Thinking about Rhett carrying you to bed after you’ve fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home from a week-long circuit
Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader!
Author's note: Just wanted to make a little fluff piece because I've been stressing out all week about my practical lab simulation that's happening today. Writing this really took the edge off, and I hope y'all enjoy <3
The television had gone quiet sometime after midnight, its stale blue light still flickering across the living room without a sound. The cable box had shut itself off hours earlier, leaving nothing but a blank, glowing rectangle that cut through the dark.
Rhett noticed it the second he eased the front door open. The hallway stretched ahead of him in near-total darkness, the whole house holding that particular hollow quiet of a place already turned in for the night. Only the television’s leftover light reached this far. Then he saw your slippers abandoned near the edge of the rug–something that should’ve been with you in the bedroom–and finally his eyes settled on the uneven stack of quilts on the couch, with one of your arms hanging limply off the side.
You had fallen asleep curled on your side in a tight ball beneath them with your cheek pressed hard into the cushion instead of the pillow that had slipped halfway off the edge. The shirt you were wearing was his. He knew it by the frayed edges at the sleeves, the ones he had always picked at when he was thinking–removing the stray threads until they unspooled.
The sight of you in it undid every ache that had been riding him since the last chute.
He was exhausted, his body spent from a full week of travel and competition that hadn’t let up once. Arena dust sat thick under his fingernails, and a deep bruise along his ribs had been spreading with every mile of the drive home. His wrist was throbbing steadily inside the brace he had put on before leaving the arena, and the long hours behind the wheel had settled into the muscles of his lower back until they screamed for a mattress to lay down on.
But looking at you made it all recede, even as he toed off his boots and crossed the living room toward the couch.
A mug waited on the coffee table beside your phone–tea that had gone cold hours ago–and three messages from him still glowed unanswered on the screen when he tapped it awake.
Headed home.
Running a little late, lot’s of traffic tonight, think there’s an accident.
Don’t wait up, Sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.
Rhett lowered his head, a tired smile pulling faintly at one corner of his mouth.
“You never listen to me,” He murmured, lifting his hat off his head and setting it carefully beside the mug. Even through the pain he crouched beside the couch, as the floorboards under his boots giving a loud, familiar creak. He sucked in a sharp breath and held still, his eyes snapping at you for any sign that he disturbed your sleep. But you only shifted deeper into the cushion, your face turning further into the plushness of it.
Up close he could see the faint crease pressed into your cheek from the pressure, and the soft furrow that lingered between your brows, like some part of you had kept worrying about him long after sleep had taken you.
Rhett let out a quiet sigh and reached for you slowly, curling his dirt-dusted fingers so the backs of his knuckles could brush along the cool skin of your temple. He eased your hair away from your face so he could see you better–so he could take in the sight he had missed the most this week. His skin was rough, calloused in spots where callouses shouldn’t have been, but his touch was painfully gentle–the way it always was with you.
“Hey, darlin’,” He whispered, watching as your eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, even though they remained closed. Rhett dragged his knuckles slowly across your forehead, before bringing his hand down to cup the side of your face–his large palm dwarfing the size of it. You tilted into the warmth without waking–as if you were a sunflower and he was the sun–nuzzling closer like you had been waiting for this contact. He could feel his heart seize at that moment, stopping in the caverns of his chest at the way you responded to him regardless of your alertness.
He had spent the last seven days getting thrown around under bright arena lights, sleeping on narrow motel beds that never held enough heat, eating alone with the television running just to fill the silence. Every night without fail he would call you from a parking lot or those cheap rooms, pretending the sound of your voice was enough to make the distance bearable for him, but it had never been. Because nothing compared to walking into this house and finding you waiting for him like this–even if it was against his wishes.
“Should be in bed,” He said, though there wasn’t any real scolding in the comment. You made a quiet sound, a small hum, and your outstretched hand shifted until your fingers brushed his bicep beneath the soft cotton of his button-up. As if you were testing to see if what you were feeling was real, your touch slid down the length of his arm, closing loosely around the hard plastic of his wrist brace–though your fingers couldn’t touch.
“Rhett?” Your voice was thick with sleep, and he could hear the confusion lacing the edges of it, and his throat tightened at the relief he could sense beneath it.
“Yeah, baby,” He answered, stroking the soft skin under your eye with his thumb, “It’s me.” He confirmed. Your eyes opened only halfway, peeking out through your lashes, and for a long moment you just looked at him, completely dazed, as though you needed to make sure you weren’t still dreaming. Then your mouth curved into a small smile.
“You’re home.” He nodded once, his hair falling out of it’s slicked back form while doing so.
“I’m home.” You hummed at that, as your eyes slipped shut again, but your fingers began to absentmindedly rub along the thick plastic of the brace, like you were trying to keep yourself from falling back to sleep.
“Took you forever.” You murmured.
“I know…”
“I tried to stay awake…Wanted to see you…” The words came out drowsily and soft as you made futile attempts to fight against the exhaustion that was plaguing you. Rhett smirked and leaned in, pressing his chapped lips to your forehead. He stayed there long enough to breathe you in–the faint scent of your honey shampoo and all the other hair products you piled on after a shower, mixing with the spicy, pine and woody cologne that he owned, all of it mixed with the unmistakable warmth of home, of comfort, of love.
“You’re seein’ me now,” He replied, easing back just enough to look down at you, noticing that your eyes were still closed.
“Barely.” You muttered, and a soft laugh escaped him.
“Well it would help if you would open your eyes, but I can tell you’re too tired for that…So let’s get you to bed, sleepin’ beauty.” He stood carefully, gathering the quilts tighter around you so nothing would fall as he was walking, tucking the fabric in until you were fully cocooned. Once he was satisfied with his work he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, then lifted you off the couch slowly, making sure he wasn’t triggering the ache that was still pulsing in his back. Even with him keeping all his injuries in mind, his muscles and bruises still protested, but he ignored every one of them as he drew you close, feeling the heat of your body soaking straight through the fabric that separated the two of you.
Immediately, you curled into him, your cheek pressing against the hard muscle of his chest as you nuzzled closer into him, and without thought, Rhett’s arms tightened around you.
“Did you win?” You asked, the words muffling against the fabric of his shirt.
“Stayed on.” He answered as he began to walk.
“Wasn’t my question.” You shot back, and a small smirk tugged at his mouth at the quiet jab.
“Yeah…Yeah I won.” He said, glancing down to caught the soft smile that touched your lips.
“Knew you would.”
The certainty in your voice made his heart clench. You had never doubted him–not once, not through any of the long sessions of training or the hard falls that you had beared witness to. You had watched him win enough buckles that he made most of these circuits look easy from the outside. But that never stopped the worry in you. The wrist brace along was proof enough that the work he put in took its toll, and you couldn’t yet see what was waiting for you under his clothes. But that would be tomorrow’s problem–you would nurse him back to health when he allowed you. Tonight you just wanted him–his presence, his body, his arms, everything.
Rhett carried you down the hallway with careful steps–mindful of how narrow it was–keeping you tucked securely against him so you didn’t accidentally knock against the walls. The navigation of the dark house was only amplified by the soft creak of the floorboard under your combined weights, and halfway to the bedroom your fingers found the greasy strands of his hair, tangling into them.
“Missed you,” You murmured, and Rhett’s jaw flexed at that, as he tilted his face down to rub his chin against the top of your head.
“Missed you too…So damn much.”
There were things he had never learned to say easily, even after five years of being together. He could take a hard fall without making a sound. He could carry every expectation his family stacked on his shoulders without complaint. Tenderness, though, still sometimes caught behind his teeth like it was too fragile to risk letting out those feelings. But with you half-asleep and warm in his arms, the words came easier.
“Hated wakin’ up without you,” He said quietly, “And I definitely hated comin’ back to an empty motel room.” Your hand slipped from his hair and smoothed slowly down the side of his neck, resting your fingertips over the steady thunder of his pulse.
“You don’t have to now.” Rhett closed his eyes for a brief second and let out a long breath.
“No…I don’t.”
He crossed the threshold into the bedroom, angling carefully around the hefty basket that was stacked high with neatly folded laundry and the sharp edge of the dresser. When he reached the bed he pulled the covers back with one hand without ever letting you go, before lowering you onto the plushness softness of the sheets, putting in more care than he used for almost anything else in his life. But the second his arms started to ease away you made a small, protesting sound.
“I’m right here baby.” He promised, as he began to unravel you from the quilts, tossing them haphazardly on the floor, before crouching down to pull off your socks one at a time. HIs thumb rubbed slowly over the faint indentations each elastic had left around your ankles, kissing the marks, and nuzzling against them, feeling the way your muscles jumped at that. When he was finished he drew the duvet up to your chin and tucked you in, smoothing it around you.
Your eyes opened again the moment he was levelled with you, and he watched concern pull across your face–your brows drawing together, and your mouth parting slightly on a breath. You hadn’t seen the bruise blooming along his jaw when he had been crouched beside the couch, but now that you were in a room that had enough light–from the moon that peeked through the curtains–you were able to identify the purple shadow that stood out beneath the stubble. Your hand came out from under the covers and your fingertips traced the edge of it, watching as Rhett’s eyes closed at the contact and feeling him leaning into the touch even though the sharp pinch of pain made him flinch.
“You’re hurt,” You whispered, your voice cracking a little on the discovery. You wondered how this happened, but deep down inside you didn’t really want to know, especially when you weren’t there when it happened. He looked at you through his lashes, his blue eyes catching the light.
“Just sore…It’s nothin’ to worry about.” He replied, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm before easing back. If the exhaustion hadn’t already settled so deep in your bone you might’ve sat up and followed him–wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him back down so you could hold him. But as it was right now, the attempt died before it even started and you only managed another soft whine.
“Come back…” Rhett let out a short huff of a laugh and shook his head at you.
“Baby, I need a shower.” You mirrored him in those moments, shaking your head against the pillow.
“Tomorrow.” His brows lifted at that.
“Y/N, I smell like a stockyard and I’m covered in dirt.” You only shrugged at him.
“Don’t care, we can change the sheets tomorrow and I don’t mind if you smell bad.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“You will in about five minutes.” He mumbled, as you shifted under the covers to make room before opening them up toward him, quietly inviting him in the space you made.
“C’mere and I’ll prove you wrong.” There was no demand in your voice–only that soft, teasing affection that always managed to cut every argument out from him–and he gave in with a gruff sigh.
“Alright…It’s your funeral.” He stated, as he worked his belt open and unbuttoned his jeans, letting both of them fall into a careless heap he already knew you would give him hell for in the morning. The buttons of his shirt took longer as he undid them with one hand, before shrugging it off his shoulders to let it join the rest of the clothes. Once he was down to just his boxers he climbed carefully onto the mattress beside you, feeling your body moving in close immediately, dragging the duvet over the both of you. Rhett stretched his arm out so you could fully settle against him, as your leg slipped between his while you tucked your head beneath his chin. His body loosened the second your full weight rested against him, closing both arms around you–surrounding your body and covering you completely–sliding one hand up under your shirt until his palm pressed against the small of your back.
Your fingers began tracing slow, idle patterns across his chest while you breathed him in deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.
“You don’t smell like a stockyard…You smell sweaty.” You corrected him quietly, pressing your nose against the dark lines of the bull-rider tattoo over his heart and inhaling again on purpose, “Love that smell.” He hummed low in his throat and shook his head once.
“I think you’re so tired that your sense of smell has gone off its rocker.” You glared up at him, a small smirk curving your mouth, before leaning in to press a soft kiss right at the base of his throat, tasting the saltiness of his skin.
“Maybe…But right now…I like it a lot.” Rhett sighed, clenching his arms around your body to embrace you even further.
“I told you not to wait up for me…If you hadn’t you wouldn’t have been so tired, and you wouldn’t be waking up smellin’ like a farm.” He said, and you hummed again.
“I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you got home.” You replied softly, feeling Rhett’s breathing halt for a moment beneath your head, as your eyes began to close again, feeling the heaviness of sleep washing over your body and invading your mind. You could feel Rhett’s hand slowly sliding upward, coming to cradle the back of your head. He gently tipped your face upward towards his and kissed your forehead, then the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally your lips. He kept it tender, and unhurried–touches that asked for nothing but made him feel like he was reuniting with you in a far more intimate way, like he wanted to complete it.
“You always are,” He whispered against your mouth, as he allowed you to settle back down against his chest again, and even through the haze of sleep that was about to overtake you, he saw the sleepy smile that draped across your lips before you fell asleep against him–finally in the comfort of your lover's arms.
Summary: You grind on Rhett in the backseat of his truck
Notes: I tried to make this as 'reader' friendly as possible and avoid any physical details. This is a little short fic! I hope you enjoy.
