken... from this dream!”

“Dream? ...Hrk?!”

The dream begins to distort and Idia's head starts to hurt. He begins to remember that Ortho didn't grow up and enter Royal Sword Academy, he was a humanoid who attended Night Raven College with him. But it’s at that moment that his phone starts ringing with an incoming call from Ortho.

“Idy! (Nii-chan!) Don't let him fool you! That robo-Ortho is nothing but an impostor!”

“An impostor?” However, Idia continues to have visions of memories of reality. “Gah... What are... all these strange memories?!”

"That impostor's trying to brainwash you!” The dream Ortho insists. “Don't believe him!"

“I should've expected he'd have something in place for this.” The real Ortho says. “So when they're in danger of waking from their dream, the NPCs try to keep them inside. What a sophisticated autonomous spell. Guess Malleus isn't one of the top five mages in the world for nothing!”

“Stay right there.” The fake Ortho says. “I already called for help! But I'm still coming to save you, Idy (Nii-chan)!” And he hangs up.

“Hmm? Called for help?” The real Ortho questions. “Wait! If the darkness uses the people the dreamer likes to trap them here, then does that mean...?”

The door to Idia's room suddenly opens.

“Idia-senpai!” You enter the room, or rather, a version of yourself that Idia's dream created. And you were wearing Ignihyde's uniform. “Ortho called me... AH! What is that? Is this the impostor?”

“(Y-Y/N)!” Ortho stutters your name. “Wait! Why are you wearing Ignihyde's uniform?”

“Because Grim and I transferred here. Duh~”

“Hm?! And when was that?” Now Ortho was more curious to know more about that than to actually wake up his brother.

“When Idia and I started dating.”

“Wehehehe. And it even came with a bonus kitten.” Idia brags about it. “Best deal, ever. The best thing about being a Housewarden is being able to let them move into my dorm without anyone questioning it.”

“So you'd like them to transfer to Ignihyde? Is it so you don't have to go out to visit them?”

“DING DING DING!” Idia smiles enthusiastically talking about you. “Oh, c'mon, who wouldn't abuse their power to bring their little flower closer to them?”

“Little... Flower?” Ortho says almost astonished. He had never heard Idia speak like that about someone... real, at least.

Idia approaches you, or rather, the dream you, with an extremely confident smile and caresses your face. “My little flower~.” He holds your chin to turn your face towards his. “My little bird~.” he affectionately squeezes both of your cheeks with that hand. “My little nutmeg~”

“Cute aggwession.” Your-darknes-self warns between the lips compressed by the cheeks. Which didn't stop Idia from giving them a quick but strongly affectionate kiss.

‘I knew that Idia had a crush on (Y/N), but I wasn't expecting to see him so happy...’ Ortho thinks. ‘But I have to wake him up regardless!’

“Idia, that is not (Y/N). They are in Ramshackle dorm with Grim. And you never confessed your feelings to them. You barely have the courage to talk to them!”

“What? That's not... Okay, fine, but who doesn't get nervous just thinking about the possibility of being caught looking at their crush, let alone talking to them... Especially after practically kidnapping... Grim... URG!” His head starts to hurt again and the world starts to distort.

“He didn't need to confess to me.” Your-darkness-self said. “I confessed my feelings first.” They hold Idia's face to force him to look at them. “Don't listen to him, senpai~” The room gets darker and black goop starts to flood the room. “You don't need to leave your comfort zone to have me. I can do aaall the work for you... I'll jump into a whirlpool of souls if you need me to...”

Another figure forms from the black goop, a grown Ortho wearing the Royal Sword Academy uniform.

“And here I am too, Idy (Nii-chan). It'll all be okay now.”

“(Y/N)...? Ortho...?”

“Wait a second...” Ortho says. “Idia, does that black goop look like Ortho to you? No! Get away from there! Don't let the goop get you!”

“You don't need to think, Idy (Nii-chan). You're just tired from too much gaming. Get a little sleep.”

Idia begins to close his eyes, giving in.

“I don't think he hears me. Idia, no! IDIA (NII-SAN)!”

But Idia ends up being swallowed by the darkness.

When Idia opens his eyes again it was night and he was in the courtyard, dressed in his ceremonial robe. Malleus appears, also wearing his ceremonial robe, and tells Idia that it is almost time for orientation. Idia finds it strange, but he is almost ready to believe it and follow Malleus, until a ball of light appears in the sky and seems to be heading towards them. Idia panics because he thinks it's a meteorite that's going to destroy them, while Malleus simply wonders what that could be.

It was Ortho in his Cerberus Gear. Idia recognizes the Styx emblem and asks if that is a new powered suit his mom built, but Ortho can't explain anything at that moment because Malleus wants to put an end to that inconvenience and send Idia back into a deep sleep.

Malleus, in his Overblot form, and Ortho fight until the dream begins to shatter around them. Malleus withdraws, as his presence in that situation would no longer be necessary to destroy the little Shroud. In his panic, Idia begins to be swallowed by darkness again. Ortho tries to save him, but their mother's voice can be heard through the radio communicator in Ortho's gear, ordering him to get out of there. Realizing that the person in that suit was Ortho makes Idia's head hurt more and the darkness pulls him in harder. Until he is completely swallowed by that black goop.

After his fight in the underworld, and finally realizing that it was all a dream, everything goes dark again.

Lying down with his eyes still closed, he feels a kiss on his forehead. He begins to open his eyes slowly, as if he had just woken up and sees your face.

“Wakey-wakey~” Your-darkness-self says it in the cutest way you could possibly say it. But quickly, that changes. “Ugh, no, too cutsy. Don't make me do that again.”

“Hmm? What are you doing here?” Idia asks.

“Hum?! You make me be transferred to your dorm as soon as we start dating and you still ask what I'm doing here? What a boyfriend.” Your-darkness-self mocks. “Come on, Mister Housewarden, breakfast is ready.”

“Hum?! You make me breakfast?”

“Did you think I would trust you with that role, Chef Instant Noodles? Of course I am the one making you breakfast, for your sake and mine.”

“Aaaah... yeees, a hot significant other taking care of me... Every otako's dream... Heh... Hee hee... Ehehehehehee!”

“Even though I kind of like your psychopathic laugh, it still worries me. What’s the matter?”

“All those rare drops in my MMO...” Idia explains. “Pulling the triple SSR of my fave... Muscle Red never retiring from gaming, me attending orientation in persons... It was all a dream! Everything from start to finish was what I wished for! Classic otaku fantasy!”

“Huh? Wha? What are you...” Your-darkness-self tries to say, but Idia continued, talking over them.

“And In what world would my little brother EVER attend Royal Sword Academy? He wouldn't go to some bright, wholesome school full of guys so extroverted they make my stomach tie in knots.”

Idia's cell phone starts to vibrate.

“Hee hee... looks like someone got their cue to appear in the shot.” he answers the call with a sinister smile. “Ah... what perfect timing. Vil would be proud of you.”

“Hey... Hum? Vil?”

“Yeah, Vil Schoenheit. You know, the super beauty queen in charge of the Film Research Club. The club Ortho goes to.”

“Hm? What are you talking about? I'm not even in Night Raven College to attend that club. I-”

“No, you're right. You don't. I was talking about the humanoid Ortho, enrolled with me in Night Raven College, the school chock-full of SSR Epic Troublemakers. And then there's Phantom Ortho, down in the dark, gloomy Underworld. These are the only two brothers I have! And you are none of them!”

“What?! Wait, Id-”

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do something I would normally avoid at all costs.” Idia finally looks directly at your-darkness-self again. “Resolve a matter in person.” And then, furious at his cell phone. “And I'll be submitting some very in-depth feedback to your customer support! GOODBYE, SIR.” he smiles in a frighteningly sinister way at your lookalike. “Now... about you...”

“Me? Idy-senpai, please listen to me.”

“Ah-ah-ah, sorry. I'm not into getting called cutesy pet names by anyone who's not a video game or anime character. With one single and unique exception.”

Your-darkness-self smiles seductively.

“Oh, no, no, no, no. Trust me, you have no reason to smile. Quite the opposite.”

“It's that stupid robotic copy of Ortho that's putting these things in your head, isn't it? Don't listen to-!”

Idia takes out his magic pen and makes ropes of black smoke form around Your-darkness-self to tie and gag them. By also trapping their legs, they lost their balance and fell to the ground with muffled complains.

“Hehe, cool trick huh? I've been practicing. This smoke is very useful for bringing things to me when I don't feel like getting up. Let's see if it can do the same with a person.” He make the black smoke take your look-alike to sit on his bed.

“Now I'm sure you're not the real (Y/N). They would never treat Ortho like that.” His sinister smile turns sweet for a moment. “In fact, I'm p. sure they're nicer to Ortho than to any other student.” The smile becomes disturbing again. “And looking at this face, knowing it's an impostor just irritates me more.”

He places his index finger on the impostor's chin to tilt their face slightly and seductively upward. “Using someone's crush as a puppet to manipulate them and get what you want from them. I'm not gonna lie, it's a really good strategy. And the best way to PISS ME OFF!” He aggressively grabs your look-alike's face by the cheeks while his hair turns red as he says this and his expression shows the deepest anger.

But soon after he becomes calmer again, or at least appears to be so, and lets go of your-darkness-self's face.

“Aaahh~ Yeah... It was really good to have (Y/N) with me... they are a quite cute otako fellow... and hot too when they get serious... But because they are such popular fave they deserve to have high standards. And not settle for a guy who barely has the courage to speak to them. They would never agree to do all this awesome things for me out of the blue and just because.”

He was smiling slightly talking about you, but then he gets annoyed again.

“I don't know what kind of otaku you had me for, but don't insult me by thinking that I'm one of those sick losers who wants a partner desperately in love with them simply because they exist. That's not only lame, but creepy as hell. A person who reduces their entire personality to be your significant other? What a turn off. Do you think I only like (Y/N) because they are pretty? Please, it takes a lot more than appearance to make me even remember a person.”

“I don’t know who's showing me this messed-up dream, if it is illusion magic or some evil syndicate's brainwashing headset. But let me tell you, your whole narrative sucks. If I can't have a happy ending, you just hit reset? ‘Yes, please meddle more!’ said literally no one, ever. Regardless of what the outcome is... Whether it counts as a happy ending is for ME to decide!”

He pauses for a moment to look at the terrified face of your look-alike.

“You know, the fact that this is a dream only makes things worse for you.” He says smiling. “‘Cause, you know, I'm a p. reasonable guy. If you were a real person I'd still try to resolve things more peacefully. But since I know you're not...” He violently grabs the thick smoke as if grabbing them by the collar and says with red flame hair “I CAN BURN YOU TO A CRISP! But not with that face...”

He grabs your-darkness-self’s face in a way that covers it with just one hand and starts burning it between muffled screams of pain that began to distort as the figure turned into black goop as well. When that was no longer your face, Idia squeezed it in anger and increased the flames until the figure melted into goop and disappeared into the ground.

Idia takes a moment to take a deep breath.

“You're there right, Ortho?”

“Welcome back, Idia.” Ortho reappears on Idia’s screen.

Idia apologizes for the hurtful things he said to Ortho and talks about how incredible he was in his mission. After a heartwarmingly little chat between brothers, Idia asks what in the world was actually going on?

“I understand everything now.” Idia says after Ortho's explanation. “Or at least, I wish I did. But learning Mom's seen everything on my PC was too of a shock to my system. All I've managed to process other than that is Malleus is some kind of ginormous cheater...?”

“Look, um, it was an emergency. Don't let it get to you, okay?”

“Easy for you to say! She's totally seen THAT now. And THAT... She's seen it all... *shock* She... SHE SAW (Y/N)'S FOLDER! SHE KNOWS ABOUT MY CRUSH!”

While Idia was lamenting about that, Ortho remembered that during one of the conversations with their mother...

“Hmm... Orthy... I really don't want to intrude on Idy's privacy, but... Hmm... does he have any friend at school that he or you never told me about?”

“A friend? I try to help him make friends, but I don't think he's ever considered any Night Raven College student as one. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just... that... that student without magic, (Y/N), I have almost no information about them, but... what do you think of them?”

“(Y/N)? I consider them a good person, especially compared to most Night Raven College students. They are also quite diligence and can be very caring. But why do you... ... Idia has a folder on them, doesn't he?”

“So, you know about Idy's crush?”

“Well, he never admitted it, but... I can read his vital signs when he talks about or is around (Y/N). I also know that he has already made some drawings and sketches of them.”

“Oh, I saw! They are so beaut- Huh, I mean...”

“I like (Y/N).” Ortho said smiling. “Idia once went to play some video-games in their dormitory lounge with some other students. And I can see that he feels very comfortable around them. (Y/N) respects Idia's space and time, but also likes to help me try to get him out of the room. They are very fun and attentive.”

Ortho didn't need to see his mother's face to know she had a huge smile behind her helmet.

“So why must I have my PC's contents laid bare for my mother to see?! It makes no sense...” Idia kept lamenting. “I just took 50 billion points of psychic damage, at least...” He loses strength in his legs and falls to the ground.

“It really was just an unfortunate accident. One nobody could have predicted...” Ortho says. “Don't worry though, Idia. Mom didn't make any comments about anything there...” Just that one small exception that Idia didn't need to know about.

“GAAAH!” he gets up. “Not low-key discretion! That's the LAST thing a young guy wants! If I didn't naturally incinerate blot, I'd absolutely be overblotting right about now!”

Blaming Malleus for this, Idia vowed to take revenge on him.

You, Grim, Silver and Sebek had just arrived at Ignihyde, or rather, Idia's dream, after Ortho had guided you there after leaving Lilia's dream.

Idia appeared and tried to explain a little of what was going on, until he remembered that he had not yet introduced himself to those two students from Diasomnia with whom he barely interacted with.

“I'm Idia Shroud, housewarden of Ignihyde.”

“Oh, of course! No wonder you looked familiar.” Sebek says. “You had a more... tabular form at orientation. This might be the first time I've had a proper look at you in person.”

“Oh, uh... Yeah. In the real world I attended remotely it seems...”

“I am Sebek Zigvolt of Diasomnia Dorm － freshman, class D, seat 33!” He said quite loudly. “And this is Silver. Same dorm, sophomore year! He always has that blank look on his face.”

“Eep! Talk about loud... Thought my eardrums were gonna rupture there. How do Malleus and his dormmates endure this decibel level at close range every day without ear damage...?” Idia says a little lower, while also thinking: ‘I hope (Y/N) didn't go deaf after spending so much time with him.’

“Sorry, Idia.” Silver apologizes. “I'll tell him to be more careful about that. Though I doubt you'd have to worry about ruptured eardrums in reality, considering we're in a dream － ah! Everyone, stay vigilant!” he suddenly shouts. “Idia, Grim, (Y/N)! Get behind me and Sebek!”

