Hold on lmk cook rn… virgin!Peter Parker (bc I’m like 99.999 % sure he’s still a virgin) getting like super overstimulated and whiny during his first time with reader bc of his heightened senses from his new enhancements in brand new day 🙏🏾🙏🏾
Btw im the same person who sent the other overstimulated Peter ask but i thought of this after so you can lowk just ignore that one 😭
that scene where he was spurting webs everywhere and he couldn’t control it.. ugh
seeing him get all huffy and teary eyed because you just feel so good, his hands pressing on your hips harder than he realizes because he forgets how strong he can be sometimes.. and you’re on top of him, grinding your hips back and forth on his lap just clamping down on his pulsing cock :(( you can literally feel him throbbing inside you, all veiny and hard..
and peters just letting out these little pathetic whines of, “wait, y-you gotta slow down.. shit—“, in the crook of your neck because he’s hugging you so tight, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips in a deep frown—he’s feeling everything around him. he can feel your breast pressed against him, how slick and tight your pussy is around his cock and the filthy sounds it makes when your hole swallows all of him— and he hears your moans even more clearly <33 peter feels himself about to cum since it’s all too much and you won’t let up.. so it’s really inevitable that he just gets so needy for that release that he manhandles your body and grasps at your sides—slamming you down and pounding into you harshly, holding you down on his dick as he pumps his load into you with a loud groan, and he cums SO much! fills your tummy up completely that it spills out your hole and rolls down his cock onto the sheets..
being chased by peter in his arachnid state. suggestive.
it comes up in casual conversation one day. you flipping through a magazine, him rubbing your feet on the couch.
"what?" he queries, pausing his ministrations. there's a bewildered expression plastered on his face, and he removes your legs from his lap, turns his full attention to you. he waits expectantly for you to elaborate, and with a sigh, you throw your magazine on the coffee table.
"i just think it'd be kinda hot, you know?" you start, folding your legs under your bottom, "like you chasing me. catching me. when you're like... that."
a beat. peter glances away, then back to you. puts on that thinking face he does when he's trying to compute every variable, every iteration in which this can go wrong.
then, "i don't know. i've been getting better at finding the balance without the inhibitor, but—" there's extra emphasis on the last word, and he straightens out his back, makes sure you're listening to what he's saying. "i still don't have full control over it yet. when i stay in that state for too long, sometimes it takes a minute to revert back. i would never, ever hurt you, baby... but there's still a risk."
"oh, peter. you're so cute," a light chuckle slips past your lips, "that's the appeal. but if you're genuinely worried about hurting me, you don't have to be. i trust you."
that's when it clicks for him. when all the puzzle pieces start falling into place and forming the full picture.
oh, he thinks. ohhhhh.
the next day you spend the entire afternoon planning it out. he makes you decide on a safe word just in case things go too far south and he can't tell in his heightened state if you're playing into it or legitimately terrified. (you decide on "pierogi.") once all the details are ironed out, the chase begins.
he gives you a head start from the apartment complex to the street. you can feel his eyes on you everywhere. every turn around a corner, every alleyway—but you don't see him. and just when you've started to think you found a good hiding spot, he emerges from the darkness and corners you. backs you into a wall until your spine is flush against jagged brick and there's no escaping. his eyes are obsidians, and he's growling. a low, animalistic rumble coming from the depths of his chest.
your body's shaking from the adrenaline and he's studying you. slowly. methodically. like a predator that's just about to go in for the kill. you try to touch him, but he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head. trails his fingers up the curve of your body, the side of your breast, then stops when he gets to the pulse point of your neck. feels your vein beating a mile a minute and taps it almost mockingly.
"scared, baby?" he purrs, leaning in to whisper in your ear.
you shake your head. tell him he could try harder. you might as well have signed your own death sentence. he pulls back from your ear and somehow his eyes are impossibly darker—the rumble in his chest louder. sharper. you look at him this time and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.
there's a different voice now. much darker and more feral than the one you know to belong to your sweet boyfriend. he takes his free hand and dips it under your skirt. pushes his fingers past your panties, and rubs them along your slit. you're wet, practically soaked and he can smell you. a twisted, dark smile settles on his lips.