The patchwork blanket slipped a little down; he reached up, and gently tucked it back around your shoulders. It may seem a little silly, but even some fabric falling across your shoulders felt more secure and comfortable than the alternative. It wasn't like anyone was going to come across you, not here. The land was empty, somewhere on the many acres that belonged to his family. The truck parked beneath a overhanging tree. "I know, I know," Rhett murmured with amusement, smoothing his hands around your hips as they shifted back and forth. Bottom lip caught between your teeth to smother any sounds that were too embarrassing to hear during the moment of lust, you eagerly moved against him for the delicious friction of his denim jeans pressing up against your clit. It was desperation that had your heart thudding in your ears, and panting despite receiving nothing except the aching in your knees from them being pressed into the seat of his truck, and a creeping warmth that travelled up your chest. His fingers dipped under the waistband of your panties, hooking around the elastic and pulling it taut in a playful manner. "Rhett," you whined in complaint, shifting on your knees that were bracketing his hips before swatting his arm when it snapped against your skin.j
"You doin' alright?" he asked, softer in his curiosity while raising one hand to rest on the behind his head while you continued to rock diligently against his bulge. The wet patch on his jeans could have been from either of you, or perhaps both. It didn't matter anymore. He let you decide the pace, allowing the frantic grinding motion that was somehow still too slow and light. It was teasing. A taste. But the sight of your panties blooming with a slick wetness was enough to satisfy. "Hey," he tapped your hip when there was no reply except the squeezing grip on his abdomen where your hands were splayed. "C'mon, you alright?" He grasped your jaw with one hand, forcing you to lift your head. He was no doubt ensuring there was no regret with the shy demeanour that anyone would have noticed from the moment he had set his eyes on you. His fingers dug in just a little hard, almost mean. He stares at your face for a moment, his other hand gently caressing one of your thighs before creeping under the waistband of your thong. "Hmmm.... Yeah," you nodded slightly, leaning into his touch with eyebrows furrowed tightly and your lips part just a little while breaths left in short pants. "Fuckin' knees are aching."
A soft pat to your hip has you pressing down eagerly. It felt a little condescending, that connection of his hand upon your skin to get you moving quicker. "Yeah?" he chuckled, keeping your face close enough that the soft breath was a shared expression. "That's part of the charm. C'mon," he coaxed, voice gaining a slight raspy tilt while his fingers pressed firmly into your hip while his pelvis pressed up against you, seeking out friction. There it was. The thick length of him kept behind a barrier of denim, the shape of it obvious and enough to force an excited thrum throughout your body. You wanted more of it. You wanted to feel every twitching inch until you were full. "That's it. Atta girl, keep going."
Your hands were still pressed firmly against his abdomen, feeling it tense underneath. Every shift was a signal of just how much he was enjoying it. The thick bulge beneath denim straining against your panties and creating the perfect bump to grind against. The crease on his jeans had a delicious rough texture. The slight ridge of his zipper and fly had become a jolting presence. A warm flush curled up in your chest and started to rise to your cheeks, the tightening in your belly that felt like a thousand stars were forming a tornado of bliss. "Rhett," your nails firmly press into his skin, drawing welts as you try to stay upright. The pressure was too delicious, the grinding motion almost slowed down completely for a split moment when it all became too much. Every breath was a short gasp, hips rocking in short, and slow frantic motions as if to take in the exact feeling of denim beneath. It was almost painful, an overbearing feeling that made you jolt while chasing the growing warmth. It was tipping.
"There we go, that's it," Rhett kept one hand on your hip, a gentle guidance and chuckled at the way your mouth was half-parted with short breathes. "Good girl." He squeezed your jaw lightly, reminding you that he was holding you up with that simple pressure.
Shit. Of course he said that. "Fuck," You tumbled down the rippling sensation that was thrown over your body; the tingling feeling of heat that crawled up your neck until your head was wrapped in a numb state, clit throbbing, hips cantering in a last ditch effort to prolong the euphoria. Your eyes squeezed closed, trying to control your breathing while focusing on it all, as if to grasp it forever for those lonely nights back home.
"Good girl," he repeated, chucking when your hips jolted at the easy praise. The words sounded so sweet, so encouraging. A sharp sting landed on the curve of your ass, a blooming warmth erupting. You gasp sharply at the pull back into reality. "Asshole," You huffed, shifting slightly and sitting up straighter. There was no doubt that his hat was tilted a little too far forward on your head; a ridiculous sight, you were sure, but from the look on his face it seemed a delightful one. "You know what that does to me."
"You were taking too long," he patted your hip softly, a tapping that insisted he wanted something. Of course. When he sat up, the car seat creaked beneath him. Your sensitive nerves overstimulated at the shifting to sit upright. You made a soft humph, and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck loosely. There was a slight hue to his cheeks, almost rosy, and that would have been the only evidence that it had affected him if it wasn't for the way his hips bucked up. His hair was soft and touched by sweat at the nape of his neck, the strands twiddled between your fingers. "Let's get you going again, yeah?" he asked, playfully shaking your head after his hand moved from your jaw to your chin, pinching the space. "If you're gonna sit on top, you need to put in the work. That was the deal. I'll teach you to ride like a real cowgirl."
Can I request Calvin Evans with this prompt?: kissing your partner after they've given you head.
Be Quiet for Me
NFSW!! 18+
Pervious Part: If you will have me
Pairing: Calvin Evans X Fem!Secretary!Reader
Summary: You can’t be quiet no matter how hard Calvin tries
Warning: very much implied smutt so 18+ (Oral sex fem!receiving)
Note: started this on a whim last night and how here we are, it’s a bit short but spicy~
I kinda diverged from the prompt up you don’t mind anon lol
This is connected to “If you will have me” but can be read separately!
Oh how Ive missed writing for Lewis Pullman Character~
-Iris/Mars
Words: 0.6k
You honestly hadn’t meant for it to go this far. You and Calvin were only just celebrating him earning a major grant in his lab. But of course you complimenting and praising him turned into him kissing you. Then that turned into him picking you up and setting you on his lab table. So it wasn’t really a shocker that you were now a withering mess on top of the lab table, your dress pulled up high around your waist, stockings ripped and Calvin devouring in between your legs.
“Jesus Christ Calvin…” you moaned just a little too loud, you were trying to keep quiet but it was too hard with how good he made you feel
You feel Calvin briefly pull away to nip your thigh as a sort of chastisement for your noise. “I need you to be quite for me”
“I’m sorry I’m sorry… it just… gosh it feels so good Calvin” You struggle to get out, your fingers find his hair, leading him to the exact spot you need him, the spot you know he’s purposely ignoring to tease you.
You felt the vibration of his voice as he tried to say something but he was too muffled for you to be able to make out his words. The feeling unintentionally brings you closer and closer to the edge. You gasp at the sensation and Calvin’s eyes flicker up to yours in a sort of warning.
You bite down on your lip to try your hardest to keep quiet but his tongue does something just right and you can’t help but cry out.
You can feel Calvin let out a huff of air in a sort of annoyance, he readjust pulling away right as you were about to go off the edge
You whimper in confusion as his mouth trails up your body, leaving soft kisses everywhere.
You whine as your orgasm fads leaving you aching “Cal- why did…” you whine trying to pushing him back down, not caring how desperate and needy you are sounding
Calvin just keeps scattering delicate kisses across your skin. These kisses moved up your torso, across your throat and up to the shell of your ear. “I told you to be quiet and you didn’t listen,” Calvin murmured, gently nipping your ear. You moan at his teasing and the delicate touches across your skin.
Calvin moves the kisses to your mouth, intertwining his tongue with your thoroughly keeping your mouth occupied
This time you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, you pull him in closer needing more.. You're obsessed with your own taste, something about it is just so appealing to you and you can’t get enough. So of course Calvin pulls away.
“God, you just can’t keep quiet can you” Calvin tsked reaching in his back pocket and pulling out your panties you didn’t know he took. “Open” he requested as he stuffed them in your mouth.
He stood up fully taking in the sight of you, you on his lab bench, hair a mess, dress pulled up to your waist with the top half unbuttoned with your tits spilling out and stocking ripped down the middle. Your eyes wide and begging him to get back to touching you in any sort of way. Most importantly your panties shoved in your mouth effectively shutting you up.
“Good, now you can listen to me and actually be quiet” Calvin whispered, sinking back down onto his knees to finish devouring you.
✧･ﾟ:Your brain gets empty, when he has you like this.
✧･ﾟ:“That’s it, baby.” Dean runs his hand down your side, squeezing under your ribs before grabbing a handful of your ass and giving it a light slap. “Just like that, keep movin’ for me, fuck yeah.”
✧･ﾟ:You moan, tossing your head back. You’re clawing at his chest, overwhelmed by the completeness of him around you. You’re on top of him, his cock buried deep inside you as you rock your hips back and forth, and it stretches and fills you so well you can’t think beyond Dean.
✧･ﾟ:His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and he smirks. You know he loves this. Watching you come apart above him, never able to fully unravel without a little help.
✧･ﾟ:But he’s going to make you beg first. Force you to ride him until you’re wobbly and dazed, big tears pricking at your eyes as frustration overtakes your every sense.
You never make it. You always try, crawling over him just like today and pouting until he chuckles and lies back, letting you try to take what you want.
“Look at you.” Dean palms at your breast, groaning as you clench around him. “Tryin’ so hard, aren’t you. ‘S too big, sweetheart? Too hard?”
His teasing only makes you more frustrated. You want to do this. You need to do this. To give Dean a break, show him that you know what you’re doing just as well as he does, that you’re not just some doe-eyed kid who can’t dish what she takes.
But it is so hard. You’re riding him, grinding on his cock like an animal in heat, tits bouncing and chest heaving as you run out of breath. He keeps rubbing that gooey spot inside you, but you can’t figure out how to get him to just hit it the same way he usually does.
“De- Dean.” You collapse over his chest, ass still bouncing as you try to find a little more friction. “Can’t- I- I can’t-“
“I know.” Dean smiles affectionally, brushing the hair from your face with one hand as his other shoves your ass straight down.
You mewl, pinned fully on his cock and too wrecked to even push back. Dean grabs you chin and tips it up, kissing you slow and deep as your pussy flutters around him.
“Need help?” He murmurs, and you shake your head.
“No- No- Just a second-“
“Baby.” He gives you a stern look. “You’re squeezing me like a fuckin’ pump, we don’t have a second.”
You swallow, blinking up at him in dazed, lustful confusion. Dean raises his brows, waiting for the confirmation that he can take over, but your tongue is all jelly in your mouth. He’s so pretty. All muscle and softness and power below you, cradling you like you’re something precious as your pussy weeps around his cock.
You clench again, and he grunts.
“Sweetheart, I need the green light-“
“Please.” You whimper, every nerve in your body alight and whining for attention. “Dean-“
You squeal in delight as he flips you over in a split second, your head hitting the pillows and Dean caging you to the mattress. He wastes no time, pistoning in his hips at an unforgiving pace. He drills into your pussy like a man possessed, his mouth swallowing your keening, happy moans.
It’s so good you’re almost forgetting to breathe. You’re drowning in him, in the way he grunts and completely envelops you. The sight alone is something out of a porno, his chest flex and sweaty, his hair falling over his face, brow knit in concentration as you cling to him and whine.
“Easy, baby, fuck yeah-“
He never gets through a full sentence before he moans. It’s the hottest sound you’ve ever head.
The wet sound of his cock bullying through you fills the room. He found that spot so quickly, ramming the head of his cock into it like he’s slamming a button. You throw your head back, panting as you try to hold off, but Dean grabs your chin and forces your gaze back.
“Let go.” He orders, rolling his hips as he presses back in. “Wanna see it, baby, come on-“
Dean hisses as your orgasm hits you, your vision going white and your pussy pressing down around him. His hips jerk, his thrusts becoming shallow as he groans your name, and he buries his face in your breasts as he cums.
You giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grunts, but smiles, leaving a soft kiss on the curve of your breasts.
“I almost had it.” You whisper, and he chuckles.
“Sure you did.”
“I did-“
“Said sure.” He rises up, eyes shining with adoration as he takes in your flushes, completely ruined expression. “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”
You whack his chest, and he laughs, rolling you back on top. And he’s teasing, but you will get him next time.
And if you don’t, oh well.
There’s no better way to fail in the world.
✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: and when i say this is all i ever need?✦
✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦
The way Ser Duncan the Tall spoke to his horses—you would've thought Sweetfoot was his wife. Soft and honeyed, deliciously sweet. "Easily startled, they are," he would say, "need a bit of encouragement is all."
Any hint of skittishness and it's "it's alright, darlin'" or "that's my good girl".
And former noble lady/companion!reader is awfully jealous. She's easily startled too. She needs encouragement. She's a good girl.
Dunk doesn't know why his lady pouts whenever he tends to the horses. Why her sweet face goes red and she seems to upset.
Egg tells him one day, "You coo to the horses more oft than to her. It's insulting." Dunk, as thick as ever, responds, "I do not coo. And she is a lady, I cannot address her as I do the horses."
But the next time she startles at a loud sound or pouts about the stale bread, he tries it. His voice lowers and he's murmuring sweetly, "It's alright, darlin'. There, now, you're alright."
And the way she flushes and instantly quits her fussing is unmistakable. She quiets and she's all soft and pliant and his and he'd never stop speaking if she responded like that every time (she will).