When he suddenly pulls you behind him, you lose your balance and end up bumping your back into Idia’s chest. As soon as this happens, the tips of his hair turned slightly pink. But even if he wanted to move away he wouldn't be able to because Sebek quickly joined Silver to cover you all and ended up making you crumpled against each other. Which made Idia get even more flustered.

“Mrah? What's the matter, Silver?” Grim asks trapped between you and him.

“If Idia's woken up from his dream, we should expect darkness to attack and try to pull him into an event deeper sleep.”

As Silver, Grimm, and Sebek talk about the possibility of Malleus appearing there at any moment, the physical pressure between you and Idia begins to increase and making it harder to breathe.

“Hrrrk... Pressure's... too much... can't breathe...!” Idia still tries to use his strength to create more space between you so that you can breathe too. The pink in his hair ends up disappearing as he is suffocating.

“Not to rain on your parade, but...” A familiar voice said. “We won't actually have to worry about Malleus Draconia or that black goop for a while.”

Ortho reveals himself and explains how they are safe in that dream. He also explains that he disappeared after guiding you there because he cannot appear in his normal form in Idia's dream because it triggers a critical error.

“So, I'll be sticking to a monitor display. Also... Idia's turning pale from oxygen deprivation. Could you please give him some room to breathe?”

Silver and Sebek walked away apologizing and Idia took a deep breath as if he had finally emerged from underwater.

“Whew, I almost set out on a journey to the Underworld... Thanks for the save, Ortho...”

Finally, it was time for Ortho to explain everything that had happened up until that moment. He and Idia tell you about his dream, but obviously hiding the part about your look-alike.

“So, uh... While you guys were chatting it up in Lilia's dream...” Idia says after Ortho said that they would need your help. “I was doing some brainstorming of my own. I've come up with a plan to escape this dream world － or rather, to do something about Malleus.”

“Operation Make Malleus Ugly Cry and Beg for Forgiveness?” You ask.

“Y-yeah, there you go.. Hee. Heehee.”

It may be a small detail that those who don't know Idia might not notice, but being able to understand him and his humor is a huge green flag. And Ortho knows this.

“Anyway, I threw together a video to go over the plan. Would you mind watching it?”

After they showed you the video and explained the plan, Sebek was ready to move on to the next dream. Until Idia warned that it would be a good idea for you to change your clothes so that when you enter your next dreams, the shock of wearing unfamiliar clothes would not be so great for the dreamer as to activate the defenses of Malleus’s spell. But since none of you can do it by yourselves, he installs an outfit-changing spell in your magestones.

“Here, lemme see your magical pens. Oh wait, you don't have one, do you, (Y/N)? Okay, I'll insert a chip with a technomantic program in your phone...”

While he was installing the ship he accidentally pressed one of the side buttons and your locked screen image appeared. It was the exact same image that Idia had on his tablet.

“HUH?! W-why do you have my voice call image as your background?!” Idia asks, surprised.

“Oh! Did I never tell you?” Ortho says. “Give me a second.” A sort of scanning sound is heard, as if he was looking for something in his memory files. “One result found.” he said in his robotic voice before speaking normally again. “The first time I was going to tell you, you were busy playing, so I ended up not doing it. I was talking to (Y/N) once and they said they thought your tablet’s image was cool. I asked them if they wanted a copy of the image for their phone and they said yes. That was a long time ago, though. It's good to know you still have it, (Y/N).”

“Y-you think it is cool?... I-In that case, I can customize an image for you.” Idia started talking excitedly. “I can make a version with a different color, it can even be pink if you want.” The more excited he got about it, the more confident he became and the faster he spoke. “And I can change the eyes too, I can turn them around and make them look like they’re smiling, or I can just rotate them a little bit like they're half-closed, like in an cool annoyed way.”

“Focus on the task!” Grim complained. “Don't you want us to change our clothes?”

“Uh-uh... Y-yeah... S-sorry, I’m on it.” He gets a little shy again.

If you tell him that you accept the offer and that you can talk about it later when that whole dream thing is sorted out, he'll give you that sweet little smile of his.

“There, installation complete.”

“Here you go, everyone!” Ortho says. “You can have your magical pens and smartphone back.”

“Hm? You said you installed something in my magical pen, but it seems no different to me.” Sebek comments.

“Each of you, face your implement of choice...” Idia explains. “And say: 'DREAMY MAGICAL MAKEOVER!'”

“WHAT?! What is this bizarre spell?!”

“You gotta say a cool catchphrase when you change outfits.” Idia smiles amusedly. “That's a staple of transformation scenes in children's anime. That was a joke, for the record. Or at least, half a joke... Thing is, spells should ideally specific phrases to avoid setting them off by accident. And I did make this for the benefit of a bunch of sprouts who can't even do basic outfit changes on their own. I'm busy enough with dev work as it is. So get on with it!”

Regardless of how you say it, Idia will secretly find it very cute, but if you say it shyly he will find it even cuter.

“You want me to save the video of this to share with you later, don't you?” Ortho discreetly asks his brother who confirms.

A screen appears in front of each of you with clothing options: School Uniform, PE Uniform, Labwear, Ceremonial Robes and Dorm Uniform. Ortho tells you to try tapping the outfit you'd like to wear.

You start by trying on the ceremonial robes or the labwear, but you wonder what would happen if you tapped the Dorm Uniform option, because Ramshackle doesn't have a Dorm Uniform.

“Maybe it was a default error.” Idia assumes. “Either nothing happens or there might be some weird glitch... or...”

“AAAH! WAIT!” Ortho and Idia say worriedly in unison after thinking of another possible outcome.

But it was too late and you had already pressed the button to find out. The clothes you had on... transform into the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“It's random...” The brothers sighed in relief.

“What's wrong?” Silver asks. “Could something dangerous have happened?”

“N-no, just... d-don't worry about it... p-programming stuff.” Idia responds, trying to hide the embarrassment with a smile.

You tap it again and the uniform changes to the Heartslabyul one. Meanwhile, the others also tried their own menus to change clothes and Grim insisted that he also wanted to do that.

“Not like you really need it, Grim...” Idia says. “But I guess I could set it up for you as well.”

“Really?! Gimme, gimme!”

If you thank Idia for doing that for Grim, he will say it's no big deal with a mix of smugness and flusteredness.

While Grim is also having fun changing clothes, you tap the Dorm Uniform option once again and your Heartslabyul’s Dorm Uniform changes to... Ignihyde's. This surprises Idia who immediately sets his sights on you.

“(Y/N). look! All I gotta do is push a button, and I can change into all sortsa outfits!” Grim was changing outfits too quickly.

“Don't forget, Grim, these tools are strictly to assist the user.” Ortho warns him. “The magic for those outfit changes is still drawn from the one casting the spell. And (Y/N), you probably shouldn't go overboard with the smartphone tool either. But before you change your outfit again, can I ask you for something?”

You nod.

“Will you let me take a picture of you with Idia in your Ignihyde uniforms?” He asks in the most cutely convincing way.

Idia even takes a little jump in place, surpriced by that request as well. And he only gets even more flustered when you accept. He would be against that if it weren't for you.

“You two can be such normie sometimes.” Idia says with a shy smile.

You get closer to him and the tips of his hair turn a little pink again. And as soon as Ortho said he was going to take the picture, Grim says he wants to be in it too and jumps into your arms.

“It's funny.” You point. “Grim matches the uniforms.” You lift him up a little. “And your hair.”

Ortho laughs with you and Idia smiles amusedly too, while looking at you foundly.

“Aw, you should be in the picture too, Ortho.” You say.

“Don't worry, I can put myself in the picture through editing.”

“In that case, let's pose as if you were here too. This will make it look more natural when editing.”

Ortho is very happy with your idea and tells you that he will stand on the other side of his brother. He takes a picture of you next to Idia and holding Grim between the two of you.

“If at any point (Y/N) presses the button again and Diasomnia's uniform appears I can take another picture of (Y/N) with you two, Silver and Sebek Zigvolt, if you want.” Ortho suggests, to divert any suspicion from him and Idia.

“I think Lilia and Malleus would also like to see that too.” Silver says in a chuckle,and smiled slightly.

“I recommend setting your default to the Night Raven College uniform.” Idia returns to the main topic. “That one can cover most situations you'll be in.”

You all change into that uniform and were ready to move on to the next dream. After you leave with Ortho, part of his consciousness returns to Idia’s side to ask him something.

“If (Y/N) asks me for a copy of the photo... do you want me to edit your hair to remove the pink ends? Heh heh heh.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[saintobio]

RIDE OR DIE .ᐟ

in a world where horsepower meets heartstrings, and bookstore meet-cutes lead to motorcycle mishaps, you soon realize that opposites do attract in ways that blur the line between fiction and reality.

▞▞ PAIRINGS. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

▞▞ GENRE. fluff, smut, established relationship, biker boy x book girl au, 18+

▞▞ TAGS. biker!kuna, backpack!reader, profanity, reckless driving, mentions of violence (not to reader), bruises, police, fellatio, cunnilingus, protected, explicit smut, sukuna being a cute bf

▞▞ NOTES. 8.3k word count. my biker!kuna fics are unstoppable atp 😮‍💨 and as an irl writer gf to a biker bf, this is a very self-indulgent fic. got lazy with the smut so i copied bits from my other gojo oneshot. reblogs are highly appreciated <3

▞▞ INSPOS. my fav biker boys on biketok: that10r, dylan.r.one, raven.coop, onyx_r7, senor_torque, blacchornets, aushendrivessafe, tiiidddooo, bongo & takaro 🖤🏍️💨

After dating you for six months, Sukuna realized that nothing in the world could capture your attention like your cherished collection of fictional books—except, of course, him. But before he entered the picture, you were always immersed in solitary bliss at the cafe or library, lost in the intricate worlds of your latest literary fascination to the point where it was almost impossible to pull you out of it. 

Yet, it became an unspoken understanding between you both; he respected your need for uninterrupted reading time, allowing you to lose yourself in stories populated by your favorite characters, while in return, you supported his desire for a thrilling experience of riding his bike despite the inherent risks that came with it. 

He vividly remembered the first time he saw you while riding his bike through the city. You were crossing the street then, carrying a bag of books you had just bought from Barnes & Noble, and the sight of you in a cute sundress had him completely distracted from the road. So in an attempt to catch your attention, he revved his bike to ‘flex’. But in his effort to impress, he missed the red light and had to brake abruptly, causing him to lose control and drop his bike to the ground. 

That was the very first time he had ever dropped his precious R1 after a year of riding it. If it had been his old R7, he wouldn’t have cared as much, but his R1—his expensive, still-on-the-loan, matte black, fully customized R1—hit the pavement along with him. For bikers, these kinds of things hurt.

Now, talk about embarrassing. You even stopped to look at him in concern that day and if only you could see his blushing face behind his helmet. But at least, looking back at your meet-cute, he could tell you that he did, in fact, fall for you. Literally.

And there can’t be anything truer than that.

“Aww, she’s cute,” Choso remarked, gesturing his chin towards you with a teasing grin as they dismounted their bikes at the parking lot. You were there sitting in a cafe with a book on your lap, unaware that you were being conversed about by these two men right outside.

Sukuna jabbed him on the side and motioned for him to stop staring. “Fuck off. She’s mine.”

As Choso lifted his helmet, a group of girls outside the cafe couldn’t help but swoon over the two bikers, whispering and commenting on how hot and attractive they looked. And being the fucker that he was, completely absorbed in the attention from the girls, Choso had momentarily forgotten about Sukuna as he swaggered towards them with a confident smirk, glancing back at his friend and playfully raising his eyebrows.

“You go ahead. I’ll go check out the scenery,” Choso said in his usual mischief, “Unless you want to join me?”

Sukuna, still sporting his helmet, smugly showed him a picture of you as his phone’s home screen. “Sorry, already got my hands full with my princess.”

“Whatever. Tell Y/N I said hi,” Choso replied with a chuckle, before turning his attention back to the admiring group of girls.

You sat in your customary corner of the cafe, near the window, with a barely touched cup of coffee before you. Your attention was still and all riveted to the pages of your current book, remaining oblivious to the world around you as it looked like you were just getting to the good part of the storyline. Sukuna decided it would be a charming surprise to approach you as he entered the cafe, his arrival catching the eye of another group of girls who noticed him immediately, but he ignored their glances when he made his way towards your small area.

In his usual black leather jacket, Sukuna pulled a chair backward and straddled it, casually resting his arms on the backrest. With both legs on either side, he settled in, observing you intently behind his black helmet. A faint smirk played on his lips as he quietly watched you absorbed in your reading, and for now, he said nothing and enjoyed the moment silently.

He gave it a minute or so for you to realize. 

5… 4… 3… 2… “L-Lovey?” By the time you finally noticed his presence, you saw your widened eyes at his reflective visor when you looked up at him. 

“Hey, baby girl.” Sukuna pushed the button to lift his visor, revealing his narrow eyes that were locked onto yours. He had that boyish grin sitting handsomely on his lips.

As for you, you looked like you were blushing. That, or perhaps there was some sort of fluttering happening inside your heart at the unexpected sight of him. It was probably taking you a moment to separate fiction from reality, because not long ago, you were too fixated on the fictional boy written on the pages of your book. Now, your very real and actual boyfriend was here. For you. “Um… How long have you been there?”

“Not that long,” he assured in his usual low, velvet voice. “I just arrived, actually. Didn’t wanna disturb my baby.”

Your curious eyes fell on the red tribal decals on his black Nexx SX100r helmet, reminding you of the same face tattoo designs he had mentioned wanting to get, but you were refusing to let him have. “New helmet?”

Sukuna nodded, smirking as he tapped the headgear with his gloved hand. “Yeah, you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “It’s very you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

You glanced at his sleek black Yamaha R1 outside the window and immediately closed your chosen book for the day. “Okay, well…” You met his gaze again. “I have backpack duties today, don’t I?”

He was quick to dismiss it. “No, no. You can finish reading. I don’t mind just sittin’ here and watching you for a while.”

But, being the stubborn girl you were, you were already packing your book into your bag. You didn’t even listen to a word he said. “Did you bring my helmet?”

“‘Course, princess. Your helmet’s right there strapped onto the backseat.” Your boyfriend leaned in closer and pointed to his sportbike. Just as he took your bag from you, his eyes lingered on your lips for a moment. “So, you’re gonna be my pretty little backpack today?”

You mustn’t have realized it, but the two of you had become the subject of envious stares in the cafe. Most of the girls who looked your way were clearly jealous. Yet your cute, clueless self didn’t even seem to notice as you clung to his arm. “Yes, lovey. I miss being your backpack.” 