Headconnons about Dracula turning you into a vampire after his transformations + living untill this era together (because wtf was that ending)
Becoming a vampire was never something he forced upon you. After losing everything that made him human, he refused to steal your humanity without your consent. He offered you eternity with tears in his eyes, fully prepared for you to refuse him. When you whispered that forever with him was worth the curse, it was the first time he'd smiled since becoming Dracula.
The first decades were... difficult. Vlad barely understood his own hunger, and you certainly didn't understand yours. More than once the two of you isolated yourselves in abandoned monasteries or forgotten forests simply because he feared either of you losing control around innocent people.
He's fiercely protective to an almost obsessive degree. During the medieval years, vampire hunters, priests, and rival creatures constantly sought him out. Every time danger approached, he'd place himself between you and it without hesitation, even when he knew you were perfectly capable of defending yourself.
Every century changed him a little, but never his devotion to you. Kings rose and fell. Empires crumbled. Entire languages died. Yet every evening he'd still reach for your hand before stepping into the night.
Humans became your clocks. You'd watch families grow old while remaining exactly the same yourselves. At first it devastated you. Eventually it simply became another reminder that immortality was beautiful and unbearably lonely.
Vlad secretly keeps journals dating back hundreds of years. Every volume is filled with memories of your life together rather than his own accomplishments. Pressed flowers, little sketches of places you visited, letters you'd written him... they're his greatest treasures.
He remembers every anniversary—not just of your relationship, but the exact night he turned you. Rather than celebrating, the two of you usually spend it quietly. There's always a bittersweet silence as you remember the life you left behind.
Fashion fascinated him over the centuries. You've watched him go from heavy medieval armor to embroidered Renaissance coats, powdered wigs that he absolutely hated, perfectly tailored Victorian suits, and finally modern black coats that somehow still make him look centuries out of time.
He loves traveling under the cover of darkness. You've crossed Europe on horseback, sailed oceans, ridden steam trains, and now take midnight flights across continents simply because neither of you can resist exploring another city.
There are nights when he grows quiet after hearing church bells. Even after centuries, fragments of the man he once was remain buried beneath the monster.
Modern technology confuses him far more than he'd ever admit. You once found him glaring at a smartphone because it had asked him to verify he wasn't a robot. "I've survived six centuries," he grumbled. "Now this little rectangle questions my identity?"
You became the one who explained modern life to him. Online banking. Streaming services. GPS. Social media. The first time you convinced him to watch vampire movies together, he spent the entire film criticizing the inaccuracies.
"Bats?" he'd scoff. "I can become wolves too. Why does no one mention the wolves?"
Despite his intimidating appearance, he's surprisingly gentle with you. His hands are almost always cold, but he still cups your face as though you're the most fragile thing in existence.
Feeding became almost ritualistic. The two of you established rules over centuries—never children, never the vulnerable, never without necessity. Vlad carries enough guilt for several lifetimes and refuses to add needless suffering to it.
If another vampire flirted with you, Vlad's expression alone was enough to send them walking in the opposite direction. He rarely speaks. He simply stares until the poor soul decides existing elsewhere is the healthier option.
You've seen every side of him. The feared prince. The grieving widower. The monster whispered about in folklore. The exhausted immortal who sometimes rests his forehead against yours and quietly admits that eternity would have broken him long ago had you not been there beside him.
You know exactly how to calm his bloodlust. One touch to his hand. Your forehead against his. A soft reminder of his name—not Dracula, but Vlad. The name he almost forgot belonged to him.
Sunrises become your favorite shared ritual despite never seeing them directly. Every morning, just before dawn forces you indoors, the two of you stand together watching the sky slowly brighten. He always squeezes your hand and softly says, "We'll see another tomorrow."