Heyyy I just wanted to say that I love the way you write dialogue!!! I completely got lost in your fics, your mind amazes me <3 also size kink dunk??? I need more
the size kink with dunk is the main main i believe lol
more size kink with dunk ☘︎ ݁˖
his overwhelming presence makes your heart race and your core ache. how could it not?
it's in the simple, everyday moments. when you stand on your toes to kiss him and he still has to lean down, so you find a way to step up onto something to help him out. a fond smile on his face. when his hand engulfs yours, his fingers thick and calloused, making you feel cherished and protected.
when he effortlessly lifts you, whether to move you out of his way or just to hold you, as if you weigh nothing at all.
but when he spreads you out on the bed, his massive body casting a shadow over your smaller frame. his hands, which look as if it could crush a man's windpipe, trace your curves with a reverence that borders on worship.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.
he takes his time, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of you. he's in no rush. he's savoring the sight of you, the way your body responds to his touch.
then he presses the heavy head of his cock against your entrance, and the size of it is enough to make you tremble. he's not even inside you yet, and you already feel impossibly full, stretched to your limit just from the pressure.
"m’going to push in now…big stretch…thas’ a girl," he coaxes, his voice gentle despite the raw hunger in his eyes.
he pushes forward slowly, agonizingly slowly. the stretch is intense, a burning, pleasurable ache that borders on pain.
you feel every vein as he sinks deeper, your nails dig into his shoulders, your body arching off the bed as you struggle to accommodate his impossible size.
"too much?" he asks, stilling, his concern for you warring with his desperate need to be fully sheathed inside you.
you shake your head, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. "no. don't stop. please, dunk."
with a groan, he pushes the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. he starts to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, letting you adjust. then his movements become faster, harder, like he's fucking you with the full force of his strength, and you're taking it.
"you were made for me," he grunts, his voice ragged. "m’sure of it."
-18+, oral f receiving, dunk is pussy drunk, he doesn't really understand a woman's body lol but he wants to learn! + handjob, slight spit play! ᥫ᭡.
the tavern was a cesspool of noise and stale ale. you sat in a corner, cloaked and hooded, trying to make yourself invisible while dunk saw to the horses. the journey had been long, and the promise of a hot meal and a soft bed was a siren's call you couldn't ignore, even if it meant enduring the company of leering merchants and boisterous sellswords.
dunk returned, his broad frame blocking out the light from the fire as he sat down opposite you. he slid a wooden plate of bread and cheese towards you, his expression weary. "eat, princess. we'll be on the road at first light."
you nodded, too tired to argue with the formal address.
at the next table, a pair of sellswords had been watching the two of you since dunk crossed the room. one nudged the other with his elbow. "big lad like that," the thinner one muttered, not nearly as quiet as he thought. "must've done well for himself."
"aye," the other snorted, eyeing you openly. "pretty little wife tucked in the corner..."
"careful," the first man laughed. "you keep staring like that and her husband'll knock your teeth out."
dunk's jaw flexed, but he said nothing. he simply tore off a piece of cheese with deliberate calm, though a faint line had appeared between his brows. he shifted slightly in his seat just enough that his shoulder angled toward you, broad and solid, subtly blocking their line of sight. the movement was casual. protective. intentional.
"should not call me that here to be safe," you murmured softly after a moment. "princess...i mean" you whispered to him.
his eyes flicked to you.
"they think i'm your wife."
a faint, embarrassed heat crept into his ears. "aye, better that than something worse."
across the room, the noise swelled again as the fat merchant slammed his tankard down. "...and i tell you," he bellowed, "the secret to a happy wife isn't gold or jewels. it's between her legs!"
laughter erupted. you felt the heat climb your neck as before, but this time something else lingered beneath the embarrassment. dunk went still again, quiet, watchful, but his knee had shifted closer to yours beneath the table.
"no, i'm serious!" he insisted, leaning in conspiratorially. "you get down there, you use your mouth on her, and she'll be putty in your hands for a week. they all love it. every last one of 'em. squeal like a stuck pig, they do!"
you felt a hot blush creep up your neck, and you stared down at your plate, wishing you could melt into the floor. but dunk didn't laugh, his focus narrowing in on the drunkard's words as if they were the most important instructions he'd ever received. he took a long, slow swig of his ale, his eyes thoughtful, contemplative. the rest of the evening was a blur. you ate in silence, the merchant's crude words echoing in your mind.
dunk found a small inn on the edge of town, securing a single room with two narrow beds. the silence between you was heavy, charged with a new, unspoken tension. you sat on the edge of your bed, unlacing your boots, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he was watching you. you could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering.
you swallowed and forced yourself to keep working at the laces, though your fingers had gone clumsy. the fire in the small hearth crackled, throwing restless shadows across the walls. the beds were narrow enough that your knees would nearly touch if you both lay on your sides.
"princess."
the word was quieter now. rougher.
you looked up despite yourself.
dunk was leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees, big hands hanging loose between them. he looked almost troubled.
"those men," he said slowly, like he was picking his way across uncertain ground, "they speak like women are something to be handled."
your breath left you in a shaky huff. "they were drunk."
"that's when men say what they truly think."
you didn't know what to say to that.
he shifted, the bed creaking under his weight as he stood. the room felt suddenly too small for him. he crossed it in two long strides and crouched in front of you, close enough that the heat of him bled through the thin fabric of your skirts.
"i don't like it," he muttered. "the way they spoke. as if... as if a wife's happiness were some trick. some lever to pull."
your pulse was a frantic thing in your throat. "it was crude tavern talk."
"aye." his jaw flexed. "but i was listening." his eyes had a look of painful curiosity that made your stomach twist.
"i don't know much," he admitted. "about... that. courtship. marriage. what women want." a faint flush crept up his neck, barely visible beneath the firelight. "but i'd not have it be like that. i'd not have you think—" he stopped himself.
you blinked. "me?"
he exhaled, long and slow, as if the word had slipped out before he could stop it.
"aye. you."
silence stretched between you, taut as a drawn bowstring.
"i would not want it made small," he continued, voice low. "not made into something to be managed." his big hands flexed on his knees. "that no woman should have to endure a fool bragging about her like that. and that if a man is lucky enough to win a wife's affection, he ought to earn it every day. not boast of it over ale."
your heart thudded so loudly you were certain he could hear it. you forced a shaky smile. "you would make a very serious husband."
a corner of his mouth twitched. "i'm serious about most things."
"i've noticed."
his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before he caught himself and looked back to your eyes. that tiny, fleeting slip of attention made warmth bloom low in your stomach.
you cleared your throat. "ser duncan the tall," you said lightly, though your voice wavered, "defender of women's honor everywhere."
he huffed a quiet laugh. "someone ought to be." he didn't move away and neither did you. careful. he was so careful with you. but even as he rose and stepped back, giving you space, the room felt irrevocably altered.
whatever the drunken merchant had meant as crude instruction had done something else entirely. it had made dunk think. and the way he looked at you now, thoughtful, protective, and achingly unsure, made your heart and stomach do flips.
"princess," he said, his voice a low rumble,
"yes?"
"those men in the tavern...what they were saying." he paused, and you could hear the hesitation in his voice. "was there any truth to it?"
your face burned. "i...i wouldn't know, ser."
"dunk," he corrected gently. "and you don't have to...i just..." he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, a gesture of frustration. "i want to make you contented. and if that's something women enjoy...something you would enjoy, i would do it...for you."
the sincerity in his voice was your undoing. he wasn't thinking of his own pleasure. he was thinking of yours, guided by the drunken wisdom of a tavern fool. it was the most romantic, most chivalrous thing you had ever heard.
you stood up, your legs trembling slightly, and crossed the small space between you. you knelt in front of him, taking his large hands in yours. "thank you" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "then...will you let me? i do not mean to dishonor you i just—"
"dunk, it's quite alright. i do want to...try it, i mean." you stood up, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your gown, your body thrumming with a nervous, exhilarating energy. he watched you, his eyes dark with a mixture of awe and trepidation, as you let the dress fall to the floor.
you lay back on the bed, your heart pounding. he hesitated for only a moment before joining you, his large body hovering over yours. he didn't kiss you, not yet. he just looked at you, his gaze a physical touch.
"show me," he whispered, his voice raw with need.
you guided his head down, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. he settled between your thighs, his warm breath a ghost against your most sensitive skin. he was hesitant at first, his movements clumsy and unsure.
"if you do not enjoy it dunk we can stop—" you whispered, but he only shook his head and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then another, his exploration slow and reverent. then, remembering the merchant's words, he leaned in and gave you a long, slow lick.
you gasped, your back arching off the bed. it was a tentative, experimental touch, but it sent a bolt of pure pleasure through you.
he froze. "did you like that...?"
"yes," you breathed, your hand tightening in his hair. "again. please."
he obeyed, this time with more confidence. he began to explore you with his tongue, learning your body, learning what made you gasp, what made you moan. he was a diligent student, his focus absolute, his only goal to please you.
and then, he found your clit.
he circled it with the tip of his tongue, and you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth. a new fire lit in his eyes. this was it. this was the secret the merchant had been talking about. he felt almost guilty, ashamed for it, touching you in such a way only a husband would, and he would never forgive himself for taking away your purity before you could wed a man of real status...but all these thoughts clouded away each time you would mewl and whine sweet things at each lick.
he dove in, his clumsy hesitation vanishing, replaced by a determined hunger. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he began to suck, hard and relentless.
"gods above... you taste like honey. like the first taste of summer wine after a long winter."
it was overwhelming. the pleasure was so intense it was almost painful. he was no longer just learning; he was claiming. he was obsessed, he loved you, and your sweet dripping pussy so much, his heartbeat was heard in his own ears, devouring you with a single-minded intensity that stole your breath and shattered your thoughts.
the world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on you, the rough scrape of his incoming stubble against your sensitive skin, the desperate, hungry sounds he was making deep in his throat.
"dunk," you sobbed, your hands fisting in the blankets. "i can't... it's too much..."
at your cry, he froze instantly. he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening, his eyes wide with alarm. "am i hurting you?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "princess, tell me. am i hurting you?"
you shook your head frantically, tears of pleasure streaming down your temples. "no," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "no, you're not...it feels so good...it's— don't stop!"
"oh," he rumbled, the sound vibrating against your core.
and then he dove back in. he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked with a force that made your vision go white. your back arched off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat as the pleasure became a sharp, exquisite agony. your hands flew from the blankets to his head, your fingers tangling in his thick hair, trying to push him away, to ground yourself, to do something to survive the onslaught.
your squirming only seemed to spur him on. he held you tighter, his arms like iron bands around your thighs, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he was determined to give you.
in one fluid, impossibly powerful motion, he moved. he lifted his upper body, his hands gripping your waist, and with a strength that stole your breath, he flipped you over. the world spun, and suddenly you were no longer on your back. you were straddling his face, your knees on either side of his head, your weight settled firmly on his mouth.
he was buried beneath you, his nose pressed against your mound, pressing open-mouthed, hot, wet kisses on your wet pussy. the new position was devastating. you were completely at his mercy, spread open and exposed, every sensitive part of you pressed against his hungry mouth. your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wooden headboard, your body trembling uncontrollably.
"there," he growled, the vibration a shockwave through your entire body.
"dunk! i could hurt you— let me off—" you mumbled worriedly, but his hands gripped your ass, holding you down. there was no escape, no respite.
"m'strong enough m'lady, i could die happy right here." his words muffled, he sucked harder, his tongue flicking against your clit in a rapid, merciless rhythm. the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of pure sensation, until it finally snapped.
"gods w-wait!"
"no...no i want it princess," he growled against your quivering flesh, his voice a low, possessive command. "give me all of it." he lapped at you, his tongue stroking you through your spasms, prolonging the ecstasy until you were a whimpering, overstimulated wreck. "that's it... that's my girl. so sweet."
you came with a strangled scream, your body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over you so hard you saw stars, creaming all over his mouth. he held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drinking in your release as if it were the finest wine.
when it was over, you were a boneless, trembling mess. he finally pulled away, his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes shining with a triumphant, possessive pride. he lifted you off his face and onto his lap and kissed you, a deep, messy kiss.
you could barely manage a response, your fingers curling into the front of his tunic, holding him there as if the world might tilt without him anchoring you. you could feel him, impossibly hard and straining against his breeches beneath you. it seemed your pleasure had become his own.
your head fell against his shoulder, breath still shaky. the rigid, demanding pressure of his cock against your thigh had eased into a warm, heavy presence. a flicker of self-consciousness washed over you, and you reached for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, tugging it up to cover your waist. the soft wool was a small shield against the intensity of his gaze.
he pressed a kiss to your temple this time. then your brow. then the corner of your mouth, gentler and gentler still, as though easing you back from the heights he'd drawn you to.
"stay with me," he murmured, arms tightening just slightly around you.
you shifted in his lap, the hard line of his erection still an undeniable presence beneath the blanket. a new kind of courage, born from the intimacy of the moment, stirred within you. you met his softened gaze, your own eyes clear. "let me help you, ser," you whispered, your voice still raspy from your cries. you let your hand drift down from his chest, over the blanket, until it rested directly over the straining fabric of his breeches. you gave a gentle, questioning squeeze. "please?"
"you don't need to-"
"i want to..."
a low groan rumbled in his chest, his hips pushing up slightly into your touch. he took your hand in his, his large, calloused fingers dwarfing yours. without breaking eye contact, he brought your palm to his lips and spat into it, a hot, wet, shockingly intimate gesture. your breath hitched.