Did you know? Sukuna always melted from your enthusiasm. And he couldn’t even resist pinching your cheeks. “Alright, then.” His hand moved to squeeze your nose. “I'll be your personal chauffeur, and you’ll be my cute little backpack who’s clinging tightly to me the whole time. Sounds good?”

“Yessir,” you answered with a playful salute. 

“Good girl.” He then took your hand in his, leading you out of the cafe and onto the parking lot when he all of a sudden felt a tug on his arm. 

You had a visible pout displayed. “Lovey, wait!” 

“What is it, baby?” The question came out of him softly, tilting his head when he looked at you. 

“My kiss,” you said sweetly, making Sukuna feel like Cupid shot an arrow to his heart. “You forgot.”

How can one person be so unbelievably adorable? Just how? How on Earth did he land the cutest girl on the planet? The cuteness aggression was certainly urging him to fall on his knees right now. With the weakness he tried to restrain inside, he was trying his hardest to laugh it off on the outside. “Oh damn, you’re right.” He pulled his helmet up, leaning in forward to place a warm, tender kiss on your soft lips. He could hear the hearts of the surrounding girls breaking at the sight. “Can’t believe I forgot to give my baby the most important item of the day.” 

Satisfied with the kiss, you followed your tattooed boyfriend like a shadow to meet his bike, ‘Fury’, as he affectionately named it. The sportbike rocked a midnight black wrap and the cool customizations he added made it a standout even more. Of course, what kind of person would think Sukuna would stick with a boring base design? One of the best things about his R1 was its front light, infamous in the bike community, as it resembled a menacing face that added to its aggressive allure. It was also equipped with a powerful 998cc inline-four engine, leaving no questions why ‘Fury’ roared with a throaty exhaust note that echoed through the streets. Sukuna chuckled inwardly at the thought. He hoped you wouldn’t mind, but this big bad boy would have been the love of his life if you hadn’t come along. 

“Love, I was thinking,” you interrupted his trance as he slipped the smaller helmet over your head, deftly securing the straps under your chin, “Do you think we can swing by the bookstore on the way?”

His lips curved into a smile. “Sure, we can. You wanna pick up more books to read?”

“I do,” you confirmed, yet hesitated at the end of your tone. “Well, there’s this book I wanna read, but… it has eighteen plus stuff.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow in intrigue, his visor still up as he effortlessly lifted you onto the back of his bike with one arm. “Oh, so it’s a spicy book, huh?” he teased, recalling the discussions he had seen on ‘biketok’ where he went by the username r1.skn. His TikTok account was an unexpected blend of motorcycle enthusiasts and book lovers, and that unique intersection of interests amused him endlessly. “Think my followers would love to know what my backpack’s gonna read next.” 

Even with your helmet on, he could sense the shy smile behind it. “No, please don’t film our ride today!”

“Hmm… What kind of spicy book are we talking about, baby?” he asked, settling onto his bike and revving the engine. When your arms were securely wrapped around his torso, he took that as a go signal to hold the throttle and smoothly shift from first to second gear. “Is it very naughty?”

You hugged him tightly from behind. “Um, it’s about this biker guy and a bookish girl,” you introduced the plot coyly, “And yes, it has some steamy scenes.”

He glanced at you through the bike’s mirror, ensuring that you were safe and secured behind him. Sukuna then shifted into third gear as you entered an empty road, gradually picking up speed. The roar of his bike was louder than his voice. “Really? I bet the biker guy is a dominant one.”

“Yeah.” Your grip tightened on his compression shirt, almost as if you were trying to feel his abs through the fabric. “He’s got tattoos, too.”

What a tease. “You better picture me as that biker guy when you read that book, princess,” he playfully warned, “You’re mine, both in real life and in your fantasies.”

“Yes, but my lovey is hotter.” 

“Good response, baby. You have taste.” 

As you reached the stoplight in the city intersection, Sukuna slowed down and adjusted the small camera mounted on his bike to make sure it still had the perfect angle of you two. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he now had evidence of how touchy his cute, little backpack could get. You sensed him filming your interaction, but instead of pulling your hand away, you leaned further against his back and playfully touched his toned chest. He was surprised and amused at the action, gently pulling your hand down when your silly hands squeezed his chest, but you remained undeterred by placing them near his crotch the next. Your boyfriend hoped to God that none of the surrounding cars were recording you two for your affectionate display in the middle of the traffic. 

“Brat,” he teased back with a shake of his head. “A brat who always gets what she wants, especially in bed.”

Your whine followed, along with a light slap on his arm. “Hey!” 

Why was this red light taking too long? He was getting all bricked up the more he could feel your tits pressing against his back. Although, he considered it a blessing and curse, because the only distraction that was served to you two was when another bike pulled up ahead of cars lined up behind you. It was a white Kawasaki ZX-10R. And its owner? A jerk who had a clear death wish. 

“Hey there, sexy,” catcalled the rider of the 10R, stopping exactly where he could see your rear. “Cute helmet.” 

Sukuna knew you well enough to know that you were offering an uncomfortable, yet polite smile underneath the helmet. But it was the tug at your boyfriend’s shirt that made him glance over the biker with a hint of warning in his eyes. “What’d you say?” His voice carried a menacing edge. While he hadn’t been in a brawl in a while, he definitely didn’t mind the idea of one now. “Back off my girl or I’ll smash your head on the ground.” 

The ZX-10R rider chuckled, hands in the air like an idiot. “Alright, man. No harm meant.” 

“Shut it.” 

“Okay, jeez! How about a little race to settle things? See who’s got the faster ride?”

Sukuna scoffed, finding it hard to believe that a random guy, especially an obvious amateur, had the audacity to challenge him to a race. Didn’t he know? Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t nicknamed the King of the Streets for nothing. He had been riding motorcycles for twelve years now, starting with a modest 300cc and graduating to his current 1000cc superbike. His riding experience was unmatched. He also knew every biker in the area as it was his turf. Yet this ZX-10R rider had appeared out of nowhere with such laughable confidence. 

Thanks to him, your boyfriend’s competitive spirit was ignited. “You’re on.”

“Cool,” the other biker replied.

Meanwhile, you tensed behind Sukuna and gripped his shirt tighter than before. “Love, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He turned his head, gently held the top of your head, and gave you a sweet ‘helmet kiss’. “I’ll keep you safe,” he reassured, “Just hold on tight for me, okay?”

As soon as the light turned green, best believe the street became a racetrack. All the cars were left behind to dust with the roar of motorcycles as both bikers increased their speed, side by side, in a fierce race. Sukuna shifted into third gear as he passed the next intersection, then into fourth gear when the ZX-10R caught up to him. He could feel your hold around him tightening more than ever as the rush of the wind blew through your helmet’s visor.

He thought you might hate it, but you were surprisingly loving the thrill of the scene. 

“Go, baby!” you cheered, holding onto him for dear life. Cute. 

“Not bad, man!” the other biker shouted over the wind, pulling ahead slightly at Sukuna’s moment of distraction. “But try harder!”

Tch. Sukuna gritted his teeth and focused all his senses on the road ahead. He weaved through traffic, maneuvering his bike skillfully and taking advantage of every opportunity to gain ground. In no time, he caught up with the ZX-10R rider, and they soon raced neck and neck. They exchanged glances as they sped between cars, with the other vehicles blurring around them in motion. The thrill of the competition fueled their adrenaline, while you, as the passenger, felt your heart pounding with excitement.

Both bikes continued to zoom down the road. And it was also during that time when Sukuna locked his mind and body into analyzing the situation. Let’s see, he thought, should I push Fury to its limits?

He calculated his next move, feeling the strong breeze on his face and the vibrations of the powerful engine beneath him. The ZX-10R rider was good, but Sukuna knew he had the skills and the bike to outpace him. He just needed to time it right. Between a ZX-10R and an R1, a quick Google search would tell you that the 10R pulls faster than an R1 engine wise. While both bikes were top-tier, high performance vehicles with a 200 horsepower and a top speed exceeding 180mph, the 10R’s disadvantage is being 7 kg heavier, which instantly gave Sukuna an edge in this situation. Being the lighter bike between the two would certainly make him marginally better at handling and acceleration. 

With that, your boyfriend capitalized on his bike’s strengths and shifted into sixth gear at the next intersection, surging ahead and crossing the finish line just as the ZX-10R was left stuck at the last stoplight.

Sweet, sweet victory. Sukuna sped onto the freeway, shouting triumphantly into the air. “Woohoo!” He could feel the jolt of adrenaline satiating his need for a thrilling ride. 

“B-Babe.” You, on the other hand, tugged at his shirt in worry. “Babe, we’re going too fast. The cops—!”

The sound of the siren snapped Sukuna back to reality in an instant. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, frustrated by the abrupt interruption. “Can’t even have a minute to celebrate my win.” 

While he could have engaged in a high-speed freeway chase if he wanted to, especially having already escaped the police once, having you with him now made him opt for better judgment. His promise to keep you safe was his foremost priority here. So, swallowing his pride with a tightened jaw, he slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road as the police car trailed behind.

The officer swiftly exited his vehicle and approached you two. “Evening, folks,” the stern voice of the elderly officer broke the tension. “License and registration, please.”

Sukuna retrieved his wallet and handed over his license and registration, then turned to you, placing a protective hand on your thigh. He could tell his poor little backpack was feeling anxious. 

The cop then glanced between you and Sukuna, his gaze lingering on you with concern. “Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, his focus more on your well-being than on the biker himself.

You nodded, trying to appear composed despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Yes, officer. I’m fine.”

The officer soon directed his attention to the R1. “What’s the fastest you’ve been on this thing?”

Sukuna couldn’t resist a cheeky reply. “Speed limit.”

“Very funny,” said the unamused officer, who retreated to his vehicle to run Sukuna’s information while leaving you and your boyfriend to exchange glances once more.

His expression softened. “Sorry about this, babe. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble.”  

“It’s okay.” You reassured him with a squeeze around his waist. “I trust you.”

Interrupting the tender moment, the officer returned and handed back your boyfriend’s license. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, receiving a shrug in response. A lecture that Sukuna heavily hated soon followed. “You were speeding back there. I clocked you going 20 miles over the limit. It’s always you fellas with the 1000cc bikes who think they’re invincible. Even 600cc guys are scared of the police. You need to slow down, especially with a passenger.”

With your insistent look, Sukuna nodded to the cop, apologetically. “Understood, sir.” 

The officer studied Sukuna for a moment before releasing a sigh. “Look, I get it. It’s a nice night for a ride. Just remember, it’s not just your life on the line. You’ve got someone else to think about.” He pointed at you while handing your boyfriend a ticket. “You’ve gotta take good care of her.” 

Only then did Sukuna’s cold mien soften up with the cop. “I’ll be careful next time, officer.”

“Right. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but I’m writing you a ticket for speeding. Slow down, alright?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The officer returned to his car, and Sukuna pocketed the ticket with a mixture of relief and frustration etched on his face. “We didn’t get to pass by your bookstore,” he lamented, giving you an affectionate caress on the back. “I’m sorry, princess.”

You touched your headgear to his, sharing a helmet kiss. “There’s always next time,” you reassured him with a smile in your voice. “Besides, this is a real-life experience that no book can ever give me.”

~~

By the time you arrived at your apartment, darkness had already settled in, leaving a cozy glow from the distant cityscape as you switched on the lights and placed your helmet on the nearby console table. Immediately, your British shorthair cat dashed toward you with a loud meow, his pretty auburn eyes gleaming with excitement at seeing his mom.

“Hi, Casper,” you cooed at the feline, but his attention swiftly turned when Sukuna entered your apartment a few minutes later—someone he clearly wasn’t fond of.

Upon spotting Sukuna, your cat hissed, expressing his displeasure toward your boyfriend, who playfully stuck his tongue out in response. “I’m back, asshole.”

“Don’t call him that!” You chuckled, attending to Casper by mixing up his food in his bowl. “He’s probably never going to warm up to you at this rate.”

Sukuna smoothly removed his jacket and flopped down on the couch. “Boo! Casper sucks,” he hooted, cupping his hands around his mouth, “He’s just jealous because you love me more.”

It had been a while since Casper had seen Sukuna since you were the one coming over at his place more often. Still, the cat’s disdain for your boyfriend persisted, and you suspected it was because Casper could detect the scent of Sukuna’s dog, a large Doberman, whenever he was near. You can only imagine how crazy your household would be should you and your boyfriend move in together in the near future. 

For now, his occasional visits sufficed. Although, there were days when his presence in your apartment stirred more thoughts in your mind than just simple cuddles and movie nights. How could you help it? He was oblivious to the thoughts running in your head as he sat lazily on your couch, his legs spread wide, lifting his compression shirt just above his sweaty chest. His toned abs were impossible to ignore, especially as he ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily.

“Babe, it’s so hot,” he said, fanning his face, completely unaware of the chaos inside your head. “Wanna shower before bed?”

His suggestion was innocent enough, but your immediate agreement was driven by a different kind of excitement. “Okay,” you replied with a sheepish grin, “I’ll see if you have any clothes left in the closet.”

You see, you and Sukuna had just started dating a few months ago—precisely 6 months and 3 weeks to be exact, so the relationship was definitely still fresh and vulnerable. But needless to say, while he was indeed a sweet and dreamy boyfriend that you could only ever read about in your stash of fictional books, there was also a side of him that awakened the more mature side of you. 

If it wasn’t obvious enough, Sukuna was more experienced in the intimacy department than you. And him being your first did bring in thoughts of inadequacy in terms of your performance in bed. You haven’t done it enough to call yourself a pro, but you also did it enough to say that you already knew what, how, and where to please him the most. You owe that experience to the multitude of smut scenes you had read about on Tumblr and AO3, because those exact stories provided essential insights that guided your actions on your first time.

Now, whenever the sexy beast within you was unleashed, you didn’t even hold back anymore. 

The shower was already running when you stepped inside the small space, your boyfriend letting the cold water fall on his naked tattooed body in rivulets. Each drop of water sounded like rainfall, and with him pulling you closer by the arm, he began kissing you with a passion that made it feel like you were caught in a rainstorm.

“Lovey!” You giggled, pushing your palms flat against his chest. “You said we’ll just shower.” 

“You know what I meant by that, baby.” 

The water continued to cascade down your skin, your hair now damp and your body now wet. Sukuna’s eyes darkened in lust as eyed you up and down, his hands tracing the curves of your body, before crashing his lips back onto yours once more. This time, his kisses were more aggressive as he bit your lower lip, and took the opportunity of shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He was devouring you with rough and wide movements, allowing your tongue to roll around his in a playful tangle. And with his fingers now grabbing a fistful of your hair, and his other hand sliding down your chest to squeeze your breast, you felt a stretch on your scalp when he pulled you by the hair to look up at him. “You think you’re so innocent, don’t you?” he teased, kneading your right breast before his hand moved south to palm your dripping cunt, “Deep down, you’re just as naughty and wicked as me.” 