The modern era surprises you both. After surviving crusades, plagues, world wars, and revolutions, your greatest shared arguments somehow become deciding what takeaway to order at two in the morning or whether the castle really needs Wi-Fi. According to Vlad, it absolutely doesn't. According to you, eternity is much more enjoyable when you can stream movies together.
(I do not own Spider-man or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @andysapril.)
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°
Tobey!Spidey is just the sweetest, cutest, most adorable boy you would ever meet!!! You’ve lived next door to Peter for years and years now, and he’s spent every single second of every single one of those days just absolutely, head over heels smitten with you. Being his neighbour, you also got to sit next to him on the bus every day for years… and sit next to him in school, and during lunch, and after school when he’d invite you back to his house so Aunt May could gush about you over dinner.
All these emotions have just been bubbling up inside him for so long, that he’s more afraid than anything to just tell you how he feels in the fear you’ll never want to see him again.
The two of you used to have a lot of late night talks by your back fence back in the days when you were finishing up with High School. When the two of you couldn’t sleep, you just seemed to have this connection zapping between both your minds, making you slip on your slippers and sneak out of the house. Lo and behold, to no one’s surprise, Peter’s standing there in his cotton pyjamas, with his glasses slightly askew and a big smile on his face as he waved awkwardly at you.
CLARK KENT’S sexual awakening never happened. His ma did enough to hide him from the more carnal parts of life, so imagine his surprise and borderline nose-wrinkle in sex-ed junior year when he found out what adults did behind closed doors.
Even when he grew up, got a job in the Planet, made his alter-ego known, he still didn’t feel the need to… have coitus. He was too scared he’d snap some poor girl in half if he tried.
The first time he ever tried, he’d barely got the tip in before he came, embarrassingly quick. Maybe it was the nerves of it all, maybe his body was eager to get it over with. Safe to say, that girl — as lovely as she was — broke up with him a week later because she felt like he was just in pursuit of his own pleasure. Not true, by the way, his ma always told him to think of the lady first.
Like every Monday, he was pushing his way through the Metropolis work crowd, against the tides of people. Not really looking where he was going, trying not to drop an iced tea — Lois forced him to try it, just to be clear — on any unsuspecting people by holding it high above possible shoulders.
That failed.
In the pursuit of not splashing anyone with peach iced tea, he forgot to look straight and collided straight into someone, sending a drink flying into a silk dress.
Oh, no.
He watched in horror as the material dampened, clung to your body, and became slightly more sheer by the second. “Golly, I’m so sorry—”
The subsequent scoff nearly tore into his self-esteem battery for the day. “Hey, watch where you’re…”
Your eyes locked. All anger faded away, replaced by the dread that you hurt this sexy behemoth of a man’s feelings and he now hated you forever. “… you know what? No worries, don’t— don’t think about it too much.”
He instantly shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you. “But your dress— great dress, by the way,” it was a… really pretty dress, golly, “it’s ruined. I ruined it. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”
You waved your hand noncommittally, but you took the blazer anyway to cover up, it was massive on you. Lord— wait, he shouldn’t take his name in vain. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was on my way to a bachelorette party, one of my friends there will definitely have a spare, she has one for everyone.”
He blinked. “Everyone?”
“Yeah.” You grinned, gosh, it was a pretty smile. “She’s like that. Weird, I know. And— don’t worry about the dry cleaning, I’ve got it. I’m sorry about your drink.”
“No, you saved me.” He laughed nervously. “My coworker forced me to try it, to tell y’the truth, I did not want to.”
“So I saved you.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his curls, messing them up even more. “And please. Please bill me for the dry cleaning, I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”
“Fine. Fine.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll bill you.” Locking eyes with him once more took the words from his lungs. Good Lord, those eyes were sexy. All of him was sexy, in a cute way, bumbling gait, pushing his glasses up his nose, the rosiness of his cheeks. You checked your watch. Fuck. “Well, I’m in a rush, so—”
“Yeah, you gotta—”
“See you.” You began walking off at a fast pace. Something jolted in his navel. He felt hot from embarrassment. His relaxed-fit trousers felt… not so relaxed anymore.