"s-sorry..." he murmured, guiding your slickened hand back down before pushing beneath the waistband of his breeches and bringing his cock out. "like this..." he guided your hand to his length. your fingers brushed against coarse hair and then, finally, against hot, silken skin.
he was massive. your fingers couldn't even close around his thick girth, and you could feel the heavy weight of him in your palm as he guided you down his impressive length. you had felt him press against you, but holding him like this, feeling the sheer size and power of him, was something else entirely. the sounds were slick and obscene. you wanted to worship him, to make him feel as utterly wrecked and cherished as he had made you feel.
you began to stroke him harder. he let out a harsh breath, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut. you watched his face, mesmerized by the way his brow furrowed in pleasure, the way his jaw clenched. you swiped your thumb over the slick head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there, and he hissed, his hips bucking into your fist.
"gods, just like that," he gritted out, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his grip tight. "your hand...so small...feels so good."
you redoubled your efforts, your movements growing bolder as you learned what he liked. you twisted your wrist on the upstroke, squeezed gently on the down. you wanted to see him fall apart, to hear him cry out your name. you wanted to be the one to make him lose control. and as his breathing grew ragged and his thrusts became more erratic, you knew you were close.
"so big dunk...are all cocks this big?" you whispered in awe.
he shook his head, mind in a haze. "dunno pretty girl..." the words were a choked, honest confession.
you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw, your hand never ceasing its steady, slick rhythm. "just yours then," you murmured against his skin.
his control finally snapped. with a guttural groan, his hand flew from your thigh to cover yours, not to stop you, but to guide you, to force your hand to move faster, harder. his hips surged up off the bed, fucking himself into your tight grip with a desperate, primal need.
"look at me," he commanded, his voice a ragged snarl. "please please look at me..." you obeyed, lifting your gaze to his face. his eyes were wild, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. "watch what you do to me. watch me."
and you did. you watched as his face contorted, as his mouth fell open in a silent cry. you felt the thick vein on the underside of his cock pulse violently against your palm. with a final, brutal thrust, he came, spilling himself in hot, thick ropes over your hand and his own stomach. he cried out your name then, a broken, hoarse sound that was more prayer than profanity, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release.
he collapsed back against the headboard, utterly spent, his chest heaving. for a long moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing. you slowly withdrew your hand, slick with his spend, and looked at the mess you had made of him. a fierce, feminine pride bloomed in your chest.
he opened his eyes, which were now soft and hazy with satisfaction, then tucked his softening cock back into his breeches.
for a moment, he simply looked at you. not at your hand. not at the disarray of sheets. at you. a quiet huff of laughter left him, his head tipping back briefly against the wood. "you have no idea what you do to me."
"i think i do..." licking up the cum on your fingers as he lazily wiped his hand on the discarded linen at your side, entirely unrepentant.
you shifted closer, crawling up his body slowly, deliberately, until your knees completely bracketed his hips. he watched every inch of your movement now. your fingers slid up his chest, tracing the rise and fall of his breath, the steady drum of his heart beneath your palm.
"i like seeing you like this," you confessed softly.
his brows lifted faintly. "spent?"
"no." you giggled. your thumb brushed over his collarbone. "relaxed..."
his hands came up, settling on your hips, not gripping, just holding you there. you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his to give him a sweet kiss.
he tilted his head, brushing his nose lightly against yours.
"sleep now, princess" he murmured at last, "we ride early."
"we could always push the two beds together..." you smile, just now noticing how huge he looked on the narrow little bed. ৻ꪆ
thinking bout dunk again, but being a little more rough....
Yet another successful tournament. Your stomach was filled with butterflies in anticipation for what that'd mean for you. And he did not disappoint. Though the game went well, there was something else bubbling beneath the surface, something in desperate need of air. It started similar to the first time, nervous as you showed him the ropes, but he fell into his confidence much quicker than before. You'd worn a silk gown specifically for him, and he didn't even bother to take it off before plunging into you. Trousers at his thighs, he held your hip with one hand and pushed your face into the bed with the other. It was a feeling unlike anything before, then multiplied by the sounds he was making. "Ah fuck- Gods, look at you." You couldn't help by cry out as he hit your cervix over and over again.
Before him, anything large was painful. Quick and violent. No care for how you felt. But even through the fucked out fog that covered his senses, he still made sure you felt good. But he'd grown sick of your muffled moans as you pulled the sheets toward your face. He stilled for only a moment, hand wrapping around your hair to pull you off the bed. The pain made you clench around him, but quickly desolved into louder moans as he continued to fuck you. He was much more vocal than he was before, and it made you drip onto the sheets with each wet shluck.
He had you infront of the mirror again. Held your face up as you body shook behind you. He looked at your through the reflection, "Fuck, ya' let me do this to you ?" If you'd had any brain power left you might've noticed the sweet undertone of his words, but nonetheless he continued pushing you closer and closer to that sweet release. The sounds coming off the two of you were obscene. So entirely erotic, no amount of gold could pay for this experience.
His balls slapped against your clit as he keeps pounding into you, making you whimper. "Ah, yea..? Ya close, sweet girl ?" You nod haphazrdly, mouth agape as you body begins to melt underneath his. As you clenched around him and he lets go of your hair, letting you fall back into the bed as he mercilessly pumps his cock in and out of your needy hole. Before pulling out to come on your ass, he gave it one good spank that made your back arch.
You almost expected him to leave then and there, but who were you kidding. Once coming down from his high, he cleaned you gently before pulling your dress back over your backside. All he had to do was push himself back into his pants and secure them at his hips. You'd rolled onto your side at some point, and he leaned over you to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "Thank you. 'm sorry for bein so rough with ya-" but you shook your head, still dizzy "Uh-uh. You were amazing." Had he not just fucked your brains out, you might've had something more to say, but that seemed to please him enough.
He left a soft peck on your forehead before he left, blushing like that was the most intimate thing he'd done that night. You softly smiled back, practically falling asleep in the messy bed. You heard as the door creaked open and his footsteps retreated, but not before wishing you a "Goodnight, malady."
hiiii sorry if this is bad I literally just sat down n wrote it in one go so hehe hope u enjoyed !!
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ when you confess you’ve never touched yourself before, dean doesn’t laugh—he leans back against the headboard and talks you through it.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 992 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, guided masturbation (reader touching herself under dean’s instruction), inexperienced reader, voyeurism, heavy praise kink, dirty talk, early-seasons dean in my head, orgasm control/teasing, mild embarrassment, detailed descriptions of female masturbation and arousal
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
The motel room is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the distant rumble of trucks on the highway. One lamp is on, casting warm gold across the faded bedspread.
Dean sits propped against the headboard, fully dressed—jeans and a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest—legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other like this is the most casual conversation in the world.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the bed facing him, wearing nothing but one of his old flannel shirts, the sleeves too long, the hem brushing your thighs. Your cheeks are already burning.
“I just… never really figured it out,” you admit, voice small. “It always felt weird. Or I’d get close and then chicken out.”
Dean’s expression doesn’t mock. It softens at the edges, but his eyes stay hungry. “Nothing weird about it, sweetheart. Everyone starts somewhere.” He pats the space beside him. “C’mere. Lean back against the pillows.”
You crawl over and settle in, back against the headboard, legs stretched out. The flannel rides up. You tug it down nervously.
Dean’s voice drops, low and steady. “Leave it. I want to see you.”
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t move closer. Just watches. “First rule tonight: you don’t stop until I say so. Got it?”
You nod, throat tight.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes,” you whisper.
“Good girl.”
The praise hits warm and low in your belly. You shift, thighs pressing together.
Dean notices. Of course he does. “Spread your legs for me. Nice and slow.”
You do—knees falling open until cool air hits wet skin. You’re already slick. Embarrassingly so. You bite your lip.
“Look at that,” Dean murmurs, voice rougher. “Already so wet and I haven’t even touched you. That’s fucking beautiful.”
Your face flames hotter.
He leans forward just a little, elbows on his knees. “Run your fingers down your thigh first. Light. Tease yourself.”
Your hand trembles as you obey. Fingertips brushing soft skin, inching higher. The anticipation makes everything feel electric.
“Up higher,” he coaches. “But don’t touch your pussy yet. Just the inside of your thighs. Feel how sensitive you are there.”
You trace slow circles. A tiny sound escapes you—half sigh, half whimper.
Dean smiles, slow and filthy. “There she is. Keep going. Tell me how it feels.”
“Warm,” you breathe. “Tingly.”
“Good. Now slide two fingers through your folds. No pressure. Just feel how wet you are.”
Your fingers dip between your legs. The slick sound is obscene in the quiet room.
You gasp.
Dean groans low. “Fuck, listen to that. You’re dripping, sweetheart. All for me?”
You nod frantically.
“Say it.”
“All for you,” you manage.
His eyes darken. “Now find your clit. Gentle circles. Real slow. Show me how you like it.”
You circle the swollen bud—light at first, then a little firmer when it sparks pleasure up your spine. Your hips twitch.
“Shit,” Dean mutters. “So pretty playing with yourself. Faster now. Little quicker circles.”
You obey. The pleasure builds sharper. Your breathing turns shallow.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he says. “Look at me.”
Your gaze snaps to his. Green. Intense. Locked on every flutter of your fingers.
“Slide one finger inside,” he orders softly. “Just one. Feel how tight you are.”
You push a finger in. Moan—quiet but real. The stretch is new, strange, good.
Dean’s jaw tightens. “Add another. Stretch yourself open for me.”
Two fingers. You pump them slowly, curling instinctively. Your other hand grips the sheets.
“Goddamn,” he breathes. “You’re doing so good. Listen to how wet you sound. Fuck yourself a little faster.”
Your wrist moves quicker. The heel of your hand grinds against your clit with every thrust. Pleasure coils tight and hot.
“Dean—” His name slips out, needy.
“Yeah, baby. Say my name while you finger that pretty pussy.”
“Dean…” Louder this time. Your thighs start to tremble.
He shifts on the bed but still doesn’t touch you. “Rub your clit again. Hard circles. Don’t stop fucking yourself.”
You switch hands—two fingers pumping deep, thumb rubbing frantic circles over your clit. The pressure builds fast.
“I’m— I think I’m close—”
“Not yet,” he says firmly. “Slow down. Edge it. I want you desperate.”
You whimper but obey, slowing your movements. The orgasm retreats just enough to ache.
“Good girl. Such a good fucking girl listening to me.”
The praise makes you clench around your fingers.
“Faster again. Give it to me. I want to watch you come.”
You chase it now—fingers thrusting, thumb rubbing slick and fast. Your back arches. Head tips back.
“Eyes on me,” Dean reminds.
You force them open. Meet his gaze.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Let me see it. Let me hear it.”
The coil snaps. Pleasure crashes through you—sharp, blinding. Your mouth falls open on a broken cry. “Dean—oh god—Dean—”
Your walls flutter hard around your fingers. Thighs shaking. Hips jerking uncontrollably as you ride it out, slick coating your hand, dripping onto the sheets.
Dean watches every second—hungry, proud, breathing hard.
You come down slow, panting, fingers still buried inside you.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Pull them out slow. Show me.”
You do—shiny, glistening fingers sliding free. He groans at the sight.
“Bring them here.”
You hesitate, then hold your hand out. He leans in, takes your wrist gently, and sucks your fingers into his mouth—tongue swirling, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he says when he releases them. “Sweet as hell.”
You’re still trembling, flushed everywhere.
Dean finally moves—crawling over you, careful not to crush you. He kisses your forehead, then your lips, soft and slow. “You did so good, baby,” he whispers against your mouth. “So fucking perfect.”
You smile—shy, sated, a little dazed.
He brushes hair off your damp forehead. “Next time, we’ll do it together. But tonight?” His grin turns wicked. “I’m just getting started teaching you everything you’ve been missing.”
You laugh—breathless, heart still racing.
And you already can’t wait to learn more.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
✶ notary nsfw content. hello world.... i am back with a small drabble that i wrote in 10 minutes before i upload my long ahh fic
sam winchester is the most respectful, polite and soft spoken man you've ever met. the one you would be proud to introduce to your parents. but behind closed doors? he can be a fucking menace.
your high-pitched whimpers are filling the impala. hands clawing at his arms, his hair, abs, almost everywhere, as sam's on top of you pounding himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
your parents think you're on a movie date. i mean, he showed up on your doorstep with flowers and puppy eyes, who would not believe him? who would think that he would have you begging for mercy for an hour straight?
the windows are getting fogged up, your body is probably on it's 10th orgasm, but sam is nowhere close to stopping.
"sam-" you choke on a moan, because sam is choking you himself. his hand is tight around your throat, just enough for your world and senses to narrow to only him and nothing else. and it's working. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, you're seeing white, you almost can't breathe but it all just feels so good.
he leans down to capture your lips into another messy kiss, filled with tongue, spit and desire. you struggle to kiss him back, because you just can't seem to stop moaning.
"look at me" he says between his own groans and whimpers.
you try. you really try to. but it's all just too much. too much pleasure. your body's almost gone numb.