“N-No.” Your breath hitched when his lips traced light kisses around your neck. But it wasn’t just his kisses and touch that made your knees weak, it was the feeling of his hardened member pressed against your stomach, fully erect and ready to be inside you. “Mmh… You’re the naughty one.” 

Sukuna went in for another open-mouthed kiss before he nibbled on your earlobe. “I don’t deny that, princess,” he pivoted your body around, and made you lean against the glass wall so he could get a better view of your buttocks. While you, you could see your tits pressed against the glass from your reflection in the mirror, a sight that your boyfriend went absolutely crazy for when he looked up. “Ah, fuck. That’s so hot.” 

You could feel his fingers playing with your entrance from behind, and you watched him bite his lip through the mirror, his eyes dancing in lust as he wantonly stared at your body. “Ngh,” you bit back a moan, the feeling of his fingers teasing your entrance making you curl your toes, “I… I-I like that.” 

“I bet you do, baby.” Good lord. His voice was deep and raspy, and the sexiness of it was enough to make you wet. He even showed you evidence per se, when he pulled his digits out, spreading two fingers apart to show you the clear, slimy substance that coated it. You were already a blushing mess when he showed you your cum, and felt the heat in your cheeks worsening as you watched him, eye-to-eye, suck your juices from his fingers. “Aww, my baby tastes sweet.” 

“It’s the pineapple juice,” you joked, allowing him to cup your jaw and place a sloppy kiss on your mouth. “Mmm—I forgot to tell you.” You pulled away to look at your boyfriend. “I’m ovulating.” 

Sukuna tilted his head, squeezing your bum tenderly as he replied, “Are you suggesting I get you pregnant?”

“No, silly!” You chuckled shyly while he positioned himself behind you. “I was trying to say that I get extra horny when I’m ovulating.” 

He smiled, aroused more than ever as he heard you say those words out loud. “Too bad, I was thinking of creampie-ing you.” 

A gasp flew out of your lips when Sukuna’s long, slender fingers performed circular motions on your clitoris, stretching your labia apart so he could insert two fingers at your entrance. “B-Babe!” Your widened eyes were in great contrast to his lust-filled ones as he found entertainment at your submission to pleasure. You gripped his wrist and tiptoed when he started scissoring his fingers inside, forcing you to raise your leg so he could continue to move his hand in and out of your sopping cunt. “Ahh—ah! S-Sukuna!”

He hadn’t heard his name from you in awhile and he found that amusing. “Hm, baby? Saying something?” 

You squeezed your legs together to hide the clench that you were feeling inside, looking up at his crazed brown eyes and tracing his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You couldn’t hold it anymore, you were a willing slut ready to be pounded on by this tattooed man. “Please, f-fuck me.”

He reattached his lips back onto yours and pulled away just enough to keep your foreheads connected. “Not yet, baby girl.” A sly smirk spread off his lips. “That book you were reading earlier at the cafe,” he began, pulling his fingers away to turn you around, “It was smut, wasn’t it?” 

Feeling a wave of embarrassment as he brought it up, you responded with a coquettish smile. “Maybe.” 

Sukuna then pushed you down on your knees, letting you kneel down in front of his hard, veiny cock. He had stroked himself a few times—his other hand lifting your chin up—before he slapped his length against your lips. “Think you can show me how they did it in that book?” 

“Why…” you trailed off, wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping the long, meaty shaft before placing your tongue on top of the swollen tip. He was all crazed and aroused when you kept eye-contact and started putting his member inside your mouth.

“Damn.” Your boyfriend threw his head back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Let’s make all your fantasies a reality, baby.” 

Well, he was sweet for that. But also mischievous, too. He knew you could be just as naughty as him because he had seen the books you were reading and most of them were definitely far from innocent. Could he blame you? Sometimes, reading about it was better than experiencing it. Yet with your boyfriend’s ego, he wasn’t one to allow your fictional men to be better than him in all aspects. Physically. Emotionally. Sexually.

You let him guide your hand into stroking his shaft before you ejected spit on the pink head, using it to lubricate his aching member while you lowered yourself further to fit his firm balls inside your mouth. It gave you utmost pleasure to hear his guttural moans when you swirled your tongue around his bollocks—tasting the same flesh that carried all of his sperm, and releasing it from your mouth to give his cock the same attention. At first, you kissed his swollen tip and treated it like a lollipop, then you started sucking every inch of his length by bobbing your head at a stable rhythm. “Mmm.” You could hear curses leaving his pretty lips as he held your head in place, snapping his hips forward until you were gagging from the intense penetration on your throat.

You learned all these after a single read at your favorite 18+ book.  

“That’s a good girl.” His praise rang in your ears like a sweet melody.

Even without a reflection to look at, this was the most erotogenic exchange you two had ever done as a couple. And along with that, his half lidded eyes were staring down at you, judging you and your every move. 

You did your best to give him a stellar performance, did your most at pleasuring his member, and did everything that he liked whenever you were sucking his cock. And just like that, thick ropes of cum were sent straight down your throat. The musky, metallic taste didn’t stop you from swallowing all of his seed and you had to show your tongue to make him know that you did a good job at taking all of his semen. Nothing was wasted.

Not even time, because as soon as you finished giving him a blowjob, he was already carrying you out of the bathroom without drying yourselves off. You were thrown into your double bed, manhandled into spreading your legs apart before your animalistic lover plunged his face onto your pussy.

“S-Sukuna—! Mmm—fuck!”

He had your back arching because of how deep his tongue was going inside, tasting your walls and kissing your cunt like he would do with your mouth. He was smooching off your labia like a hungry beast, eating you out as if he wasn’t satisfied by the juices that he was sucking from you. You were already in your seventh heaven, unable to think straight when he added his middle finger to the movements of his tongue. If fingering your pussy and lapping your clitoris weren’t enough to drive you crazy, maybe grabbing a fistful of pinkish hair was a sign for him to stop before you could truly lose it. You could feel fire pooling on your lower abdomen and your legs were already shaking uncontrollably, your toes curling wantonly—with the suction he was doing on your cunt, you ended up screaming for his name and engulfing his mouth with your Earth-shattering release.

“Haah! ‘Kuna, p-please…”

As he detached his mouth from your entrance, he started climbing up, visibly pleased with the way he ravaged your cunt. He was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, pressing his lips down on yours to make you taste your own fluid. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his before he grabbed ahold of his erect member once again. It hadn’t even been more than two minutes and you were already being hauled into another position. “Let me fuck you from behind.”

“Lovey, w-wait.”

“Ass up, baby.” His patience was growing thin when he dragged your body by raising your hips close to his crotch and pressing your head down against the mattress. Your boyfriend cared none for the embarrassment that settled on your heated cheeks when he spread your buttocks apart so he could ogle at the exact hole that he was about to enter. 

“No, wait!” you begged, looking up at him with a plea, “Condom, please.” 

The realization hit his face. “I think I’m all out, baby. Let me check,” he said, pulling away and stumbling towards his discarded pants on the floor, hoping desperately that he would find an unused packet of condom. Just to his luck, he had one more packet hidden between the folds of his leather wallet. “Got it!” 

He hastily ripped the packet with his teeth, taking the rubber out, and rolling it slowly to cover his entire length. You remained on all fours, watching him as he ejected spit on his fingers, which he soon used to lubricate your entrance. 

Did he give you any time to adjust? That word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary when he sunk all seven inches inside of your cunt, wrecking you open to the point where you could feel a stinging sensation on your entrance after being stretched by his fully erect cock. “Best pussy in the entire world.”

You were suppressing your moans from coming out too loud while you bit on a pillow, nails digging on the sheets as your lover penetrated your tight vaginal walls. “Ahh! M-More… More.” He was treating you like a fleshlight as he continued to rut your sopping cunt with his fat cock, absolutely enjoying how your warm pussy was milking his full length.

“Can your fictional boys fuck you like this, baby?” he breathed, all deep and velvety as he gave you the most rhythmical skin-slapping thrusts. He was so deep in your cavern that you could feel the base of his cock slamming against your ass. You didn’t even notice the hand that was snaking on your front to massage your bouncing tit because you were far too lost in the shockwaves of sexual gratification. “No other man can fuck you this good.”

It was like he was riding his own bike. With how fast his pace was increasing, you were already too limp to feel his hard thrusts.

Your brain was short-circuiting from the amount of sensation that was entering your body, intoxicated by the waves of libido in your system that was heightening more and more as he continued to satisfy your insatiable heat. You could barely think straight. You lost your sanity. All the modest parts of you had completely dissolved into a bitch in heat. Like a needy little whore. You didn’t even have any control of your own words when you started telling Sukuna, “I… want… you to keep… fucking me… like this.” Another forceful slam elicited a mewl out of you. “A-Aah! Haah!”

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Your boyfriend held a tighter grip on your hips, your moaning face leaving an imprint on his mind as he propelled your body forward and raced towards his ecstasy. After yet another thrust or two, or three, or four… Spurts of warm seed started exploding into the rubber. Sukuna’s thrust had become unsteady, his body falling down on the bed but his member still remaining inside of you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy, baby.” 

You were catching your breath after he broke your mind into becoming this sex-obsessed freak. “Lookie! My bed’s all wet now.” 

He smiled and finally pulled out, only to lean down again and plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let me carry you to the couch,” he offered, but first he had to pull the condom out of his cock to reveal a cum-filled rubber. “Christ. I came a lot.” 

In other words, his cum would have been dripping out of your pussy for days.

You extended your arms, awaiting to be lifted like a princess by your lover. “Carry me now, please!”

“I will, baby.” Without hesitation, he scooped you up in his tattooed arms. He, too, was heavy breathing, but he still effortlessly held you. “I’ll take care of cleaning your sheets while you sleep.”

He was already walking towards the living room as you kicked your feet in the air, giving his cheek a gentle squeeze. “Can you clean out Casper’s litter box, too?”

Sukuna made a face of disgust, glancing at the cat before gently setting you down on the couch. “Only if he stops being an asshole,” he joked, but your pleading expression melted his resolve. “Alright, fine. I’ll take care of your bed, your cat’s litter... what else? You’re lucky I love you, you know.” He moved to the window, drawing the curtains closed to shield you from prying eyes. “Do you think your neighbors saw us fuck earlier? I forgot to pull the curtains on your bedroom.”

You laughed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. “Well, there’s this couple that’s been giving me strange looks lately, so it definitely isn’t the first time they’ve seen us do it.”

“It’s like that movie we watched,” Sukuna mused, trying to recall the title.

“The Voyeurs!” you both exclaimed in unison, sharing a laugh before you gestured to him. “Get dressed, lovey!”

Sukuna returned to tuck you in under the thin sheets, leaning down to give you a peck on the lips. “And you get some rest now, baby.”

~~

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as you woke up, stretching lazily in bed to find Casper purring next to you. That’s strange, you thought. Your cat normally wouldn’t go near you when your boyfriend was around, so you turned to your side, expecting to find Sukuna still sleeping beside you, but the spot was empty. Confused, you glanced around the room, noticing that his motorcycle gear was also missing from its usual place. 

“Lovey?” you called out through the empty apartment. “Where are you?” 

With no response received, you walked towards your bedroom and found the sheets had been changed and everything was tidy. Searching the bathroom yielded no clues to Sukuna’s whereabouts either. And a quick trip downstairs to check his usual parking spot confirmed your suspicion—he had left without a word. 

You frowned, reaching for your phone to send him an annoyed text.

YOU: love, where are you? 

YOU: i’m not some kind of booty call that you can just leave the next morning without a say

The minutes ticked by as you waited for a reply, feeling a mix of frustration and worry because of his absence. Were you overthinking this? Perhaps he was just out to get you lunch. Or maybe he had an emergency. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing deeply and thinking of any possible explanation other than the worst-case scenario. Maybe his phone died, or he got caught up in something urgent. But after an hour of no response, worry began to gnaw at you. Did he just ghost me? 

“Oh, God.” You paced back and forth in your apartment, checking your phone repeatedly for any sign of a message or call from Sukuna. “Oh, God. Oh, God! I’ve read about this a lot. Why are guys such jerks?” 

You tried to rationalize his absence, hoping for a reasonable explanation, but your mind persisted racing through various scenarios, with each one more disheartening than the last. Maybe he’d gotten tired of you, or perhaps he was scared of commitment. The frustration and confusion were almost unbearable. Was the sex last night not good enough for him? 

That situation lasted the entire afternoon. And you wanted to rip your hair out at the fact that your boyfriend had been gone for hours, his phone unreachable, and his friends having no idea where he was.  

So as the evening approached and your anxiety grew, you decided to call Sukuna again. It was the 47th missed call. But just as you were about to dial his number once more, you heard the familiar roar of his R1.

“What the hell.” You rushed to the window and saw your boyfriend pulling into the parking area. Relief flooded your system as you watched him switch off the engine, dismount his bike, and walk leisurely towards your apartment building’s lobby like he didn’t just leave an anxious girlfriend without a note the morning after he fucked her brains out.

You waited for him to arrive at your doorstep, your heart calmer but still ticking with anxiety as the clock rang in your ears. You were ready to give him a lashing for being unresponsive to your texts and calls. But as the door swung open, your boyfriend knowing your passcode by heart, you didn’t expect that your anger at him would end up being for a totally different reason. 

Because there he was, standing by your door looking slightly disheveled but with a sheepish smile on his face. He held a Barnes & Noble bag in one hand.

“Hey, baby—”

“What the heck happened?” You rushed to him, noticing the scrapes and bruises on his face. “Are you okay? I was worried sick!” 

Sukuna removed his helmet and winced slightly, the corner of his lower lip was smeared with dried blood. “Sorry, my love,” he spoke softly, going in for a comforting hug, “I wanted to surprise you, but things got a little complicated.” 

You pulled away to touch his bruised cheek. “You’re hurt. Why aren’t you answering my texts?” 

“Phone’s dead,” he answered, showing you his lifeless phone before handing over the bag. “And this is for you, my beautiful princess.”

Taking the bag, you said, “You didn’t have to do this.” Then your eyes scanned his face for any sign of serious injury.

“I wanted to,” he insisted, his voice filled with affection despite his exhaustion. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You eyed the Barnes & Noble bag, realizing that the book inside was the exact one you had mentioned wanting yesterday. Your emotions swirled in a mix of frustration and tenderness. Should you lecture him for being so reckless, or cry because of how romantic it was that he went out of his way to get the book you had been searching for?

But first and foremost, how and where did he get all those bruises?