He looked down. That looked like a sexual awakening.
“Clark!” He yelled loudly, head snapping up to stare at you like a dishevelled deer in headlights. What the hay? Why did he do that? Why did he yell that? He covered his crotch with his messenger bag.
Your smile told him you noticed. With an uptick in your heart rate and an increase in your breathing’s heaviness, a sweet smell tickled his nose. It wasn’t the bakery next to him, that’s for sure. You smiled, and shouted back your name at the same volume.
He hurried to the nearest bathroom to yell at his body.
Cat slid onto his desk, setting core in front of him. Not for him, clearly. “I was at a bachelorette last week.” She started, tapping her nail on his desk to get him to look at her. Deadlines needed to be crunched, so he barely did. She accepted that.
Clark’s fingers kept flying. “Cat, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
She laughed. “I have a friend. She asked me about a dorky guy named Clark Kent who still writes his name on the tags of his clothes.” She dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, stirring it. “A habit I thought we left back in our sophomore year of high school.”
His neck turned red. His foot covered the name tag on his bag’s handle. But she laughed and dropped another sugar cube into. He sent a furtive glance of concern for her health. “Whatever.” She sighed, taking a long sip. “I told her you were single.”
He almost spluttered over no liquid. “What?”
“I told her you were single.” She repeated simply.
“Why?”
“She asked.” This time he almost choked on a gulp of straight, bitter black coffee. “I gave her your number. To bill you for the dry cleaning.” Pause for an effectively captivating sip of over-sweetened coffee. “Among other things.” She muttered under her breath, but he caught it. She smiled widely. “Toodles!” She got up and walked off.
He threw his hands up, tripping over his words. “Cat— you can’t—” But she was in her own world, singing Freak by Doja Cat.
His phone buzzed. With shaking hands, he opened it, unknown number.
Didn’t know they made clothes in your size. Underneath: Wanna come round to get it this weekend? To talk to bit.
He saved your contact first. Before typing out a clumsy agreement, which he didn’t know was possible over text. Judging by how you didn’t immediately get put off, you were into it.
He was on time, on the dot of the agreed time, which was two o’clock. After lunch, before it got too dark, but still enough time to talk.
He’d cleaned up a little more than usual. Tried to use a hair pomade to ensure his curls weren’t as wild as they usually were. Wear a slightly tighter fitting shirt than before. Brush his teeth. Pop a few breath mints. Avoid the morning coffee, put on copious amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Everything had to be perfect. He even trimmed his happy trail for this.
You laid the plan. Took a shower so your skin was dewy. Prepped your hair. Kept the makeup minimal, because a full beat would give the plan away. You chose your best, flowiest robe.
You wanted him to unwrap you like a present.
When your doorbell rang, you dabbed on a final bit of lipstick before you chucked it onto a side table and opened the door.
You felt your thighs rub together on instinct the moment you saw him. He felt his breath leave his body when he saw you, checking his watch. “Maybe I’m early—”
“You’re on time.” It came out more breathless than expected. Nodding back into your apartment. “I… I have your jacket. I put it in the wash, the inside got stained with a little iced tea.”
“You can bill me for that too.”
“Seriously? No.” You waved your hand. “No. You’re fine.” You ushered him inside. “It was a thank you, for paying for my dry cleaning and lending me your jacket.” You waved him towards the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
You.
“Um, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch, you sat opposite, picking up a glass of wine that was there before he came. You looked… stunning. He felt his collar get hot. He tugged at it. “You invited me to watch a movie.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still want to watch a movie?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh. I was under the impression that we’d be…” He gestured in between you two. So he had the same assumption you did.
Your lips curled up. “I was under that impression too.”