"fuckin' look at me or i'll stop" he urges now, just with a hint of desperation.
that's when you got desperate. "no- please" you whimpered, fluttering your eyes open.
and god, he has never looked better. sweaty, rosy cheeks, eyes filled with lust and desire. but then a small smirk appeared on his face and before you could register anything, his second hand wraps around your throat too and he starts rocking his hips impossibly fast inside you.
requested - heyy could u make a sam x reader thing where he fucks rlly roughly but he’s really sweet during aftercare bc the idea that sam is rough during but sweet after makes me weak in the knees🫠🙏 (anon)
a/n - this is. probably the most filthy thing i’ve written. it’s just filthy smut. with a hint of sweetheart sam at the end. i need him so bad it’s not funny. still working on my longer plot fics but i wanted to get this out today to get back into writing!! hopefully you enjoy :) would very much appreciate feedback! <3
cws - fem!reader, 2.4k, nsfw 18+, meandom!sam turned soft!sam, oral f!recieving, praise, very mild choking, condescending words, p in v, mild overstimulation, tears, aftercare, fluff
other fics can be found on my masterlist
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
She was convinced that Sam’s mouth was a whole new kind of heaven.
He’d already made her cum once with his mouth alone, large hands pressed into the plush of her thighs to keep them spread, her hips stilled, which were twitching with every sweep of his tongue. He was skilled, drawing the pleasure out of her like it was nothing. Sam had easily spent fifteen minutes down there, eating her out like a starved man, like it was all he wanted.
And she didn’t know how she was still breathing. There was a relief that ran through her that Dean and Castiel weren’t in the bunker that night, because even though they were shut away in the privacy of their room, she was sure that she would’ve been heard. Sam had been pulling noises out of her all night, obscene lewd sounds that she would’ve been embarrassed about being heard if it wasn’t Sam with her.
He always made sure that as much as he made her feel, none of it was embarrassment.
His tongue flattened against her, licking a stripe up between her folds until he pressed against her clit and she shuddered, a horribly whiny sound pushed from her lungs when he closed his lips around the bead and sucked, like he was trying to pull the life out of her. Her hips jolted, unable to go anywhere as he had her pinned down, and she was practically seeing stars as Sam worked down there. She wondered if he was even breathing.
“Sam- oh my god—” She whimpered, hissed in a breath when he licked back down to her entrance and his nose nudged against her clit, stomach clenching as she reached her hands down to grasp onto his hair, fingers curled into the soft strands.
And then he pulled away.
His hands left her thighs as his mouth left her, but she didn’t have time to whine her complaints at the loss of sensation as his long fingers curled around her wrists, yanked her hands out of his hair. “What did I say, huh?” The tone of voice made her pussy clench around nothing. “Hands to yourself. You’re pretty bad at listening, baby.”
Sam shifted over her, his face over hers as he pushed her wrists down onto the pillows above her head, and she almost squirmed when she saw the look in his eyes, the way his lips were wet with her.
“Are you listening?” He squeezed her wrists as a reminder, and her eyes quickly flickered back up to his eyes. “Do I need to tie you up, or will you keep these here for me?” She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. Sam could be such a soft lover — he’d kiss every inch of her skin, whisper praises and compliments, tell her he loved her a thousand times as he made love to her. But he could also be like this, mean and demanding as he fucked her silly over and over. She wasn’t sure which she liked more.
“I’ll keep them there.” She breathed out, her voice still a little too whiny. He’d gotten her so close to cumming again, the lack of stimulation was driving her crazy, her cunt throbbed as she stared up at him.
“Oh yeah?” Sam narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe her, and let go of one of her wrists to take both into one of his large hands. Her eyes left his face to follow his second as it dipped down between them, fingering at the waistband of his boxers, until she heard a sharp, “eyes on me.”
Her gaze quickly flickered back up to his face. “See? You can be good sometimes, can’t you?” Sam cooed, boardering on condescending, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, allowing her to taste herself. “You just need some reminding, don’t you, sweetheart? Get so lost in that pretty little head of yours when I’m making you feel so good.”
She’d been so distracted by watching his face, head spinning with his words, that she didn’t realise that he’d freed himself from his boxers until she felt the head of his cock nudging between her folds, gliding easily against her with the slick and spit collected there, and she mewled at the feeling, eyes squeezed shut as he nudged at her clit.
“Eyes open,” his hands left her wrists — which she knew now to keep still — and his fingers splayed across her jaw, squeezing unkindly until she looked up again. “Don’t make me tell you again. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”
She nodded dumbly, sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as he rubbed her clit with his cock. Teasing her. “Mhm, I will.”
“You will?” Sam gave her jaw one more squeeze, just for good measure, before he wrapped his fingers around the bare skin of her throat. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t put any pressure, just held her, but the threat was there. The head of his cock rested up against her slickened entrance as his head dipped down, lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “what’s your colour?”
They had a pretty rigid safe word system set out — it was something he went over with her every time they had sex, especially like this, when he was mean and grabby and knew that she wouldn’t like it every time. If she so much whispered the word red he’d be up and off of her before she could blink.
But all that left her words was a whiny, “Green, please Sammy.”
She felt his lips curve up against her ear as he smirked. “Good girl.”
Without warning he pushed into her and she sucked in a sharp breath, her own fingers grabbed at each other in an attempt to keep her hands still, and she shoved a breath out of her throat. He’d worked her open with his fingers when he’d been settled down between her legs, but she still felt the stretch, the burn as he settled his cock deep inside of her, and for a moment she had to remember to breathe back in.
“Fuck honey,” he grunted in her ear, fingers gripped her throat just slightly tighter, still only enough for her to feel pressure. “So tight for me, baby. Can barely take it, huh?”
He pulled back before he rutted back inside and she whimpered, squeezing her own fingers together so tightly so she didn’t break his rule. Needing to hold onto him somehow, though, her thighs clamped harshly around his hips, already trembly from the first orgasm he’d pulled from her.
He thrust in again, and again, and again, and soon she saw stars, gasping and whimpering with every drag of his cock against her gummy walls, pleasure rippling through her in waves that made her stomach clench, her cunt clamped down so tightly around him it was a wonder he could move at all.
“So noisy baby,” he crooned on a particular harsh thrust that made her whine, fingers a little tighter around her throat. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” He huffed with another thrust. “Need me to do all the work, hm? Greedy—” he grunted, “greedy girl.”
It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close again. Sam was fucking her with determination, grunted every time he pushed himself back in, the head of his cock nudged the soft spongey spot inside of her that made her shudder again and again and again until she was a mess beneath him, lewd wet sounds accompanying her whimpers with each shift of his hips, her pussy fluttering around the stretch of his girth.
He didn’t slow down, didn’t ease up, didn’t give her a breather. She was close to tears by the time she was almost there, already sensitive from her first orgasm.
She clenched around him and his fingers, in turn, tightened on the sides of her throat. She trusted him, she knew he wouldn’t push it too far. Just enough for her to feel a little dizzy, for the bliss to wash over her like a high.
“Sam- mm- Sammy—” She was practically blabbering as her eyes filled with tears, gasping with each thrust, each smack of his hips against hers.
“Oh honey,” he cooed, condescending, mean. “Too much, hm? Need something?”
His hand loosened on her throat and she inhaled a little shakily.
“Please—” she whined, blinking through tears up at him. She didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes as the tears dribbled down her cheeks, but she knew that he knew she’d tell him if it was too much. It had happened before, neither of them messed around when it came to their safe words.
“Please what, huh?” He thrust in harshly and she groaned, cunt fluttering, so close— “Ah-ah, not yet. Don’t you need to ask me something, dolly?” He squeezed her throat once. “You remember what happens if you cum without asking, don’t you?”
Of course she did. The week prior she’d cum too soon, and he spent the next what felt like hours edging her, too skilled with his fingers, words too filthy that they made her head spin. He’d made such a mess of her that she hadn’t been able to even get up off of the bed for a little while after he finally let her cum.
“Mhm, mm, yeah—” she inhaled shakily, whining, thighs clamped tighter around his hips. “Please- please can I- please let me—” she groaned.
“Let you what?” He was dragging it out, the fucker, grunting into her ear as he leaned down over her, pushed his cock so deep her vision almost whitened out. “Tell me, honey. Use those words for me, c’mon.”
The tears were bubbling over faster, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Let me cum, baby, please.”
“Asking so nicely,” he grunted, pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear. “How can I say no to something so pretty, hm? ‘Course you can, baby, go ahead.”
It wasn’t his words that did it for her, but the hand that snuck between them and pressed down on her stomach, the press of his cock suddenly so much more delicious that she almost fucking fainted.
She came with a breathless whine, hips jerked as she finally gasped a breath and whined again, her cunt throbbed around his cock as he kept pumping, rode her through it entirely. Her head tipped back, his mouth on her neck as her eyes squeezed shut, colours danced on the inside of her eyelids, her own little fireworks display.
Sam came shortly after, groaned into her ear in a way that almost made her cum again, and he rutted into her a few more times before he stopped, warmth spreading through her as he panted against her shoulder.
“Fuck,” he huffed, his own chest heaved, brushing against her bare skin. “Oh sweetheart.” The shift in his demeanour was palpable, soft kisses immediately littered across her shoulder and collarbone, palms flattened to smooth over her sweat-dampened skin. He could be so mean in the moment, so dominating and controlling that he left her a fucking mess underneath him, but afterwards? He’d probably feed her grapes and fan her if she asked him to.
She was still gasping for breath, head spinning, and when she knew she wouldn’t be told off for it her hands lifted, immediately clung to his warm shoulders. She loved the way his shoulders felt underneath her touch, muscles rippling with every movement.
Sam kissed up her throat and jaw before he landed on her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, huffed breaths into each other's mouths as he licked between her lips, sweeped behind her top teeth, their lips both wet with spit.
By the time he had pulled away, he’d so thoroughly kissed her that she almost had her breath back.
“You okay?” His voice was so soft it was like there was an entirely different person on top of her compared to five minutes prior. His hand left her throat, smoothed upwards and cupped her jaw. She felt him thumb away tears that had fallen, some clung to her eyelashes, somewhat cool against her hot and flushed skin.
She nodded as she stroked her fingertips along his shoulders with her fingertips, like she’d committed him to memory. She had.
“Hey,” he lightly tapped her cheekbone with his thumb. “Need words, honey.”
She couldn’t help her smile. He was so caring she sometimes wanted to cry. “M’okay,” she whispered, voice soft like she’d shared a secret. “Really good. You’re so good, Sammy.” She praised, tilted her head to kiss his wrist, and he smiled and blushed like he hadn’t just been the one to fuck the life out of her.
“Says you,” Sam leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re perfect. Love you,” another kiss. “Love you so much.”
She smiled so much her cheeks hurt. “Love you too.”
Sam smiled too, that soft smile that made his dimples peek out, eyes crinkled at the corners, and he stroked her cheekbone again. “M’gonna pull out, okay?”
Only when she nodded did he shift, slowly pulled his hips back until she was empty, until all she could feel was the wetness coated between her thighs.
“Christ, made a mess of you,” he murmured, not in the condescending tone from before, instead something closer to admiration. “You’re so pretty when you cum, y’know that?”
She blushed, hard, and shrugged as her cheek dipped to meet her shoulder.
Sam laughed, rolled his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her again. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”
She was still blushing when he helped her sit up, fingers delicately curled around her elbows to pull her upright, her back also damp with sweat. They’d need to change the sheets.
“Two options,” Sam murmured as he gently stroked hair away that was stuck to her forehead, baby hairs that clung to her temples. “We take a shower and let me wash your hair and then go get food, or you let me run you a bath and you wait there looking all pretty for me while I get you something we can eat in there so I can dote on you.”
“You just wanna wash my hair huh?”
Sam smiled. “Guilty.”
Her fingers found his, intertwined with a squeeze. “Bath sounds nice,” she eventually settled on. “As long as you don’t take too long in the kitchen. I’ll miss you.”
He was laughing when he pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Of course. Promise to not take too long, okay?”
She giggled and nodded, smiled against his mouth when he kissed her again. “Okay.”
summary: cherry pies, black coffee and some good old fashioned sleepy sex
warnings: established relationship, piv, lazy kissing, relatively quiet sex, quickie, bear hugging, a little fluff here and there, slow undressing, hair play/light pulling, synchronized breathing, some spooning/cuddling, a lot of intimate romance
w/c: 5.2k
notes: school starts today, yikes! had to push this out so I wouldn’t forget. i really hope this isn’t boring, because i wanted this to be more of a ‘super-sweet-I-have-cavities’ situation. (p.s. not proofread, afab, second pov. I got really lazy in the end, so…if this isn’t a hit, next one will be the most sloppiest dirtiest nastiest shit ever.)
1:47 A.M.
On the dot.
It had been a long day.
Long trip. Long roads. Long drive. Long waits at red lights. Long waits at traffic. Long trees that blurred past the windows like blobs of bare brown. Even the static of the radio whenever it tried to pick up stations seemed long. The food at the diner took long. The drive back took long. Everything about today was just— long. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and those hours dragged on and on until you swore you were crazy.
The worst of it was that you were still up. Still up with Dean, wide awake, unable to sleep despite the weight of your eyelids and the growing heaviness of your own face. You’d tried every trick in the book, a hot mug of tea, an extra warm bubble bath, counted up to one hundred, and down from that one hundred back to zero. You spent a good five minutes pacing the carpet, tracing the corners of the ceiling with your eyes until the imprints of your socks stayed in the carpet. Nothing helped.