Before you could ask, he already had an answer prepared. “Long story, baby. Let's just say I had a little run-in with another biker who had the same idea as me.”

You grabbed his hand and guided him to sit on the couch while you hurriedly fetched your first aid kit. As you tended to the scrapes on Sukuna’s face, Casper the cat approached cautiously, sniffing his scent before surprising both of you by leaning against your boyfriend’s leg.

“Meow~”

“Casper!” Sukuna exclaimed joyfully, picking up the cat with a playful flourish like how Rafiki carried Simba in The Lion King “Babe, he finally likes me!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and joined Sukuna on the couch, gently tilting his chin to examine his bruise. “Tell me exactly what happened,” you asked with a hint of sternness, “You went all over town just for this book?”

Your boyfriend carefully set Casper back down and nodded. “Yeah, it’s the last one they had. Had to fight for it, though.” He then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I don’t even get a kiss or a thank you?”

At once, all your defenses crumbled. You let go of the gauze in your hand and pulled your boyfriend into a tender kiss, wrapping him in a warm hug afterward. “You’re insane, you know that? I was so worried about you, and now I find out you spent the whole day looking for this book.” You sighed, overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions the day had brought. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of love for the man who had gone to such lengths to make you happy. “But thank you, lovey. That’s really sweet of you.”

Sukuna, now grinning broadly, held you closer around the waist. “Always welcome, my baby.”

“Now, tell me about that biker,” you began, taking a q-tip and some ointment, “How’d you get into a fight?” 

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” he recalled, amused at the thought, “He was going to get the book for his girl, too. But I got there first, and he wouldn’t let me have it.” 

Jesus. You couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh at the absurdity of two bikers squabbling over a book in a bookstore. “You should’ve just let him have it.” 

“But baby!” he protested like a child, “I couldn’t come home empty-handed. I already feel bad we didn’t get to pass by the bookstore yesterday.” 

What a stubborn boyfriend you have. “I already told you it’s okay, lovey. You’re the best boyfriend already. I appreciate the effort and I’m even more in love with you now than ever,” you reassured, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose, “Now, is there anything I can give you in return? As a thank you?” 

Oh, boy. You already assumed he would request for something concerning activities in bed. But his face suddenly lit up as if a lightbulb just appeared above his head. His idea was surely not what you had in mind. 

“How about I teach you how to ride my bike?” 

~~

The sun hung low on the horizon as Sukuna stood beside his Yamaha R1, patiently explaining the basics of riding ‘Fury’ to you. He seemed to be heavily enjoying this whole thing. Meanwhile, you, donning a helmet and gloves, were fully geared up, nervousness evident as you cautiously swung your leg over the bike.

“Ah, dammit.” Your boyfriend was grinning like an idiot as he saw you sitting on his bike. “You’re gonna be one hot biker girl. I can’t! You’re mine. Don’t let them see you like this, babe!” 

“Stop exaggerating!” you retorted, your voice tense with nerves as you gripped the handlebars tightly. “This bike feels… big.” 

“Like my cock?”

“Stop it.”

Sukuna erupted into a chuckle before proceeding to move closer to you. “Alright, babe. Remember what I showed you about the clutch and throttle control,” he encouraged, “Take it slow.”

Nodding, you started the bike and felt the powerful engine rumble beneath you. With your boyfriend’s guidance, you eased out the clutch and gave a tentative twist of the throttle. The bike lurched forward, causing you to panic and squeeze the brakes hard. 

“Oh, my God!” You let out a squeak of surprise. “Oh, my God! I’m gonna die.” 

“Easy there.” He held your waist protectively. “Let’s try one more time?” 

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the intimidating power of the machine beneath you and instead focus on Sukuna’s instructions. Even with his guidance, you found yourself repeating the same mistake where this time, you braked too hard again, causing your body to jolt forward dangerously. You would have fallen from the bike if not for your boyfriend catching you right on time.

“I can’t do this…” You shook your head, frantically. “I’m not cut out for this.”

Sukuna held you steady, his hands firm yet reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, looking into your eyes. “It takes time, alright? You’re doing fine. Maybe we should start with something smaller.”

You let out a heavy exhale as Sukuna carried you off his bike. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Like a lower cc bike?” he suggested, giving your helmet a playful tap. “Let’s start you off on a 150cc bike. Yuuji has a CBR150R we can borrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to wreck your nephew’s bike,” you teased, watching from the side as Sukuna effortlessly mounted his own bike.

He revved the engine and reached out for your hand, helping you settle in behind him. “Then, you can just stay being my backpack princess for now”

With your arms securely around his waist, the bike accelerated, the wind whipping against your helmet visor. The view of the sunset was perfect for this ride. “So, does that mean I’m not your ride or die anymore?”

Sukuna took your hand from behind, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “Nah. You’ll always be my ride or die, baby.”

[samclownchester]

I am immensely enjoying how autistic Christopher Lightwood is

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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[sacr1ficialang3l]

Do you want a Kiss?ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ ₊˚⊹

SUMMARY: sam has a little chocolate-dipped problem. 3.6k playlist!!!

WARNINGS: teen!sam winchester. high school au. characters are minors. fluff. just a small sweet treat from me to y'all. english is not my first language! enjoy<3

Sam has a problem. An adorable, caramel-scented, knitted-sweater-clad, huge problem.

Every day for the past few weeks, you have sneaked up on him—in the library, right after class, in the middle of the hallway, once even in the principal's office—and asked the same freaking question:

“Do you wanna kiss?”

Or at least that is what he heard the first time. 

You and Sam have been “friends” ever since you were paired up for an English project. He had seen you around before, but you never spoke up in class and kept mostly to yourself. Except when he caught you walking around with three other girls—just then, you would smile and joke around, standing in the background, embarrassed but giggly, as two of them broke into song out of nowhere.

So he didn’t expect you to participate much in the assignment. He assumed he would assign you your part, you’d do it by yourself, and that would be it.

The assignment had been easy—just a simple reflection project on The Iliad—and it would have been even easier if the rest of your classmates weren’t idiots.

Because, as it turns out, only you and Sam had actually read the book—the other three teens stared at you both dumbfoundedly when Sam tried to explain what each of them had to do.So obviously, you and Sam had ended up working on the stupid project by yourselves for a whole three days—in class and after school. It should’ve been tedious and exasperating, but Sam now mentally thanks his classmates for being illiterate. 

Because for three days, he got to discuss literature with a girl who was almost as much of a nerd as he was. You had so many interesting things to say—about Achilles and his character journey, about how heartbreaking his and Patroclus’ story is (you seem to swear they are romantically involved, and even Sam is almost convinced after hearing you talk about it for two hours), and you even go on a whole rant about Helen and why she deserved better.

Dean laughs and pities him when Sam tells him about it, but what he doesn’t know is that Sam might have just fallen in love. 

You got an A on the project, of course, and ever since then, you and Sam have worked on every assignment together—whether it’s supposed to be done in groups or not. You don’t actually hang out—you just chat in class and say hello when you walk past each other in the hallway, but nothing else.

That’s why, when you suddenly approach him one day in the cafeteria with a grin and your hand hidden behind your back, and ask him if he wants to kiss, his brain stops working.

He just stares at you, eyes wide and lips parted. All his intelligence leaks out of his ears and words escape him, so he just stands there like an idiot until you give him the sweetest giggle—the smell of hot chocolate and caramel filling his nose when you tilt your head to hide your smile, his breath hitching as you take a step closer—and hand him something.

In the middle of your extended palm, he notices some kind of foil-covered drop, and it takes him a minute to understand what it is.

A Kiss. One single Hershey's Kiss.

So now he knows that you’re actually asking, “Do you want a Kiss?”

But honestly, it doesn’t make it much better.

Because you take him by surprise every time, and every time he freezes and blushes and acts like the biggest fucking loser.

“Just kiss her, Sammy,” Dean suggests unhelpfully, once he catches on to the situation. “She’s so obviously flirting with you.”

“She’s not flirting with me, Dean. We barely know each other.”

“I swear to God, Sammy. Just grab her waist, pull her closer, and kiss her. You’ll thank me later.”

But Sam couldn’t just do that, because he isn’t Dean.

He doesn’t just kiss girls. He doesn’t give them that look-at-me-I’m-so-great grin, and they don’t fall at his feet like his brother’s do. He doesn’t walk up to the first pretty girl he sees and give her some cheap pick-up line that somehow ends up working because of his stupid charm. He doesn’t make out with a girl from every single town their dad takes them to. And he definitely is not about to start now.

Don’t get him wrong, Sam has been with some girls. He’s kissed a few chicks from the multiple schools he’s attended, and he had a girlfriend back when they stayed in Michigan for a whole month. He even dry-humped a girl he was supposed to be tutoring in History in his junior year. (Dean was pretty fucking proud about that one.)

But still, Sam is more… reserved. He isn’t shy (you couldn’t be when your dad has been forcing you to speak with locals and eyewitnesses before you even learned how to ride a bike), but he isn’t confident either. He is awkward, a little socially inept from so much time spent on the road, the boy with too much knowledge about ancient mythologies and Latin. Girls approach him because he is—in a way he still can’t understand—attractive, and he doesn’t usually turn them away, but he knows better than to give in to his heart’s desire for something else. Something different than his brother’s one-night stands, something gentle, something real.

Because Sam is the boy who gets straight A’s but no one puts them on the freezer. The boy who keeps people at arm’s length because “you can’t get attached to civilians, Sammy.” He’s the boy all the professors want to praise but whose guardians never show up for parent-teacher conferences. He’s the boy who one day simply disappears from school because his dad found a new hunt in a new town.

He’s the boy who’s pretty sure something isn’t right with him.

So when he sees you, sitting there in English class—your head buried in a book, your hair falling onto your face, the sleeves of your warm brown sweater too long, the shine in your eyes too bright—he doesn’t find it in himself to ruin it.

Instead, he sits next to you quietly, gives you a small nod in greeting, and tries to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

The teacher is talking about some assignment you will do to prepare for your next reading—Sam is looking forward to sitting in the library with you during lunch, browsing through the shelves and hearing you tell him about every book you’ve already read—when you turn to look at him.

He expects an invitation to work together, or some jab at the boy in the front row who keeps drawing dicks all over his desk, but then you lean in until your breath brushes his ear when you whisper,

“Do you want a Kiss?”

It still makes him jump, even after all this time. His cheeks flush, and his fists clench. He turns to face you with his best attempt at a glare—but it looks more like a pout—and immediately regrets it.

You’re close. Your shoulder brushes his, and your cheeks and eyelids are dusted maroon, your eyes sparkle with gold, and your breath still smells like the mocha frappe he knows you drink every morning, and you’re just so fucking warm.

Everything about you smells like coffee and books and just-baked cookies; and it tastes like cocoa and cinnamon and red velvet; and it feels like putting on your favorite cardigan and walking through mountains of orange leaves and snuggling under the covers during a rainy autumn morning.

God, what the hell is happening to him? He’s such a fucking loser.

Overwhelmed by the sweet glint in your eyes he will never get used to, his eyes move down to your hand hiding under the table. He grabs the Hershey’s Kiss with a huff, and bites back a smile at your giggle when he quickly rips the wrapper off and throws the chocolate in his mouth.

“If we miss any important instructions for the assignment, it’s your fault,” he whispers to you, eyes on the board like he’s trying not to alert the teacher but actually he’s just trying to keep his cheeks from flushing even more.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You roll your eyes, slowly unwrapping your own sweet treat. He wonders where the fuck you get so many of them. “If we miss anything, I’m sure Mrs. Keating will have no problem repeating herself for her favorite little student,” you murmur through the chocolate in your mouth, bumping your shoulder with his.

You love to tease him about your English teacher’s clear preference for him—in your opinion. Sam knows that she likes him, but he wouldn’t say he’s her favorite, even though she always praises his essays and has offered a recommendation letter more than once.

“Shut up and pay attention,” he mutters your name, and it leaves a syrupy tang on his tongue. But if he's being honest, he loves when you tease him. It shows him that you’re comfortable with him, no longer retreating to that shell you always seem to hide in when you’re alone, stuck with the rest of your classmates.

“Another Kiss?”

“Shhhhh.”

You end up, indeed, missing some important information. So Sam has to go ask Mrs. Keating about it and watches your amusement when she happily explains that they have to do a class presentation, sending him off with a sticker that says “Otterly amazing!” next to a cross-eyed otter who looks a little demonic.

You end up spending the whole afternoon in the school’s library. There are mountains of books around the table about the 1920s’ economic and historical context in America, along with a few books you recommended to Sam and he promised to check out. You end up reading out loud for him while he takes notes in his notebook, and he fights the urge to fall asleep to your voice that wraps around him like a fluffy blanket.

By the third time Sam yawns, you decide to go buy two coffees from the vending machine in the cafeteria. You put an alarming amount of sugar in yours, and grimace when Sam decides to take his black.

“That’s how my dad and brother drink it,” he explains in a voice he hopes is not as bitter as his drink. “So I just got used to it.”

Then you nod, giving him a look so kind he doesn’t know what to do with it, and you lean against him as you two lean back on the vending machine. Both of you are quiet for a moment, sipping your coffee and staring at the cafeteria tiles, before you sigh and take a step forward.

“Come on, we gotta at least collect all the information today. We can organize the presentation tomorrow in class.”

You grab his hand. Without even looking at him, you take his left hand in your right and start to pull him back to the library. Sam’s heart skips a beat, and he lets you drag him awkwardly for a few seconds before taking two long strides and falling right into your side. But even when you don’t have to pull him along, you don’t let go of his hand.

It stays wrapped around his—fingers not intertwined, but still warm and soft and perfect. And it stays there until you finally reach the table, when you let go of him and grab the book you were reading before the break. For the first time in his life, Sam hates books.

So you keep working until the janitor warns you that the school is about to close, and by then you have collected all the information you need. You walk out of the building, hands brushing but no longer grasped, and Sam feels something inside him ache at the prospect of leaving.

Because doing research with you is a hell of a lot better than going back to the moldy motel his family is staying at—where the shower only has cold water and there’s always someone moaning in the distance. It’s cold and stinky and lonely, and he desperately wants to stay with you, where it’s cozy and sweet and lovely.

He’s getting way too attached, Sam knows. He knows this is bad, and he will have to leave any day now. But fuck, it’s so easy to just look at you and your teddy bear–like gentleness and just… crave.

Because everything else in his life is painful, and ugly, and rough.

You turn to him, smiley and gorgeous. “Need a ride?” You point toward your car.

It’s one of the few still there, the parking lot almost empty at this hour. It makes it easy to spot the Impala parked on the opposite side—the car he grew up in. Sam can see Dean through the windshield, and his brother gives him a thumbs up and one of his goofy grins before making kissing gestures with his hands.