He nodded. You could see a bulge slowly growing in his trousers. “I mean, I— I have to warn you, I’m not that… experienced.”
You blinked, slightly amused. A little interested. “Oh? How so?”
“I…” He made a weird motion, he didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean. It’s likely get interpreted as something like flying a plane, “finish too quickly. Women find it off putting.”
The way you were looking at him, it seemed like you found it off putting as well. Just frozen in time, sat there, staring at him. “That’s…” You let out a whoosh of air. Then your hand gripped his jaw, “really fucking hot—”
Oh. You were into it.
Huh. You were kissing him.
Golly. He was kissing back.
His hand covered the one holding his jaw, pressing into your lips and your body instinctively like there was a magnet from him to you. You pushed back, swinging a leg over both of his till your knees knocked into his hips. This was new.
You smiled when you saw his other hand hovering awkwardly. Not knowing whether he had the right to touch beyond what was respectful. So you guided it to your thigh, fabric moving and bunching under his fingers. Allowing him to touch bare skin.
Oh, boy.
The soft whine from the bottom of his throat was a boost to your ego, a deep moan following when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck, rolling your hips forward. “Ohhhhh, gosh,” He breathed out slowly.
Oh, fuck. He was massive. Though you didn’t know what to expect, he was six-five.
Both his hands flew to your hips, pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, head tipping back against the sofa cushions, breathing in sharply. He could feel you gently sucking on his skin, he knew it wouldn’t leave a mark, but he whimpered quietly anyway, dragging your hips forward, so he could feel your pussy drag over his dick yet again. His head spinning as your tongue traced over his Adam’s apple.
Your hands slipped off his tie like you’d had practice, popping the buttons of his shirt slowly. You felt his warm palms burning up your waist, stopping at where your robe was tied at your front. His eyes were wide, blinking up at you through his lashes. “Can I…?”
Fuck, he was hot.
You undid the tie yourself but let him gently move the fabric off your shoulders, undoing his belt and letting you take off his trousers. His cheeks flushed as he dragged his boxers down, cock painfully hard. It was pretty, flushed at the tip, pre smeared just a little.
Oh, that was a lot bigger than you manifested.
“Oh, shit.” You grinned at the sight of him, watching his whole face turn red.
He adjusted his foggy glasses, stumbling over his syllables. “Will it…” He gulped, wondering how to say it, “fit?”
The look in your eye almost made his heart stop. Like you didn’t care. “Oh, honey.” You laughed a little. “We’ll make it.” You positioning yourself above him, ready to sink down onto his throbbing cock was not something he expected to see. He let out a strangled sound, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t you want me to… prepare you?”
“I’ve quite literally been prepared since the first time we met.” You grabbed a condom from — wait where did you get that from? — and tore it open delicately, giving it to him to roll on. He did, safety was key, and when you finally did lower yourself onto him— holy shit.
His forehead pressed to your shoulder, before he started pressing sloppy, whining kisses, almost making out with it as he felt your pussy grip him deliciously. So this was what he’d never felt drawn to. Until now.
He was stretching you out. A lot. For a guy so shy about his own abilities his endowment was something women only experienced in their wildest dreams. The more you learned, the more turned on you were.
Huh. That usually didn’t happen with men.
You let out a deep sigh as you sank down further, feeling his size fill you in the best way. His tip nestled against your cervix, pretty vein brushing your g-spot, fuck, maybe moving would feel too good.
But you did it anyway, small, cut-short gasps and moans jumping from your throat as he kissed his way back up to your lips so he could feed his own noises of encouragement into your mouth. Holding your hips just tight enough so he wouldn’t bruise them, still guiding you firmly, still holding your hips just close to him as he clouded your brain over with every push and pull of his hands and each wet smack of his lips and yours (and skin on skin, but we don’t mention that).
His head was fuzzy. Mumbling shit he couldn’t make out himself in between every collision of your lips, tangling one hand in your hair while the other slipped down to press his thumb onto your clit.