The two of you even split the rest of that cherry pie you were initially too full to finish at the diner— only because Dean had been eyeing it for the past fifteen minutes, and well, it’d be a waste of a perfectly good pie if it stay all tucked and warm in its box. Took you half a cup of coffee— cream, no sugar, to start feeling the warmth settle in your stomach. Dean had downed two black coffees, his usual boring pure bean drinks before plopping down on the spring mattress like the pie had worn him out more than the drive. He landed with a grunt, one sock on, one foot sockless, sweatpants untied and pulled down enough to expose the blue and black checkered briefs, as if sleep had suddenly snuck up on him mid-chew.
The pie sat crust-down at the foot of the bed, a scatter of crumbs clinging to the blanket. Cherry filling smeared faintly on the foil, dark, clumpy and glossy. A dented fork still tucked inside the crust, bent at the neck like it had fought for its life against the terrible fate of dessert and indulgences. It was a crime scene. A horrible gooey, syrup-slicked crime.
Bellies full, bodies warm, tangled up and all cozy in a bed that smelled faintly of soap and cedar wood. You lay there, side by side, staring at the ceiling like it might blink first. Ten minutes passed of just ceiling watching. A great activity to do when you’re stuck awake.
Neither of you said much. Neither of you moved much. Just the soft sound of fabric shifting as you both adjusted into your partial food coma, springs creaking under the combined weight and the occasional sigh.
His arm rested loosely around your waist, warm and heavy, like he couldn’t really get a control of its weight. Your foot brushed against the fabric of his pants, one leg draped over his own. The blanket had been pulled between the two of you and repulled back to him so many times it barely covered either of you, tangled somewhere between your legs. His thumb moved slow, dipping up under the hem of your shirt to trace along the warmth of your skin and back down against the waistband of your pajama pants.
The motel room was dim, walls smelled faintly of leather and citrus, decorated only by the flicker of a busted neon sign outside and the soft hum of the burnt out air conditioning as it wheezed through its final breath. You watched him in the quiet. Watched the way he blinked heavy and slow, like he was so close to slipping into sleep but never quite there.
His other arm draped across his stomach, fingers moving against the fabric of his shirt half as a scratch and half as an awkward rub. He didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t glance your way until his lips curled into a lopsided grin and he gave your hip a gentle squeeze that he turned to look back at you. “Is it that interesting watching me blink?” His voice was low, sleep-heavy, just enough of that edge of sass to have you rolling your eyes.
The room was quiet again for a split moment, just the hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the spring mattress underneath you. “Well, someone forgot to fix the TV,” you nudged his hand from under your shirt just for him to slide his hand heavy against the side of your ribs, turning your head to rest against the flat pillow beneath you. “So looks like you’re my source of entertainment.”
“You’re gonna be real disappointed then.” He spoke quickly, clearing his throat as he stretched his legs out with a low groan before turning himself onto his side to mirror your position. From this angle you could perfectly see the weight of the lack of sleep on his face. His eyes shifted along your face, not entirely focused but not too out of it to make it seem like his focus wasn’t entirely on you. Oddly enough, not sleeping really suited him.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” That got a breath out of him— half laugh, half disbelieving scoff. He nudged you by your rib, knuckles pressing just firm enough to have you shrink back with a twitch. You swatted at his hand instinctively, then sat up just enough to prop your all too heavy feeling head in your hand. His hand fell back to its magnetized spot on your ribs, slowly sliding along that curve before resting against your back.
“Careful, you’re gonna hurt my feelings,” He mumbled in one breath, paused for a second to rub at his jaw with the heel of his hand. Though it looked like he was forcing himself to stay upright and not fall back against the comfort of the bed. “I could recite the menu of that diner in Tulsa. Think of it as one of those cooking shows you like so much.”
You quickly cover his mouth with your hand, palm warm against the stubble on his face. He mumbled something against it, something oddly close to apple pie, but you just shook your head, giving him a slow ‘shh’. “No, no,” you lightly patted the side of his jaw, biting back the bubble of laughter stuck in your throat. “I’d prefer you didn’t go all Food Network on me.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically, the springs groaning beneath him as he shifted forward slightly on the mattress. His gaze softened, lids heavy, corners crinkling with a lazy kind of affection. Without a word, and apparently without much effort, he lightly tugged at your waist drawing you closer until your hip nudged against his.
“Oh, but that’s my sweet talking. You’re killing my game here.” His voice vibrated against the inside of your palm, half mumble, half tickle, words slurred at the edges. Then he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your palm, sliding his hand away from your waist to find comfort around your wrist instead.
He carefully guided your hand back to his lips once you’d pulled away a little too far, fingers curling around your wrist with a kind of sleepy insistence you’d only seen from him once before. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a kiss to the expanse of your knuckles, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone. You let your fingers stretch out, brushing softly over the curve of his face to trace the slope of his cheekbone. He breathed in, a slow hum vibrating against your skin, like the feeling of your fingertips running along the faint stubble of his jaw were the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment.
You watched the way his brow smoothed beneath your touch, the way his lips parted slightly with each breath, and felt that familiar softness settle in your chest. His body had gone quiet beside you— no tension, no snoring, no shifting. Just the weight of him sinking into the mattress, into the warmth of your hand, and the soothing silence of the room around you.
He was so, so pretty like this. The vulnerability. That silent trust. You stayed there, hand resting gently against his skin, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm. Watching the way his breath slowed, his grip on your wrist loosened, the obvious telltale signs that your boyfriend had clearly fallen asleep mid conversation.
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t want to breathe too heavily in fear of waking him up again. God, you got the worst case of cuteness aggression when he looked like that. It was practically impossible for someone to look that peaceful when asleep. You watched him for a long moment, eyes tracing the relaxation along his face, the steady rise of his chest, and the way his fingers had gone slack around yours. Then, with a great hesitance and a fifteen second debate in your head, you began to inch your hand away from his face.
That was until he nipped at the tip of your finger.
You flinched back instinctively, a soft gasp bubbled and stuck in your throat. It hadn’t hurt, just contact sharp enough to startle you with a jolt of surprise running through your chest. You pulled your hand back, cradling it like he’d actually done damage just as your eyes flickered up to his face. He cracked one eye open, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in the usual shit eating, stupid little smug grin.
“You jerk, I thought you fell asleep,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as you pulled your hand closer to your chest. Dean smirked, half and unapologetic now, both eyes heavy and darkened with his fake act of sleep and his real fatigue.
“Hey, I was being affectionate,” he said, stretching extra wide just to cozy up against you with a groan that practically spoke of how pleased he was with himself. “That was a love bite.” Dean tugged gently at your wrist, thumb brushing slow circles against the tip of your finger like he was checking to make sure he hadn’t actually hurt you.
“You bit me,” you whispered in faux shock, holding your perfectly fine finger up to his inspection. He hummed softly, holding your finger close to his eyes before slipping one leg over yours in an attempt to half sprawl on top of you. “How rude of you.”
He didn’t answer right away, dragging himself against you like some affectionate cat looking for another prolonged pet. He presses against you, heavy and slow, the weight of him settling around your body like he’s trying to fuse into one. His breathing syncing with yours in a warm, anchored expand before he finally nodded. “It was a declaration of love, baby.”
You huff, barely audible, the sound caught somewhere between your throat and the weight of his head resting against your collarbone. “A declaration of love?” you echo, letting out another strain of air as he relaxes his weight fully against you. “You’re lucky I didn’t bite you back.”
“C’mon,” he cooed, voice just an octave lower, all syrupy sweet in that same tone he always uses to get his way. His hand slid down to grab at your lower arm, rubbing up and down until he made his way back to the very finger he nipped at. “I’ll kiss your boo-boo away.”
Before you could even attempt to say no, or attempt to fully twist your hand out of his grip, he was already pressing an annoyingly soft kiss to the tip of your finger. His eyes stayed locked on yours, half-lidded and dark, like he was stuck between trying to make you laugh and trying to keep you from laughing. He continued his tender healing, lips trailing kisses up the length of your hand and up the side of your wrist.
You press two firm fingers against the bridge of his nose just as he angles in for another kiss on your arm. He pauses mid-motion, eyes immediately flicking up to meet yours with a pout on his lips. “It’s almost two. You purposefully tryna ruin my sleep schedule even more?”
“I’m just kissing you baby.” He corrects, pushing his head against your fingers, lips finding the crook of your elbow. He paused, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as if savoring your scent. Then, with a soft sigh, he nuzzled into that sensitive spot, his nose brushing against your skin as he inhaled deeply.
“We’re going to be feeling this in the morning.” Your voice is low, half-slurred into a bad attempt to whisper. Fingers brushing through his hair, slow and absent as he moves up a little too quickly, the mattress creaks under you. His head moves to the comfort of your shoulder, kissing the curve of your neck before his hands found a loose grip around your hips.
“I’ll make sure it feels good then.” The words landed warm against your skin, smug and sleepy, and you couldn’t help the quiet laugh that slipped through your lips. You shook your head, more at yourself than at him, the sound barely audible over the hush of the room. His fingers continued their lazy path around your hips, sliding under your shirt with no urgency, just the slow, seeking press of skin against skin.
Then his mouth found the curve of your neck again, lips brushing the spot just beneath your ear with the kind of softness that made your breath catch. He didn’t speak, just glued himself on top of you. Kissed you there, slow and steady, like he was trying to ease the slumber back into your body. You let your eyes flutter shut, hand resting lightly on the back of his head, combing through his bed messy hair.
He placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, his lips lingering on each press. Each kiss dragged across your skin with the weight of someone too tired to rush but too in love to stop. His gestures were slow, almost clumsy, the kind of tenderness that comes when exhaustion strips away everything but want. His tongue occasionally dragged out to taste your skin, slow, lazy and half-indulgent as took his sweet time savoring the taste of your skin. A low, appreciative sigh left his mouth to muffle itself against your skin as he took a deep inhale. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his stubble lightly grazing your sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in its wake. “Fuck, you smell so good.” He breathed out just a fraction too heavy, trailing away from his train of thought to ghost over your pulse with light kisses.
He continued his lazy exploration of your neck and collarbone, taking his time to place kisses on every inch of exposed skin. Occasionally, he would pause to inhale deeply, breathing in your scent of lavender soap and cinnamon lotion, as if it were a perfume designed solely for his enjoyment.
He settled himself between your parted legs with a soft groan of the mattress under the shift in weight. His hand dragged itself along the expanse of your stomach, sliding up and up until his fingers brushed along the sides of your ribs. His mouth sucked and kissed against that sensitive spot on the right side of your neck, just hard enough to send that little spark of electricity down your stomach. Your breath left you in a shuddering gasp, a breathy sigh slipping from your lips. Acting on pure instinct, your fingers tangled themselves in his hair, gripping the strands ever so slightly as he focused solely on that spot with a growing grin on his lips.
“Y’know I can feel that stupid smile on your face.” You hadn’t opened your eyes when you spoke, just let the words drift out, soft and slurred, as you turned your head to press your cheek into the pillow. His breath was warm against your skin, lips pressing kiss after kiss against your neck.
“You’re imagining things, sweetheart.” His voice muffled against you, but you didn’t need to turn his way to feel the way his breath hitched against your neck, and the way his lips curved just before they pressed another slow kiss to your skin. You squealed slightly, squirming back when he’d sucked against the side of your jaw, palm flattening against your sternum.
“I cannot deal wi—” you trailed off, mid-sentence by a soft, breathy moan as he lipped at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His lips continued, rightward, up, up and just another shift to press a kiss against your lips.
“Hm? Sorry, what was that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low, intimate rasp. “Your moan cut you off. Was it something important?” He punctuated his question with another kiss, his hands sliding down to the bottom of your shirt to slowly bunch the fabric up along your stomach to expose the skin to his sight.
He looked up at you, raising an eyebrow at your silence before gently tucking a stray lock of hair away from your face. His fingertips lingered on your cheek, the touch a tender caress that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He gave you a languid, sensual smile, his eyes filled with a warmth and affection that made your heart flutter.
Just as you took a breath to try to form a coherent sentence, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, sloppy kiss. His lips moved deliberately against yours, the faint lingering taste of the pie you two had indulged in earlier mingled with the slightly bitter espresso he always enjoyed with his coffees. His tongue, still heavy and slightly clumsy moved perfectly against yours until all you could hear was the smacks of your lips. You were painfully aware of the wetness, the rhythm, the way the combined breathing has gone shallow, uneven and rapid. His hand pushed your shirt past your ribs, the fabric sliding up your body until it was bunched up just below your breasts. The cool air in the room brushed against your newly exposed skin, sending a wave of goosebumps prickling up along your stomach.
His fingers brushed against your bare skin, running along your sides in a feather-light caress as he continued his exploration of your body. The kiss stretched out into that ache, the shift of the sting in your lips and the warmth deep in your gut. That familiarity continued, traveling to the stretch of your neck, the curve of your spine, your jaw. Before the tingle of your lips could reach a point of overwork and pain, he finally broke the kiss. Pulling back slightly, he gripped the hem of your shirt, gently peeling it over your head before taking a second to fix the mess of your hair. The barely conditioned room air immediately rushed against your skin, leaving your nipples slowly tightening into hardened peaks as he drank in the sight of you, spread out like some sexual offering on the bed.
You reached out, fingers catching the hem of his pajama top in a lazy tug, your gaze steady beneath half-lowered lashes. He sat up without protest, peeling the fabric over his head in one slow motion before lowering himself right back into you— chest to chest, skin to skin, like he couldn’t stand the gap even for a breath.