Before you can see his idiot older brother and Sam is forced to change identities and move countries, he looks back at you.

“Nah, my brother’s picking me up.”

You nod, chewing on your lower lip and looking like you’re about to say something else before deciding against it.

“So, see you tomorrow?” Sam is about to nod when you take a step forward and kiss his cheek, once again almost sending him into an early grave. “Get home safe, Sam.”

Before he can even attempt to blurt out anything, you turn around and rush toward your car, waving Dean goodbye through the windshield before you drive past him and away from the school.

“Not flirting, huh?”

Not even Dean’s incessant teasing or his dad’s grip on a whiskey bottle bother him that night, because all he can feel is your lips on his cheek and the small bundle of fire it set on his chest.

It isn’t like the fire he feels when hunting—angry and all-consuming, or the one he feels when he stares at one of his brother’s badly hidden adult magazines—prickly and wild. This one feels like sitting near the fireplace in the middle of winter—comforting and tender and oh god so fucking addictive.

Turns out you can’t organize the presentation in class the next day because there’s a gas leak from one of the chemistry labs. “Two dudes were ‘wrestling’ and they broke a freaking pipe. I swear to God they work hard to be this idiotic.” Sam has to agree, because now you don’t even have access to the library—and his brother would be busy helping their dad with the case all day, so he can’t pick him up.

“We still have to work on the presentation,” you sigh, twirling your hair with your fingers like you do when you’re deep in thought. It’s distracting, because it makes the caramel scent float all around you—and because you keep biting your lower lip while you do it.

“We can go to the public library,” Sam offers. He had been there to help look into the lore for this hunt, and the place is small and full of little kids running around during what was supposed to be “story time hours,” but it’d have to do.

“Yeah…” You turn to look at him, still chewing on your lip, eyes more nervous than he’s ever seen on you. He’s about to ask if everything is okay when—“We could go to my house.”

You need to stop doing that, or he’s seriously going to have a heart attack one day.

That’s how he ends up here, sitting on the couch in your living room while working on a presentation about the Roaring Twenties. It’s only you and Sam—both your parents at work, no siblings—and he’s trying to force himself to act as normal as possible.

But it’s hard when you bring him a homemade mocha frappe and throw a brown knitted blanket over both your laps before you get to work. When there’s soft piano music playing in the background, chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table, and you’re so fucking close.

Your thigh brushes his under the blanket, and it’s really hard to focus on speakeasies and the prohibition. You start to plan out who will present which part, and you tease him about asking Mrs. Keating for a jazz dance. He softly pushes you away until you’re giggling and falling onto his side for support.

“Stop! Stop! I’m about to fall off the couch!” No, you’re not. You’re not even near the edge—Sam would never push you that hard—but he stops all the same.

“She doesn’t even like me that much,” he argues, mourning the loss of your weight against him when you straighten up to roll your eyes at him.

“Please, you’re the only one she gives actual golden stars on your essays, and she’s always putting you up as an example of excellence.” You do a scarily good impression of the woman. “Not that I blame her, though, when you go up to her with those huge puppy eyes and fluffy hair and cutesy smile, and talk about symbolism and foreshadowing and archetypes. Anyone would be enamored.”

The words are supposed to be teasing, just another joke. But you murmur them so close to his face, looking up at him through your lashes, your thighs brushing once again. And they sound so genuine when you mention his eyes and smile and being enamored.

Sam stares down at you, cheeks flushing and brain short-circuiting. He blinks once, then twice, then…

“Do you want a K—hmph!”

This time, he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s a little awkward—just a dry, soft peck. But then you smile against him, and when he leans away, your cheeks are red and your eyes are extra shiny.

“Took you long enough, smart boy.”

He chuckles, head falling forward in embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry.”

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair and forcing him to look back at you.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He has to kiss you again, if only just to hide the way his cheeks burn.

This time it’s better. You tilt your head and move your lips against his so sweetly, and you taste like chocolate and cinnamon when he licks inside your mouth, and your sweater is fluffy under his hands as he wraps them around your waist. You pull on his hair gently, and suddenly Sam has never felt cold in his life. All he knows is warmth and caramel and the fireplace on his chest, crackling and burning steadily.

“We both know what we have to do for the presentation,” you lean back from the kiss, and Sam can barely hear your words as he looks at your lips, puffy and shiny with his spit. “What do you say we watch a movie?”

He nods, so you turn on the living room TV and put on some rom-com with a side of murder mystery Sam’s never heard about—it’s mostly cowboy and action movies in the motel rooms, and even when his brother and his father leave him alone for days on end in some cabin, he watches sci-fi and what Dean calls his “nerdy shit.”

Neither of you end up actually watching the movie, instead making out under the knitted blanket right there on the couch. Sam cages you under his body and kisses the taste of mocha out of your mouth until a honk comes from outside.

You immediately break away, and Sam has to take a minute before he can function again.

It’s Dean, ready to pick him up and take him back to the motel. Sam tries to fix his hair and make sure his lips don’t look too bitten before he makes his way out the door, not in the mood to put up with any more teasing. He picks up his backpack from the floor and mutters a small goodbye before walking away.

He’s not sure what any of this means—if you just wanted to make out or if you feel the same way he does. And even if you do, he doesn’t know what to do with that. Because he isn’t supposed to get attached, but—

“Sam!”

He stops walking at the sound of your voice, wondering if he forgot one of his textbooks by accident. You run out of your house to meet him in the driveway, the orange light from inside making you look like an angel.

You stop right in front of him and extend your palm toward him.

“Your Kiss.”

He stares at the candy for about five seconds before meeting your eyes, and he notices the smudge of chocolate in the corner of your mouth. His shoulders relax, and a smile so tender he wouldn’t recognize it as his own if he saw it in a mirror takes over his face.

He takes the Kiss from your hand, but before he can retreat, you circle your fingers around his wrist and pull him closer, granting him one last slow, sugary kiss.

“Get home safe, smart boy,” you mutter against his lips, letting go of his hand. “Learn your lines for the presentation, and maybe I’ll take you to my room instead next time.”

“Next time” echoes through his head during the whole ride to the motel, drowning out Dean’s lewd jokes and the wind coming through the windows as they speed down the road.

Next time.

NOTES: writing about teen!dean got me thinking about teen!sam and i just couldn't stop myself from writing this. this is actually inspired by a little recurring bit me and my best friend have when we eat hershey's kisses, and i just thought it would be so cute to write a little fic about it. it was supposed to be super short but as always I can't stop fucking talking.

anyway, i missed my sweet boy so much. I love dean but i'm a sam girly at heart and i just wanted to write something cutesy for my doe-eyed love.

TAGS: @littlejackles @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel @southernimpala @jays-bonnie-on-the-side<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[c0cksuck3rs4lif3]

ᜊ 𝒻𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓅ℯ𝒹 ᜊ

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

summary: you come across a wishing well on a hunt, not thinking much of it. But what will happen when you accidentally wish for something that you’re not sure you’re ready for with your best friend?

warnings: slight smut, making out, angst if you squint, Dean walking in, mostly fluff I suppose, size kink, again if you squint, fade-to-black smut, this is based off of 4x8! This is more of a sassy!sam fic, sorry abt it

a/n: hello! I usually write on Wattpad, (pls don’t crucify me I am not a child) but I’ve been on Tumblr recently and like the writing on here better! This is my first fanfiction written on here, so bear with me, and please tell me if I’ve made any mistakes! (T^T) This is proofread!

Fuck, this was bad.

Worse than the impending apocalypse? Probably not.

Worse than Dean being ripped out of hell by some mystery angel that you’d only just met on the last case, who actually threatened to wipe out an entire town full of people? Not really.

But this was some serious, deep, uncomfortably steamy shit you’d gotten yourself into.

Let’s take it back a bit, shall we?

You, Sam, and Dean had all caught wind of a case down in Concrete, Washington. Apparently, a girl had gotten pushed down a flight of stairs by a spirit, and another man claimed that he had been attacked by Bigfoot.

However, this was not the case for either of them. It turned out to be some kind of wishing well, spelled by a cursed coin thrown haphazardly into it, granting that person—and whoever else threw a coin in said well—any wish that their heart desired.

Dean, being Dean, wanted to try this little well out, to see if it actually worked the way that you all figured it had. And, being the absolute idiot that he was, decided to order himself a jalapeño sub sandwich, or something of the sort. And it actually worked.

Standing over the well, staring down into the clear water with coins littering the bottom of the plaster, one began to wonder. Could it truly grant any wish that someone had? If it only granted a harmless wish, then was this even truly a case? Couldn’t you just.. leave these people alone, let them have their wishes?

Dean seemed to have been speaking to you, but you hadn’t registered it until he smacked your arm.

“Hello? Earth to Major Tom?”

He asked sarcastically, finally eliciting a response from you. Your head snapped up at him and looked at the man next to you.

“What?”

Dean just chuckled, seeming to have read you like a book, glancing down at the water, before realigning his gaze with your own.

“You should make one. What’s the harm? C’mon, I think I have..”

He trailed off, digging into his jacket pockets, that jingled faintly as his hand sifted through the small pouch. Finally, with a triumphant sigh, he pulled out a penny and held it out for you to take. But Sam, probably being the closest thing to a brain cell shared between the three of you, spoke out against it.

“Uh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Dean just scoffed and threw a snooty little look back at Sam over his shoulder, before holding up his sandwich for Sam to see, causing the younger brother to characteristically roll his eyes.

“What? You think a sandwich is harmful? Think it’s going to grow legs and start ripping people to shreds? This isn’t Captain Underpants, Sammy. No harm, no foul.”

Sam only exhaled an exasperated sigh and looked over at you. God, those puppy dog eyes should’ve been considered a fucking weapon against the psyche.

You had to quickly tear your gaze away from the endless sea of greens and browns that painted his irises, just to spare yourself from the silent judge of character as you carefully lifted the coin from Deans fingertips.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Sam. Maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding. I mean, a wishing well? What harm could it do?”

You asked, before turning your attention to the fountain before you. Crap. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d wish for. Money? No. For Dean to stop being such a smartass? You didn’t think so. You hummed quietly in deep thought. What on earth were you going to wish for?

And then, there was the obvious one. For the reciprocation of feelings on behalf of the younger Winchester standing not five feet across from you, watching intently as you thought about what wish you were going to make.

No, your conscious mind screamed at you. That would be wrong. To strong arm Sam’s feelings, to try to get him to reciprocate this unrequited love you’d been carrying around with you for somewhere around two years now. It was like an eternity of a ball and chain.

Sam was.. well, to put it mildly, an absolute dreamboat. He was.. kind, and chivalrous, and respectful. He was built with a 6’4 mass of solid lines and lean muscle, a kind of soft comfort that only he could provide. It was absolutely torturous, having to be around him 24/7, stuck in a car for god only knows how many hours, motel rooms, cases where you’d have to patch each other up.

Swallowing your feelings felt like.. swallowing bleach and gasoline. It burned on its way down, and boiled deep in your gut, searing every square inch of nerve in your body, until you were nothing but seared and raw nerves, jolting unwanted electricity through your being whenever Sam dared to touch you, or say your name with that undeniable Sam-softness that only he could seem to produce.

You couldn’t have him. And that tore you apart. Because you’d never meet another man like Sam, not in your lifetime. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

But you’d decided a long time ago that you would rather stick by his side, come hell or high water, as a good friend, then ruin it completely with your own selfish wants and needs. No. Having Sam near you was enough. And you would rather die than drive him and Dean away. So, you kept quiet.

But in some fleeting moments, when Sam insisted on having you behind him so that he could protect you when you went into a haunted building or a cemetery, or in a diner when you locked eyes for just a little too long, or how frantic he’d become whenever you were injured beyond the common scrape or concussion that came easily about hunters, you wondered.

You wondered what it would be like for him to love you so much that he dedicated every breath, fight, and step to you; that he couldn’t bear to see you upset or angry, because it only incited the same feelings in his own gut; that he hated every second that someone approached you in a bar or diner, because he wanted to be the one to do it. You wished that Sam loved you the way that you so wholeheartedly loved him.

But it was wrong. How could you ever force him to love you, when it wasn’t his conscious mind making the decision? You couldn’t. That was the problem. You’d have to cook up another wish.

Well, you would’ve. If a waiter hadn’t accidentally bumped into you, causing you to drop the coin into the water of the fountain. Before you could stop it, a sharp gasp came from your throat as it plopped into the water.

Shit.

Maybe it hadn’t counted, because you hadn’t actually.. wished for it? You were scraping at the bottom of the barrel for some mercy from whatever god was watching over you.

You quickly snapped your head up to watch Sam, trying to decipher whether or not he felt any different at the moment. You stared, horrified, at your friend. You really really hoped that the wish hadn’t worked.

“Great, you two done? We’ve gotta figure this out.”

Sam said, his usually sassy nature poking through the edges. You breathed an internal sigh of relief. It hadn’t done anything. He was still your Sam, and he wasn’t going to start flailing to kiss the ground that you walked on anytime soon, which was very, very comforting.

Later, back in the motel room, you guys figured out that the ‘magic’ wishing well, had actually held a cursed coin that wasn’t supposed to be an act of good grace at all—it was essentially an object to cause chaos wherever it went and whoever wished upon it—hence why Dean was puking up his sandwich in the bathroom. It granted someone’s wish, only to twist it back on them and turn it into something, you guessed it! Chaotic.

While Dean was in the bathroom for the hundredth time, you couldn’t help but spare a glance at Sam, who was sitting across from you at the small table, typing away on his computer, trying to find out more. You just had to make sure.

“Hey, Sam?” You asked, timidly. You were immediately met with Sam’s piercing gaze, his frantic typing on his computer halting momentarily as you consumed his full attention.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He inquired, noticing the slightly nervous glint in your eyes. “Everything alright?”

You scrambled for an excuse. “Yeah, yeah! Of course, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh.. I was wondering.. how you were.. feeling?” Well. That was about the dumbest thing you’d ever said. This was so humiliating. How were you ever going to explain this to him?

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. “Uh.. fine? Why, should I be in the bathroom with Dean, or something?”

“No, no. I was just.. wondering if he was contagious or anything. Do you.. feel any different than you did this morning?” You poked at his psyche, hoping to get a clear answer out of him without actually admitting what you’d wished for.

“Um, no. No, I feel fine. I’m sure he’s not contagious, I mean, it was his wish, so..” Sam retorted, a bit confused, but willing to explain it to you. Classic Sam.

“Right, right. Of course.” You said immediately afterward, before looking down at your hands and fiddling with the skin between your fingers. Nervous habit.