Slowly, almost reverently, his calloused hands glided up the curves of your sides, until they reached the swell of your breasts. Cupping the soft mounds gently in his large palms, he trailed wet kisses down your collarbone to pepper along the flesh of your breasts. He dragged his tongue slowly along the dip, rubbing his thumbs along the sides of your breasts before fumbling their way towards the stiffened peaks. Each deliberate pull, every slow rub of his index and thumb sent waves of pleasure through your body.
You hooked your thumbs into the elasticated waistband of his sweatpants, your fingertips grazing just along the band of his boxers as you began to tug the fabric down. “Mm-mm…slower.” He breathed against the soft flesh of your breast, his voice a husky rumble that sent vibrations against your chest. You paused, gazing up at him through hooded eyes as you slowly pulled the band of his pants further down until the fabric pooled awkwardly around his mid thighs. He lifted his head just enough to peek down at your hands, his gaze heavy-lidded and intense as he watched you reveal more of his skin inch by tantalizing inch. The fabric stretched taut over his legs as he lifted his hips, easing the sweats down until they bunched down at his ankles. He kicked the pajama bottoms away, sending them tumbling across the floor as he hastily adjusted himself through the thin fabric of his boxers.
The bulge in the cotton material strained and pulsed as he gave himself a firm squeeze, his half-hardness tenting the fabric as he gave himself a firm squeeze to coax the flesh to stiffen further. “Eager much?” You teased playfully, glancing down at his hand as he let out a quick ‘tsk’.
“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, though his words had no real bite to them. His large hand slid up the soft skin of your inner thigh, with a gentle yet insistent pressure, he eased your legs further apart to settle between them. He nestled himself into the apex of your thighs, the heat of his body seeping into your own. His hips, now cradled against your own, slowly rolled a sluggish, casual grind against your core with a relieved sigh. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your lower belly. “Go on, and lift your hips for me, baby.” He gently patted your hip, sliding his hands down as you quickly complied, arching up enough to assist him. His hand palmed the flesh of your ass as he tenderly peeled the soft cotton material down over the curve of your hips and thighs.
With a final tug, he slipped your pajama pants completely off, letting them drop forgotten beside his own sweats and the cherry pie tin. Only in your cotton cherry panties, the red fruit danced across the pale off white fabric, a stark contrast to the damp patch that had begun to darken the cotton in between your legs. As he settled back between your legs, he glanced down, taking in the sight of your panties with an amused smile on his lips. “Cherries? Really?” His fingers flicked at the elastic waistband, toying with the delicate fabric as he rubbed at your hips.
“What? Now you don’t like cherries?” A breathless laugh tumbled from your lips as you tangled your fingers in his hair, anchoring him to you. Your nails traced lightly down his neck towards the expanse of his back, the delicate warmth leaving a trail of pink flesh in their wake. He hummed, an all too please and approved sound that vibrated through his chest and against your belly, as his fingers slid beneath the elastic band of your cherry print panties.
“No, I love it.” He leaned in low, week-old stubble rasping gently against your belly as he pressed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the waistband, his lips curving into a playful smirk against your skin. His fingers dipped lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs, just close enough to make your breath hitch and your hips twitch in anticipation. They curled into the fabric of your panties as he began to slowly inch them down, taking his time to savor the way your skin pebbled with goosebumps and warmed beneath his touch.
You wiggled your hips, coaxing your panties down to pool loosely around your ankles, the bright cotton a stark contrast to the weathered linens beneath you. The old mattress seemed to sway and dip with the subtle movement, the springs creaking underneath the two of you again. The lack of cool in the room rushed towards your exposed pussy, which hadn’t at all helped with the warmth between your legs.
He paused, squinting through the dim lighting to take in the sight of the arousal glistening against your folds. A strained sigh escaped his lips like it physically hurt him to have to wait an extra thirty seconds to take his boxers off. He reached down, stroking himself through his the plaid before looking up in surprise as you urgently slapped his hands aside, impatiently tugging them down. “Well, now who’s eager?”
He carefully leaned down just as your hand slipped up to the back of his neck, guiding him down to plant peppered kisses against his lips. The light hair of his legs brushed against your inner thighs as he guided your legs around his hips, kissing away the heavy sigh that slipped from your lips. He rolled his hips down against yours, the head of his cock sliding against your folds, slick with your arousal and his own leaking precum.
His head rested against the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth busy mouthing at the sensitive skin there. One hand clumsily wrapped around the length of himself to positioned the swollen head against your entrance. He gently guided himself forward, leading the pretty head of his cock into the warmth of your welcoming pussy. Inch by inch, he eased himself deeper, your walls yielding and wrapping around the stretch of his thick length. He paused for a long, shuddering moment, chest pressing heavily against yours. With a slow suck of breath, he rolled his hips back, the tip of his cock slipping free to rub sloppily against your folds. Then, with an equally deliberate slowness, he pushed back, nestled cozy inside yours walls.
You naturally arched up towards him, breathing heavily and ragged into the air as he rocked his hips against yours with long grinds. All that was heard was the soft wet schlick of your joined fluids, the annoying subtle creak of the old bed frame, and the not so subtle breathy groans your boyfriend kept mumbling against your skin. He hooked his arms under your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he began to pull back again, just enough to leave only the swollen head comfy inside you.
He kept that lazy, languid pace, his hips clashing gently against yours in a dragged rhythm. With each withdrawal, he'd pull back just enough to be kept inside you before thrusting inch after inch until his balls rested heavily against your warm skin. “Fuckfuck.” You gasped out against his shoulder, your fingers raked down his back, perfectly polished nails scratching into the thin film of sweat clung to him.
“Shh. I know, baby,” he sighed against your skin, one hand glued to the side of your hip as the other dipped its way in between your legs. “Keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me.” He slowed down his thrusts to a tempo that was borderline torture, the pad of his thumb sliding down to rub small circles against your clit. He pressed his finger against the swollen nub, applying just enough pressure to elicit a shaky gasp from you that was quickly swallowed from the air by his own groan. “Yeah, just like that.”
The feeling of him leaning against you gave you the perfect chance to feel the rapid beating of his heart against his chest and the oh-so perfect angle of the tip of his cock to abuse that spongy sensitive spot. Your breath grew heavier, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each circle of his thumb. He subconsciously matched your breathing pattern, his own breaths coming out in low, ragged gasps against your skin, like seeing you close to cumming had him throbbing inside you.
Well, he was.
“Mm...right there, don’t stop.” You babbled in one breath, and it seemed like your words struck him in a different way. The sound of your breathy command had him adjusting himself to keep his movements perfectly aligned to your g-spot.
You clenched around him, your walls gripping onto his throbbing cock like some kind of strengthened suction. His hips stuttered as he let out a rumbled groan, clinging himself to your warmth. Your orgasm hit you like a rough wave of heat, crashing over you in a rush of dizziness and twitching that you’d gotten lightheaded from the suddenness. The spasm was first, that annoying twitch of your legs and the quick grip of your nails in his back as you had attempted to warn him but all that came out was a whiny moan.
The slick, slippery liquid gushed out around his dick, your arousal dripping down in between your thighs and staining the sheets beneath you. He hadn’t stopped, not right away, just kissed you down from the climax as he thrust once, twice and three times. Your body shuddered and went heavy beneath him, hips jerking up in his hands at the friction. The wet sounds of your juices squelching and slopping with each thrust muted into the room. With a quiet ‘oh fuck’, he froze, pulsing and throbbing inside you. You could faintly feel the subtle jerking of his thick shaft as he spilled spurts of white, long ropes seed.
He pulled out as soon as that second twitch of cum spilled from the slit of his dick to plant itself along the inside of your walls. He gently rolled off of you, his softening length slipping out of your tender, messy cunt with another pornographic squelch. He laid on his side, wrapping his arms around you in a loose embrace as he tenderly rubbed at the small of your back. “Do your legs always twitch like that when you cum?”
You rolled your eyes at his stupid question, nudging him back from his awful attempt at big spooning you. “Oh, shut up.” He propped himself up on one elbow, grabbing at your waist as you tried to sit up.
“I got you baby, just lay there and keep looking sexy.” With his free hand, he tenderly brushed a few errant strands of hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. His fingertips lingered on your cheek, tracing the delicate line of your jaw before planting a quick kiss on the tip of your nose.
As he stumbled off the bed, you could barely make out the faint figure of his foot catching on the blanket. A soft splatter, the crinkle of foil and a quick thud of an almost empty box distracted you from your attempt of relaxing. You sat up, squinting at Dean as he rushed to pick up after himself.
“Are you alright?” You asked, masking your amusement with a little snicker as he stood upright again, pulling his boxers up. He huffed dramatically, carefully picking up the off-white box at the mess of mostly pie crust, cherry glop and the dented fork that was no longer dented.
“Well…at least we finished the pie. Think they’ll have another cherry in the morning?”
cockwarming s1!dean winchester 𓂃 while he works in the bunker library and it's fucking cold down there, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, but you're warm, so warm because you're sitting in his lap with his cock buried deep inside you, keeping you full and stretched and his, and the only things keeping you warm are his body heat and the way he's got you stuffed so perfectly. his free hand keeps moving, rubbing your bare thigh, sliding up to your stomach, just casual touches that make you clench around him, and every now and then you feel his stubble scratch against your shoulder when he leans in to kiss your shoulder blade, sometimes his hand comes up to give your tit a little squeeze, possessive and casual like it's nothing, like he's not making you lose your mind. you get butterflies every single time he does anything—when he reaches up to fix his glasses that keep sliding down the bridge of his nose, when he licks his finger before flipping a page in whatever lore book he's reading, when he takes a sip of his whiskey and you feel his throat work against your back, and god you want to move, want to rock your hips, want more, but every time you shift even a little he pinches you, mainly your nipple, twisting just enough to make you gasp, or a small sharp smack on your hip that makes you still immediately because you know better, you know he wants you to sit there and take it and be good. but it gets to be too much, the fullness, the heat, the way his cock throbs inside you when you clench, the casual dominance of his hands on your body, and he must feel how desperate you're getting because suddenly he's closing the laptop, shoving books aside, and bending you right over the table, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down while the other grips your hip bruisingly tight, and then he's pounding into you, no more patience, no more teasing, just deep hard thrusts that make the books slide across the table and make you cry out his name, and he growls in your ear about how you couldn't just sit still, how you always need more, how he's gonna fuck you until you remember how to behave, and you know you're not going to be able to sit comfortably tomorrow but you don't fucking care because s1!dean winchester is fucking you stupid in the bunker library and nothing has ever felt better.
Dr. Park Masterlist || The Pitt Masterlist || Requests: OPEN
Synopsis: He was a shark, looking for his prey. You were blind to think that he wanted anything more than just a body to keep his bed warm. Based on these two requests!
Word count: 3.5k
Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control), cursing, inaccurate medical terminology, cheating, age gap, power imbalance, description of injuries
“We’re keeping things casual, right?”
Right.
That’s exactly what you had agreed to months ago when this arrangement first started. You didn’t mean for it to happen. It was supposed to be just a one night stand. It had been an awful day, a multi-vehicle pile up in the middle of winter. The Philadelphia sheriff's department had to shut down the highway, the accident was that bad. You were only one month into your surgical internship, landing an orthopedic rotation.
You were still green, the sight of too much blood and gore made your stomach queasy and it didn’t help that your attending was The Shark. Victims from the accident were coming in faster than the ORs could keep up with. You were seeing everything from internal bleeding to nasty compound fractures to brutal in field amputations. You felt like you were drowning on dry land, trying to keep up with the senior residents and attendings running in circles around you. Park had given you clear instructions, interns were to stay out of the way, keep quiet, and don’t kill anyone.
You had failed at all three of those rules.
— — —
“She was a lost cause when she came in,” Park said. You were sitting on a bench in the locker room, staring blankly at the floor. A young woman had come up to the OR for what was supposed to be a pelvic stabilization. Somehow between the floors of the Pitt and the OR, she had begun to bleed out. By the time Park made his first incision, she was bleeding out quicker than they were putting blood in.
“She was my age,” You whispered, staring at the blood still staining your shoes. “We went to the same college.”
Brendon huffed, clenching his jaw. “C’mon.” You looked up at him as he held his hand out to you. He rolled his eyes at your hesitation, pushing his hand closer to you, and you gingerly took it. Brendon helped you to your feet, grabbing your backpack with his other hand and led you out of the locker room. He didn’t say a word to you as he led you to his parked Audi, unlocking and opening the door for you.
You knew that you should’ve stopped it, but there was something oddly comforting about Brendon. He took you home that night, pouring you a drink to drown your sorrows in. He told you about the first patient he had ever lost. He was an intern, just like you, in the middle of his ER rotation when he completely missed the symptoms in a woman having an MI.
“It sticks with you,” Brendon muttered, eyes cutting into you.
“How do you deal with it?” You asked softly. Somehow you had moved closer to him, maybe it was somewhere between the second and third drink, but your feet were basically in his lap. You could smell his cologne and feel the warmth from his body.
“You don’t,” Brendon answered honestly, taking the final sip of his drink. He set the glass on the table in front of him and leaned back on the couch. His arm was stretched across the back of it, leaning closer to you. “You learn to push it down.”
“To be a shark?”
Brendon let out a laugh. “Yeah,” he whispered. His face was a mere inch from you. His eyes glanced down at your lips for a fleeting second. “You be a shark.”
The kiss he placed on your lips was soft, a tentative kiss to test the waters. When you didn’t pull away, Brendon pressed his lips a bit harder against yours, hand cradling your face. The kiss turned feverish quickly, your fingers twisting into his hair, his strong arms wrapping around you to pull you into his lap.
“Fuck,” He sighs out as you kiss his neck. Your hips move against his, feeling his cock harden against your thighs. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head up to expose your neck. Brendon’s teeth nip against your pulse point, a soft kiss left to soothe the sting of the bite.
“This is a bad idea,” You moan as he continues the pattern of biting and kissing your skin.
“Yeah?” He answers. That fucking sarcastic ass ‘yeah?’ where he knows just as well as you do that this is a bad idea. It’s also a challenge. His shark-like eyes bore into you as you sit back, pulling your shirt over your head. Your hands reach around your back to undo your bra, tossing the clothing on the ground. Brendon’s eyes flicker down to your breasts for a moment before he smashes his lips against yours.
— — —
You were breathless as your back hit the mattress, a thin layer of sweat covering your body. Your legs were still shaking, your heart beating erratically in your chest. The room was warm, almost too warm, and the scent of sex was in the air. Brendon’s large body lays down next to you, making you feel even warmer. Like always, the sex with Brandon Park was incredible. He had you shattering over and over again, on his hand, in his mouth, on his cock. You weren’t sure if it was years of experience or his overall knowledge of the body, but he was the most satisfying partner that you had ever been with.
You could feel Brendon shift in bed, turning on his side to look at you. He always did this. He wanted to watch as his once calm and collected little intern tried to regulate after being ruined by him. Brendon placed his large calloused hand on your chest, feeling your heartbeat below it.
“You alright?” Brendon asked, a hint of a smirk in his tone. His normally perfectly gelled hair was falling into his hazel eyes. You liked him like this, his overnight stubble grown out, his hair soft and gel-free. He looked almost human. You nodded, licking your lips. “I’ll get you a towel,” Brendon rolled over, but you grabbed his wrist.
“Did you cum in me?” You asked, your voice a bit hoarse. Brendon didn’t say anything as he stood up from the bed, walking to the bathroom. You groaned, covering your eyes. “Park!”
“You’re fine,” Brendon shouted back. When this little situation had become an average thing, Brendon had made you an appointment with the gynecologist so you could get the IUD. You had been on the pill before then, but with your crazy schedule, you were always forgetting to take it on time. Brendon was not about to be the attending who got his intern pregnant. It was bad enough he was fucking you.
When Brendon walked back into the bedroom, black boxers slung low on his hips, showcasing his toned abs and chest. He knelt on the bed and you spread your legs for him to clean you up. A groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of your pussy, swollen and wet with his cum leaking out of it. He was half tempted to lean down and lick you clean, fucking you on his tongue again until you were crying to cum.
“Can I shower-”
“You need to be going,” Brendon cut you off, tossing aside the cloth after he finished cleaning you.
You weren’t sure when you had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with your attending. But you had. And if there was one thing about you, when you fell in love, you fell hard. Maybe it was in the quiet moments after a procedure, where he took the time to answer and explain any questions you had. Maybe it was in the way he always searched for you, purposely seeking you out when there was a particularly cool case that came his way. Maybe it was in the way that it seemed he was the only one in the whole orthopedics department who gave a fuck about you.
You knew when you chose an orthopedic path that it was a male dominated world. You knew that you were going to have to work harder than your counterparts for an ounce of respect and attention. But with Park, there was no fighting. He chose you for things without you having to beg and plead to be involved.
You tried to blink back tears as Brendon stood up from the bed, walking to his dresser and pulling out a pair of clothes. You gingerly follow his lead, picking up your clothing from the ground.
“You work tonight?” Brendon asked.
You swallow, hoping that your voice doesn’t give off the emotion you’re feeling. “Yes.”
“Good,” Is all Brendon says. He walks over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll see you there.” You stand there half naked as Brendon walks into his en-suite bathroom, shutting the door and starting the shower.
— — —
You were on hour six of your 12 hour night shift when you got paged to the pitt for a consult. Park was wrapping up on a surgery and sent you down to get started on the consult. He hated having to spend any time down in the ED, especially when most of the consults could be solved without surgical intervention.
“There she is!” A voice called out to you as the elevator doors opened. “Swam away from the shark and finally came to your senses.”
You rolled your eyes as you walked up to the nurses station. Before you had ever decided on surgery, you had done two medical school rotations down in the pitt. Because of your schedule, you had ended up on nights, spending the most time with Doctor Jack Abbot. He had taken you under his wing, teaching you as much as he could during your time.
“You wish,” You smiled, giving him a quick hug. “I’m here for a consult.”
“Ah yes,” Jack grabbed the chart he had been working on, leading you to the trauma room. “A wannabe Tony Hawk testing his luck about twenty years too late.”
“Sounds painful,” You wince.
“Oh, it is,” Jack pushed the door open with his hip, and your eyes widened at the nasty looking break on the patient in front of you.
You examined the patient with a practiced precision that Park had instilled in you. You asked the questions you knew he was going to ask once he came down for his own exam. You looked at the x-rays that were ordered, asking for additional images that Brendon was going to want so he could get the whole picture. Jack was amazed as he watched you. He was like a proud parent, watching his child flourish. When you left the trauma room, you walked up to the counter of the nurses station, still studying the chart.
“I see ortho is going well,” Jack said, leaning his elbows on the counter. You smile and look up at him. “You were a natural in there.”
“Thanks,” You blush looking back at the chart. “I’ve had some good teachers.” You playfully bump his hip. The elevator dings in the distance, the doors opening.
Jack chuckles, taking his gloves off. “We need to catch up. It’s been too long. We should grab a beer. Swap stories.”
You nod, “I’d like that.” You look over your shoulder as Park approaches you. His walk is menacing, almost as if he’s gliding through water. A small smile stretches across your face, but quickly fades when you see his tense shoulders. “30 year old male, skate boarding accident,” You hand him the chart you were studying. “Tried to land a trick but instead of landing on the board, he landed on the side of his foot. Visual inspection shows an oblique displaced fracture of the medial malleolus, confirmed by x-ray. The patient is awake and alert, and has had 5 of ketamine to control the pain.”
Brendon nods, his eyes skimming of the report you just read. “Course of action?”
“Try and reduce the fracture, hard cast until it heals.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Surgery. Screws to realign the pieces together, hard cast.”
Brendon nods, “Good. Holloway and I will go and-“
“What?” You interrupt. His jaw sets. He hates being interrupted. “Sorry,” You wince, knowing he hates useless apologies even more. “It’s just it was my consult and I thought that I-“
“I need you watching my post-ops,” Brendon doesn’t leave room for argument as he leaves you standing there, stalking off to the trauma room the patient is in, Dr. Holloway follows suit.
Jack lets out a low whistle, having watched the whole interaction. “That was harsh.” You ignored him, going straight to the elevator.
— — —
Park was giving you the cold shoulder.
It has been going on for close to four days now. Every response to your text messages was just one word or a reaction. He had completely ignored you during rounds, not asking you questions about your patients, asking other residents instead. He even went as far as swapping your name with other residents, putting you on different cases with other orthopods.
The final straw for you was when he took you off a spinal fusion you had been practicing in the skills lab for a week. Park was going to let you be first assist on the surgery, and you were going to be the best first assist he’d ever had. You had been spending all your free time in the skills lab, reciting each movement out loud, visualizing it while you closed your eyes at night. You had been looking towards the surgery since it was assigned.
So you were shocked to find your name had been erased from the OR board the morning of the surgery. You tried to not let tears cloud your vision as you walked away from the board, going to find Brendon and confront him.
You didn’t even bother to knock when you pushed his office door open. “Doctor Park, I- oh!” You gasp at the sight in front of you. Some blonde sat on top of his desk, her blouse slightly unbuttoned, her lips swollen and hair a mess. A faint blush arose over Brendon’s skin as stepped away from in between her legs. For a quick second you swear you saw a flash of guilt in his eyes, before he schooled his features and glared at you.
“I-I just, I. . .” You pointed your thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll wait.” You shut the door to his office quickly, pressing your back against it. You looked up at the bright fluorescent lights trying to blink back the sting of tears. You wiped a few tears away, pushing off the door and going to find the closest bathroom or storage room to cry in like a normal person. You’d rather be caught dead than crying outside of Park the Shark’s office (though it was a regular occurrence for someone to be crying outside of it).
“Y/N,” Brendon’s voice filled the hallway as he stepped out of his office. You closed your eyes for several seconds, controlling your breathing before turning to face him. He looked more put together than he did a moment ago. His hair smoothed back down into its usual style. His scrub top back in its right position. “You needed something?”
“Yes, I’m sorry for not knocking. I just. . . did I do something?” Brendon just blinks at you. “I’ve had all my cases this week switched at the last minute. You’re asking other residents about my patients. You even took me off my rotation for ED consults. And today my name was-“
“This is a teaching hospital,” Brendon interjects. You’re taken aback by his response. Brendon hates teaching. You knew it and he knew it too. And yet, he doubled down on his answer, “I’m teaching more than just you. You’ve seen several spinal fusions.. Your fellow residents have not.”
You give him a singular nod in response. “So you’re not punishing me?”
“No.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” Brendon walks off without another word to you.
— — —
You avoided Brendon for the rest of your 12 hour shift after that. It was damn near impossible. One, the man was huge and took up every available space he was in. And two, he is the head of the department. It was hard to hide from him when he was constantly lurking around. Like a hunter, looking for its prey.
Brendon had tried to catch your attention several times. For what? He wasn’t sure. Was it to apologize? Was it to ask you to be on the next spinal fusion? Or was it to tell you how he really felt?
He knew it was all kinds of wrong. When he had agreed to this ‘casual hookup’ arrangement, he never intended to fall for you. You were his student, for Christ sake. He was your boss. It was already ten types of wrong. But he was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.
He wasn’t sure if you knew that he had overheard you making a date with Abbot the other night. You didn’t owe Park any loyalty. You weren’t dating. Hell, you weren’t really exclusively fucking each other either. You’d never agreed to fuck only each other, though he surely wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. You had totally consumed him, mind, body and soul. Even while he had that blonde in his office, kissing her, his mind was set on you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Your voice rang out as you walked out of the hospital into the parking lot , saying goodbye to one of your friends. Brendon straightened up, pretending that he wasn’t waiting on you to walk out.
“Hey,” He called out softly, catching your attention. You startled a bit, clasping your keys in your hand. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” You mumbled. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to talk.”
You sigh, running a hand over your forehead in that self-regulating way that he noticed you do when you’re stressed. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Right,” Brendon huffed, “Because I heard you went to Garcia asking if there was a spot open on her team.”
You paled at his words. You should’ve known that asking Garcia a hypothetical question was somehow going to get back to Park. She had caught you crying in the storage room and asked you what was wrong. You didn’t tell her a single thing about you and Brendon, but did ask about possibly switching to general surgery for the remainder of your intern year.
“It was a hypothetical,” You answer. “I was just wondering.”
“Well next time you wonder,” Brendon took a step towards you, trying to intimidate you with his proximity. But you knew him too well. “You come to me to fix it. Got it?”
You scoff, “Fine.” Brendon’s eyes glance down at your lips quickly, before turning around and walking off. “So are you fucking her too?” You asked him. Brendon stops in his tracks, his back still to you.
With a sigh, he turns to face you. “What?”
“The blonde from earlier,” You say. “A sales rep. Didn’t know that was your type.” You had done some digging after you got over your initial anger of being kicked off your surgery. Her name was Hannah, and she was some sales representative for new hip joints, something Park would usually pass off to his least favorite resident to deal with.
“It’s complicated,” Brendon says back, rubbing at the back of his neck. It was his tell. He was lying to you.
“Like hell it is,” You sneer. “You’re either going out with her or you’re not,” Brendon clenched his jaw, you swore that his molars were about to break. “You just fucked me this morning. Raw, might I add, fucked me and came in me.”
“Lower your voice,” Brendon seethed, grabbing your wrist. He pulled you out of the middle aisle, standing between two cars. “You’re one to talk about going out with people after you let me fuck you. When’s your date with Abbot?”
“My date with Abbot?”
“Don’t play fucking stupid. I heard him ask you to go get drinks and you so happily agreed. So what is it you want?” He whispered harshly.
“I want you to make a fucking decision!” You throw your arms up. “You are so fucking bipolar, Park, I can’t fucking handle it. You tell me this is all casual, and then lose your shit when I get asked out. Ice me out. Take me off of surgeries. Meanwhile, you’re going out on fucking dates-” You’re cut off with a kiss to your lips. Brendon grips your waist, holding you to him, his tongue tangling with yours. You moan into the kiss, fingers pulling on the hair on the nape of his neck.
“Park,” You moan as he kisses your neck, his hands kneading your ass. You were getting distracted, the one thing you didn’t want to happen. “Park. . . Brendon!” You push him off of you. Brendon pulls back, his chest heaving, eyes blown wide with lust. Your eyes search his, trying to find something else in them. “What are we doing, Brendon?”
Brendon licks his lips, looking down at his shoes, unable to answer your question. A wounded sound leaves you, as you push past him.
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