Sam noticed. He always noticed. He knew you a little too well, you decided. “Are you feeling okay? You’re acting a little squirrelly.” He deducted. What a little detective.

A very inconvenient detective.

And what did you do? You hesitated. Probably the worst thing to do in front of a man who knew you more than even you probably did.

His confusion quickly morphed into concern. The kind that consumed his entire expression and straightened his posture.

“_______? Are you okay?”

You panicked. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay, promise.” God you were an idiot, going belly up instead of just explaining to him what was going on. Coward.

Sam only stiffened more, staring at you, as if trying to get you to unveil your secrets by just piercing you with his intense gaze.

“Hey.. what did you wish for, earlier?” He asked, now extremely suspicious and worried for your well-being.

Before you could even get the chance to try and convince him that nothing was going on and that you were fine, Dean emerged from the bathroom with a towel gripped into his hand, held haphazardly to his mouth, as if to catch anything that decided to spew from it at any given point

“Sam.. how the hell do we fix this?” Dean asked desperately, nearly keeling over at the cramps in his stomach as he held it tightly.

~

After finding out who the original wisher was, you three were gearing up to go head to his house and talk some sense into him, and take his coin out of the fountain to undo all of the wishes.

You were loading yourself up with weapons, as hunters usually did, before glancing over at the nightstand that Sam was standing next to, seeing your little pocket knife that you carried around on it. You were loading your pistol and putting it in your waistband.

“Hey, Sam? Could you hand me my knife?” You asked, nodding towards the little silver thing on the table.

He glanced over at you, gave you a once over, before looking at the knife next to him on the nightstand.

“Uh.. you can’t just grab it yourself?” He said, his tone seeping with a kind of undercurrent of irritation. It caught you completely off guard.

“I.. you’re closer.” You were even more confused now, looking at him, as he stared at you with frustration and disdain. Was it something you’d done? Why was he acting like this?

“Why did you even take it off in the first place, _______? What if something had busted in here? You would’ve been completely unprepared.” He snapped, now turning towards you.

“Dude, what’s your deal? She put her knife down for a couple of hours, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Dean jumped into the conversation. Dean was just as much of your friend as Sam was, so he obviously jumped in to defend you if he thought that Sam was in the wrong.

“My deal Dean, is that you sleep with a gun under your pillow, and I never take mine off of me. So what, she just gets to be completely unguarded while we have to fight to save her ass? I’m so sick of her being such a little freeloader.” Sam retorted, aggression and venom practically bleeding from his mouth as he said it.

“Freeloader? How many times have I saved your ass? And you wanna call me a freeloader? What’s your problem, Sam? You were fine just a minute ago, and now you want to tear out my throat?” You yelled back, your short temper getting the best of you while you were under verbal siege.

“Yeah, well maybe I’m just sick of your bullshit, _______! I mean, you hardly contribute anything at all. God, you are such a nuisance.” He scoffed and turned his back to you. Now you were pissed.

“I’m a nuisance? What the hell is your fucking problem! Why are you being such an asshole right now?”

“Alright, guys, knock it off!” Dean tried to cut in over the noise, but he was just yelled over anyways.

Sam let out a bitter laugh and turned around to yell at you. But this time, he took an intimidating step closer. Not that you backed down, you weren’t a pussy. But you’d still never seen him try to walk up on you like this.

“Because I fucking hate you, _______! I hate how much you talk, your dumbass laugh, your stupid clothes, the way you follow us around like a lost puppy, I mean seriously, it’s pathetic. You slow us down, you’re hardly as trained as me and Dean are, I mean you’re just one giant inconvenience for the both of us! Why don’t you do everyone around here a favor and leave us the hell alone!” He bellowed, now only a mere six inches from your face, maybe. Towering over you.

The words struck you harder than you cared to admit. Tears pricked your eyes and threatened to fall as they welled up on your bottom lids. You almost physically recoiled, like you had taken a blow that you were massively unprepared for.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Dean cut in, storming over to Sam, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back away from you, giving you the opportunity to breathe. “I don’t know what the hell your issue is, Sammy, but you need to fix it! You’re being a dick!” He yelled, now between you and Sam like a human shield.

You had heard enough. You took in a deep breath that came out as more of a sniffle, shoved past Dean and right up to the nightstand with your knife on it, pocketing it. You couldn’t believe that something so small had caused Sam to admit that he actually despised you. Practically from head to toe, by the sound of it.

You wiped the tears away from your cheeks and stormed past Sam, and towards the door to the motel room.

“I’ll be in the car.” Your voice was short, clipped, and undeniably hurt. You slammed the door so hard behind you that you were sure the floors below and above you heard it echo.

“Nice going, doofus.” Dean snapped at Sam as soon as you’d gone, continuing to gear himself up. Sam only rolled his eyes and scoffed in retort.

~

When all was said and done, and the curse was reversed, the coin melted down to nothing of use, you three found yourselves back in the motel room once again.

You’d been in a pissy mood ever since the interaction with Sam had happened. For good reason. He’d been snappy and irate with you the entire time after the initial interaction about the stupid fucking knife. And now that Sam’s head had cleared, he knew that it was a damn good reason, too.

You’d gotten in the shower immediately upon your return to the room, and had been in there ever since. This gave Dean the opportunity to talk to Sam without either you or him tearing each other apart.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that whole thing was about earlier?” Dean said, accusatory almost immediately because of the interaction they’d had earlier.

“I..” Sam sighed, looking at the carpet, “don’t know. I just..- I got so angry, I don’t even..-“

“Yeah, I figured, Sherlock Holmes. Nice detective work, there. Real Nobel Peace Prize winning.” Dean retorted, causing Sam to sigh once again.

“No, you don’t get it, Dean, I.. I really did hate her for a good minute there.” Sam admitted, finally turning towards his older brother, almost for answers. “I can’t explain it, I just.. I don’t know, dude.”

Dean stopped for a moment, the cogs in his head slowly turning as he tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with his brother. “That doesn’t make sense. You love-“

“Exactly, Dean. I love her. So I don’t know why I started acting like she was Hitler reincarnated, she just.. really pissed me off.”

“By asking for her damn knife?” Dean asked incredulously.

“I don’t know, Dean!” Sam snapped, before sighing and running a stressed hand through his hair.

Guilt ate away at him like a rotting disease. He couldn’t believe he’d said all those things to you, especially when absolutely none of it was true. He didn’t think you were a freeloader, he loved taking care of you. He loved listening to you talk, he loved hearing you laugh, he thought that your clothes were absolutely gorgeous on you, and he loved having you there 24/7, just.. following. It was endearing, that you trusted him so much to lead you. He swore sometimes that you’d let him lead you straight into hell, just as long as he was in front of you.

He loved it all. Every flaw, every perfection, every little thing that made you human. That made you, you; for lack of better words.

“Could it have been that curse?” Dean suggested, just as confused as Sam was about the whole ordeal.

“No.. no, it couldn’t have been. I didn’t feel any different before, I just..-“ He cut himself off, recalling the interaction that the two of you had earlier.

You never did tell him what you’d wished for.

And what was the opposite of hate?

“Oh, my god..” Sam groaned, running a hand over his face in realization.

“What? What’s up?” Dean asked, intrigued.

“Uh..” Sam sighed, turning to look back at the carpet, “nothing. Nothing, um.. you know what, Dean? I’m starving. Would you mind going out and getting some food?”

“What? No, tell me what the hell is-“

“Dean.”

The soft scold from Sam caught Dean’s attention, causing him to look at his younger sibling, a bit confused.

“I need to talk to _______. You should really go out and get some food while I do.” Sam repeated suggestively, hoping that Dean would finally get the hint and get the hell out of the motel room for a little while.

Finally, Dean reached the realization with a soft, understanding ‘ah’ and a nod, a lewd smirk on his face. “Right. Well, you know the rules,” he said, getting up and grabbing his keys and coat, “don’t do anything on my bed, don’t get anything on my bed, wear a condom—“

“Just get the hell out of here, Dean.” Sam chuckled, causing Dean to throw him a wink and slip out of the motel room quickly.

Sam wasn’t waiting long before you emerged from the bathroom, a sour expression still adorning your pretty face. God, he had to fix this. You looked so upset. He couldn’t even imagine.

His voice brought you out of your thoughts as you ran a brush through your wet hair. “Hey.”

You froze, for a moment or two, contemplating on even replying to him or not. You were still insanely pissed off. You decided to do it. “Oh, so what, you want to talk to me like I’m a person now? Or wait, sorry, I didn’t realize you spoke puppy.” You snapped, referring to his ‘lost puppy’ comment from before.

Sam flinched slightly with a quiet wince, as if your response had physically pained him to hear. He rose from the edge of the bed and approached you slowly, not wanting to upset or scare you like he’d done earlier. “Look, I know you’re upset-“

“Upset?” You laughed sarcastically and looked over at him. “Upset doesn’t even begin to skim the surface, Sam.” You barked, before turning and walking towards the couch, which you’d made into a makeshift bed. You always took the couch, because you were not going to sleep with Dean, who was practically an active octopus while he slept, or with Sam, for.. obvious reasons.

Sam sighed, but stood his ground. “I know. I know I screwed up. I’m sorry I was such a dick to you, okay? I don’t know why I was acting like that.” He said, telling a small little fib to weasel his way in with you. He’d had a pretty good idea on why. He just needed you to confirm it.

“I think.. I actually think it was the curse.” He admitted, and he noticed immediately when he saw you stiffen slightly.

“Why.. why would you think that?” You asked, slightly nervous, but still upset, so you had an excuse to not look up at him while he spoke to you.

He took a step closer. Fuck. You were royally screwed.

He ignored your question. “You didn’t tell me what your wish was earlier.” He said, taking another slow, deliberate step forward. You felt cornered. You shook your head lightly.

“It.. wasn’t much of a wish, I didn’t..- I didn’t mean to toss the coin in, that guy bumped into me, remember?” You scrambled to get even a scrap of an excuse to get you out of this hole you’d dug yourself into.

But, metaphorically, Sam was standing above you, holding an escape ladder tantalizingly in the air above you, daring you to admit it to his face, so that he’d allow your precious escape. He was standing so close now.

The same distance he’d been before, but less intimidating now, and with a new kind of tension that hadn’t been hanging in the air previously. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against your arm.

“Yeah? Well, what were you going to wish for?” He asked, his voice only a low hum compared to what it usually was. He stared at the side of your face, waiting for some kind of expression that told him what was going on inside your head.

“I.. um..” you didn’t even have the guts to respond. How could you tell him? It was horrible. And your hesitation was the reaction that Sam needed. The one that told him he was pushing on the right button.

“You asked me how I was feeling earlier, too. Why?” It kind of felt like an interrogation on your end, and as your last, flailing attempt to escape from his silent torment, you sighed shakily and rolled your eyes, hiding behind hardened emotions to get him to drop it.

“Because Dean was sick. You know that already, why are you even asking?” You said petulantly, making an attempt to push past him, to put some distance between the two of you. But that plan fell short when Sam gently wrapped his large palm around the flesh of your upper arm, holding you firmly in place.

“Right. And it’s definitely not because you wished for me to fall in love with you today, right?”

Your breath hitched. You were sure that your face had turned all sorts of bright pink because of how warm your skin felt on your bones. You finally risked a glance up at his face, and he held a small, knowing smirk there, waiting for you.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about…” you murmured softly.

“Don’t I? You know what’s the opposite of love, _______? Hate. The coin, it made everything go to chaos, right?” He said, and before you could even respond, he continued.

“You wondered why it didn’t affect me at first? It was because I was already in love with you.” He said it so shamelessly, like he hadn’t been shoving the feeling down for god only knows how long, like he hadn’t been terrified that the day he finally told you, would be the day that he lost you. But he didn’t care about any of that anymore. He just needed you to know that he didn’t hate you. He never could.

Your face flushed, and you stared up at him with wide eyes. He sighed softly and brought his hand up to gently caress, then cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently over the plump skin there.

“I love the sound of your voice, the way that you talk; I love your laugh and your smile; I love how kind and passionate you are; I love how you feel like you can let me protect you, even when you know you can do it yourself— I love you, _______. Please, honey, you have to believe me.” Sam’s voice faded quietly into somewhat of a whispered plea, hoping that his words had gotten through to you, and that you knew he’d never hated you.

You, on the other hand, were completely gobsmacked with disbelief and awe. Sam. Your Sam. He was in love with you? That was why the wish hadn’t worked? Sam was in love with you? You felt like crawling out of your skin and dying there—because at least then, you’d die a happy woman, knowing that the man you loved, reciprocated. If only you could remain in this moment, forever.

“I.. you..” you struggled to find the words for a moment, before swallowing down a heavy saliva that had weighed on your tongue for a bit now, “but you said..-“

“I know what I said. Believe me, I know what I said, damnit.” He said, the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders, and seeping deep into his bones. It showed in the soft murmur of his tone, the dip in his voice. “I.. don’t hate you. I could never hate anything about you, sweetheart. You’re perfect..” he muttered, laying his brow against your own and removing the hand from your arm now.

Sam’s now free hand went up to cup your other cheek, and you could feel his breath fanning over the skin on your face. Your breath stuttered in your throat.

“You’re just saying that..-“ you tried to retort, but he shut you up quickly.

“I’m not. Really, I’m not. I don’t hate anything about you.” He said, still trying to desperately convince you.

“You will. Eventually.” You replied grimly, your hands coming up to rest against his wrists gently, soaking up his presence as much as you possibly could.

Sam only shook his head softly, silently disagreeing with you, but he didn’t want to argue. His thumbs rubbed stripes along your cheekbones, his touch was reverent, almost worshiping, like he was holding the heavens and the earth in his hands. Something precious.

One of his hands trailed down from your cheek, to your neck, collarbone, lower until he was brushing against your stomach briskly, before finally settling possessively on your hip. It was just then that you truly knew how big he was compared to you. Just by the weight and size of his hand on your skin.

Your breath shook, and Sam’s other hand started to trail up into your hair, the back of your head, his touch slow, and deliberate. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, almost as lost as you were, before they snapped back open and landed on your own. “Tell me to stop..” he prayed quietly.

You only gazed up at those hazel eyes, and shook your head with a soft, timid, “No.”

And it seemed like that had just snapped Sam’s carefully held restraint completely in two.

He sighed heavily and slammed his lips up against yours. Out of all the times that you’d imagined yourself kissing Sam for the first time, you’d always imagined that it would be soft. Careful. Deliberate. But it was actually far from it.

Your mouths clashed together in a desperate, heated mixture of teeth and tongue, you both panting for air, and yet not daring to pull away and break the delicate atmosphere. Sam’s tongue swiped long swathes against your own, the feeling of your different salivas mixing and coating the insides of your mouths intoxicating to both parties.

His grip on your hip tightened, and his hand in your hair became demanding, taking a fistful of it and pushing you deeper into him. He pulled you closer by your hip, causing your back to arch slightly against him, and he took that to his full advantage.

You could feel the shit-eating grin on his face against your lips before you saw it, and you knew that he had to be up to something. His hand traveled from your hip to the lower dip in your back, pressing you further into him, and making you arch back even more, which only lead to him having to lean over you to kiss you properly, delicately reminding you how you were smaller than him.

His hand slipped underneath your shirt desperately, taking a step forward and letting your knees hit the back of his mattress, before pushing you down. As you sat, your kiss was broken, leaving you both panting, gasping for air that you’d taken from each other.

Sam looked down at you, tilting your head back up to look at him by your chin. This was his way of giving you an out if you wanted it. If you weren’t ready. His eyes held a silent question. Are you ready? Do you want this? Do you want me? In response to every single one of them, you only sighed and reached up, cupping your hands behind the back of his neck and bringing him in close, clashing your lips together again.

He certainly had no problem with that. He let out a deep, guttural groan that filled you head-to-toe with that one bass-y note, the vibrations against your lips enough to make you moan back. He quickly swallowed the noise and went to ease you onto your back. Excitement and arousal coursed through your veins, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Sam had slowly been lowering you more and more, until he had you on your elbows underneath him, just about to make that final push to have you on your back, splayed out for him, just like he’d dreamed of time and time again. He let out a shaky sigh and broke your kiss, much to your dismay.

You tried to chase his lips with a soft whine, only to have him shift his weight to one arm, using his now free hand to grab your jaw and tilt it away. He didn’t leave you confused for very long.

His lips trailed wet, hot kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving small bite marks and hickeys as he went. Now that he had you, he wasn’t going to hold back. He would be the only person to see you like this. He’d be the only one to see the marks he left on your skin. Sam wasn’t much of a show off anyways.

Your head tilted back naturally as you panted and moaned softly into the air, whining whenever he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot in the expanse of your skin. One of his knees came to rest between your legs, pressing up into your core tantalizingly.

You squirmed and pressed into him with an equal amount of fervor, feeling another satisfied grin on his face press against the skin of your neck as you did.

You were a mess already. Your hair was tousled, as was his, both pairs of lips were pink and swollen, and your shirt was now somewhat rearranged on your bodice. You were sure that your cheeks were flushed to high hell, too.

So, that being said, it was probably the absolute worst timing when the lock to the motel clicked, and the door swung open.

You let out a quick gasp, pulling away from Sam and staring, horrified, at the door where Dean was now currently standing, staring at the scene before him, frozen. You let out a soft, embarrassed little sigh, hiding your face away from Dean into Sam’s shoulder. That one little noise, paired with the action, made Sam absolutely melt against you. He quickly gathered himself with a deep breath, turning back to Dean.

“Sorry, dude.” He apologized sheepishly.

“Eh, it’s alright, just uh.. wrap it before you tap it, you know.” Dean said awkwardly, earning him a glare from you. He cleared his throat, and with a soft ‘okay’, went to leave the room, before quickly coming back and setting one of the bags of food on the ground next to the door for you two later to share.

“For you, uh.. I’ll.. I’ll leave you be. Yeah. Um.. yeah.” He said, before finally slipping out of the room and locking the door behind him. For a moment, you and Sam shared a quiet look, before bursting out into crippling laughter that had you both gripping onto each other for support.

God, you loved hearing him laugh. Genuinely laugh. Your world had been all kinds of fucked up recently, and it was a rare sight to even see him really smile anymore. So whenever you did, you savored every second of it, worried that the moment would pass faster than you could comprehend.

Once the laughter died down, and the mood turned a bit softer once more, Sam just quietly sat and watched you, hovering above by his hands planted on either side of your waist. You only stared back quietly, before finally breaking out into a content smile.

“What?” You asked sweetly.

Sam only sighed and leaned in, pressing chaste, loving kisses against your neck again. Much less ravenously than before. “Just.. admiring. You’re gorgeous.” He conferred, trailing the kisses everywhere from your jaw to your collarbone, his hands beginning to wander up your shirt again, a little slower this time.

Your breath hitched and you gripped his shoulders, moaning out a soft little, “Sam..” as he continued his ministrations.

“Shh, I know, honey.. I’ve got a lot of making up to do, you know? Just.. lie back, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He murmured quietly against your skin, trailing his kisses a bit farther down as he made the final move to push you flat onto your back.

The man knew how to keep a promise. ‘Cause oh lord, did he make it up to you.

notes: AAHHHHHHHH!!! First tumblr story, I think it’s pretty solid. A little rushed at the end, because it’s currently almost one in the morning, and I have school tomorrow lol but I didn’t want to break my train of thought. Let me know what you think!! If you have any tips, I’d really appreciate them! Thx!

Xoxo,

Happy Reading! ❤️

[dilf-issues]

Vanilla | C.M

Requested by Anon: hey dunno you take requests but since your writing is so hot , I'm willing to ask if you consider writing about roleplaying with Cillian and his wife or gf to break the dull routine they were stuck into , the way he suggested that to her being embarrassed and the sweet moments they ditch the characters in bed. He could bring his characters *cough cough * Tommy shelby. Thank you x

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend, Cillian, finds out you’ve been reading erotic fiction about his character in the Peaky Blinders, Tommy Shelby. Cillian shows you how much of a great actor he is.

Warnings: Age gap, the reader is in her 20s and Cillian is in his 40s. Roleplaying, extremely rough sex, dumbification, degradation, face slapping, spitting, pussy spanking, oral sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, and a little cnc. THIS IS KIND OF DARK SO BE WARNED. Everything is consented it’s just that... Cillian’s gonna be rough, like ROUGH

.

Cillian had been busy. He had an upcoming new season this year and his schedule was packed. You haven’t spent time with him in quite some time now. He constantly apologized for not giving you enough attention and promised to make it up to you.

He decided to fulfill this promise.

Since he was the main character in his series ‘Peaky Blinders’, he did have massive privilege in the production. He had never done it before since he had been such a dedicated person to work with, however, he felt like he should sacrifice his work just for you. He wanted to spend the time with you, maybe have some dinner together at a nice restaurant. Just the usual things the both of you would do. Every time he had some free time he would do some nice things for you, treat you like a princess.

He came home from work that day, he got permission to take the week off and he even got back early from set. He wanted to surprise you, he had a flower in his hands a box of your favorite soft cookies. It was all so perfect.

When he came home, he saw that the first floor was empty and there were no signs of you anywhere. He went upstairs since he reckoned you were in the bedroom, probably taking a nap or reading a book.

Cillian was so happy. He was a man who barely showed any emotions in public but with you, it was different. He had a wide smile on his face, ready to surprise you but when he opened the door, he didn’t see you on the bed.

Instead, he heard the shower running and so he hummed to himself, setting the gifts down as he sat on the bed to wait for you.

As he patiently waited, he noticed your phone was still on. You were the type of person to let the screen go on forever instead of turning it off every 3 minutes like him. He glanced absentmindedly as he saw you were reading some sort of story on your phone. His actions were harmless, he just wanted to see what you were reading.

His eyes skimmed through the words as his blood runs cold.

‘Tommy had me bent over his desk, ass red and swollen from all the beatings. My pussy was leaking down onto the expensive wood, desperate for his cock to ram inside me.

“Please, Mr. Shelby, I need your cock!” I plead like a good whore as he growled.

“You are nothing but a filthy cocksleeve”

Tommy? Shelby? His Tommy Shelby? The character that he played?

It seemed like all of the blood started circulating to his face as he flushed at the filthy thing he had just read. Y/N? His sweet Y/N was reading something like that?

Cillian couldn’t believe it because someone as young and pure as he would never be this dirty. Because of their age gap, he saw her as someone that he needed to protect, shield from the rest of the goddamned world. His fragile little princess that he wouldn’t dare to inflict even a slight force in fear that she might break and shatter into pieces.

The sound of the shower became silent and it interrupted his thoughts, he quickly placed her phone where it belonged as he stood up and smoothened the spot on the bed where he sat to make it seem like he just came in.

When you had walked out, it took you a moment to notice Cillian standing there with your gifts but when you did, you gave him a small scream as you ran towards him, your figure wearing nothing but a small towel.

“Cillian?! You’re back? You brought me gifts!” You exclaimed as her wet body embraced him in a hug. Cillian was somewhat still blank from what he was reading earlier.

‘If she had liked that kinda stuff so much he could push her on the bed and beat her ass right now’

His eyes widened at his own thoughts as he tried to push them away, “Yes princess, I thought maybe I haven’t been paying attention to you now have I? I’m all yours for the week, baby”

You pouted as you nodded at him, and then he realized how submissive-looking you were. You had always had a demeanor of what he would expect someone much younger than him to have, however, Cillian was starting to look at it in a new light.

It doesn't help the fact that he still has his Thomas Shelby haircut for the filming.

It also doesn’t help she was almost naked in front of him, he hadn’t fucked her in weeks. It’s almost fitting.

Maybe doing something about it wouldn’t hurt now would it?

Oh... But it’s definitely gonna hurt you...

Cillian watched closely as the girl before him admired his gifts for her in awe. His eyes became more and more lusted as he figured out a way to approach you.

“Love, can I ask you a question?”

You hummed at him innocently as she raised her brows at him, “Anything, Cill...”

“What have you been reading on your phone, hmm?” Her eyes widened slightly as her heart started to pound in her chest. Cillian was looking at her so intensely that it was slightly scary. She didn’t know if she should lie, or if she should tell him the truth. However, since he had asked... It was obvious he knew the truth.

“Cillian I can explain” You sputtered, panicking on the inside as Cillian started closing whatever gap that both of you had, he was looking down on you in a way he had never done before. You felt the chill run down your spine as you felt the back of your knees hitting the bed.

“Explain” He commanded.

“It’s just... You know I love you and you know I should be honest to you no matter what. But... I just... We haven’t been together in a long time lately and even when we do... It’s always the same...” You felt guilty saying this to him, it’s not like he was bad at sex. He was great. However, you were getting bored with the same soft and loving sex you two always had. “I just... I hope you can be a little rougher, that’s all. You’ve always been... So soft”

“Soft... Hm?” He tilted his head to the side as he stared at you almost mockingly, “Be careful of what you wish for, love”

You had felt your heart stop when Cillian’s smooth Irish accent suddenly turned into the dark Brummie accent you had always heard about on the TV. The one you had always touched yourself to when he wasn’t around.

Then out of nowhere, Cillian had roughly pushed you on the bed as you fell down and whimpered softly. He pulled off the towel on your body as you were left naked, “C-Cillian!”

“Who the fuck is Cillian, eh? Have you been fucking whoring yourself out to another man?” Cillian cursed at you as he quickly took his clothes off, “You’re my whore. You’re mine to fuck, you got it?”

Then you can physically feel your gears shifting in your brain, “T-Tommy?”

Your body shivered as you felt yourself getting wet, you were all naked and you were ready for him. You felt your legs spread instinctively as you heard him laugh, “You really are such a desperate fucking cunt, eh?”

‘Tommy’ had bent down as he gripped your face by the cheeks and roughly shook your head, “Who do you belong to? Who do you fucking belong to?”

“Y-You Cill-Tommy! I belong to you!” Tommy smirked, as his hands traveled down to your navel, teasing you as he drew figures on the skin, making you whine, “Open your fucking mouth you dirty whore”

You wasted no time opening your mouth for him, wide with your tongue out. Suddenly, he did the unexpected when he spat in your mouth, “Fucking swallow it, princess”

You swallowed his spit like a good girl as you held out your tongue to show to him, suddenly seeking his praise and validation however it never came. Tommy just hummed as he let go of your face harshly, almost slamming your head onto the plush bedding.

Characters aside, Cillian was never like this. Throughout the year of your relationship, he had always been gentle and kind, treating you like a soft feather and taking care of you. Maybe because it was because he was much older he had felt like he needed to treat you gently. You never realized Cillian had this side to him. He had always had this side, you just never awaken it.

“Spread your legs wider” He commanded, his voice dark as his character, you listened to him, eager to show him you were his good girl as he hummed looking down at the glistening flesh in between your legs. You were so wet it had dripped down and leaked onto the bedsheet. Without a warning, Tommy gives a hard slap to your cunt and you screamed out. You thought he was doing it once but it seems like it came over and over again, beating your swollen pussy and clit until it was throbbing and red. You cried out of pleasure and pain, as you begged him. You didn’t know what you were begging for but it was sure not for him to stop.

“You fucking like this don’t you? Fucking hell, look at you. You’re fucking wet, you like getting fucking beaten and bruised huh? What a fucking whore. You are nothing. You are only good for fucking, you are only here to fuck. Remember that, you fucking cunt”

Tears were flowing down and you were desperate you were so desperate for his cock. After each word, Tommy spat on your body, leaving you all wet and filthy combined with your own sweat and arousal.

“P-Please! P-Please, fuck me, Tommy! Please I need your cock. Please I want your cum. I need it inside me!” You pleaded like a whore as he slapped your face. You moaned out as his hand traveled down your neck and choked it just enough to make you feel the air around you restricting. “Tommy, I can’t, I need your cock”

He scoffed, pulling down his pants as whipped out his cock. It was so hard to the point where it became purplish-red, the veins covering the base as the head leaked with pre-cum.

“You want my cock?” He lined up his tip on your vagina, “You fucking get it you cocksleeve”

Without giving you a warning and time to adjust, Tommy slammed his cock inside your cunt and he wasted no time ramming into you roughly. Not like you needed time to adjust since you were sopping wet. All you can do is choke out his name and moans as he grunts with each slam.

His pace was rough and deep and for someone like hin with his age, he had the stamina to go on and on fucking you so rough till you can feel him ramming in your stomach.

No words could even cum out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back as he fucks you braindead.

Spit drooling at the side of your mouth as you babble like a cock hungry whore underneath him.

“I’m gonna fucking cum and you’re gonna take it. You’re gonna fucking carry my babies, and even then it is not gonna stop me from fucking you stupid”

You could feel him twitching as his thrusts were getting sloppier and sloppier, you could also feel your orgasm coiling in your tummy as you cried out once you let it all go, the liquid splashing all over the both of you as you squirt on his dick.

You were heavily overstimulated and you screamed as Tommy fucked the cum out of him.

The warm seed spilled inside your walls as he grunted in pleasure, leaning down as he bit your neck and drew blood to the surface.

Tommy looked at you all fucked out, eyes still rolling at the back of your head as you continue to babble nonsense to nothing.

He breathes heavily as he lays down beside you, carefully moving your body to cuddle up to him.

“Like I said, my love... Be careful of what you wished for”