You clenched hard; he almost came right there.
His eyes rolled back for half a second and he willed himself not to finish too early but he couldn’t stop it once you clamped down with the second roll of his thumb, your name leaving his mouth, the highest you’d heard his voice be, cracks in between syllables feeding your ego. But he kept circling your clit like he was born to do it, mumbling encouragement, his forehead glistening as his head fell back.
“C’mon, sweetie, gotta make you feel good too,” He panted, gripping your hip so he could encourage you to grind forward into his thumb. “Please, please give it to me—”
It all felt too much. The onslaught of his thumb, his tip still prodding at your cervix, seeing him fucked out from one round (that made you more horny than you’d care to admit) had you coming too, him swallowing that moan by meeting your lips in the middle, stroking your hair back from your face and rolling his hips up a little so the high wouldn’t be harsh on you. His kisses turned slower, more languid, to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, finally lifting your hand so he could kiss your palm and the back of your hand.
“You’re stunning.” He breathed, kissing your knuckles. “So beautiful, honey.”
How the fuck was he respectful after the best sex you’ve ever had? There had to be a catch.
“So… that was hot.” You smiled, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “You were being pretty modest.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t last past two minutes.”
Your tongue traced your canine as you smiled. “Well, I wanna see it again.”
summary: spending all day as the daily planet’s golden boy has got clark kent at the last bit of his patience. that little string of control snaps the moment he sees you in nothing but his shirt and those damn panties. good luck!
pairing: clark kent x fem!reader
tags: 18+ MDNI / porn w/o plot / established relationship / misuse of superhuman powers / major dirty talk / unprotected sex / belly bulges / squi rting / c-pie / overstim / semi-public sex (they do it in the kitchen) / oral (f and mild m) / pet names / frustrated clark / coy reader / slight dumbificafion / alludes to marathon / no use of y/n / wc: 3.4k
An entire day of running around Metropolis to get his stories in check has got Clark Kent on the verge of crashing out.
Operating on a very thin string of patience now, he stands over the copy machine with his arms crossed, forehead creased. That trademark Clark Kent smile was replaced with thinly-pursed lips as he stares the wall clock down like it was going to speed up the longer he stared at it.
He's been waiting for the machine to finish spitting out the full fifty copies that Lois had asked him for. Truth be told he couldn't be bothered to even think about what she's cooking up in that head of hers. At that point in Clark's life, all he wanted was to finish up, drop the copies on her desks, and drive back to you.
You haven't texted him all day.
The last he'd heard of you was the sleepy Fill up Shelby's bowls before you leave you said before he kissed you goodbye to head to work at three in the damn morning.
Safe to say he's really aching to be by your side right now, spooning you in his arms, shooing Shelby away from possibly stealing your attention from him. God, I can't believe I'm fighting a dog for her attention, Clark found himself shaking his head, a light disbelieving smile stretching on his face.
He fishes his phone from his pocket, deciding to be a normal human being and calling you instead of using his super-hearing to intrude on whatever it is you're doing.
Four rings in, you're not answering.
Clark decides to message you instead, Hey beautiful, still awake?
His lovesick smile disappears as he hears the rather unfortunate sound of the copy machine acting up. "Not now," he groans, rubbing his forehead to resist the urge to kick the bottom of the machine and risk damaging it even more.
Instead of forcing the machine to push out the fifteen copies left, he uses his x-ray vision and speed runs through the entire maintenance closet to fix the jam.
It's just a machine like anything else, how hard could it be?
The answer to that is a two-hours kind of hard as the fifty copies finally lands on Lois' desks at eleven p.m. with a hefty thump.
Clark checks on his phone one more time as he walks out of the building, standing by his red truck. No response from you yet.
That's weird.
You're not the type to not reply, you're the type to spam him fifteen thousand messages when he doesn't reply in less than three seconds.
"Hey, you asleep already?" He looks around, "I'll bring some food on my way back just in case you're awake and just busy with your TV. Love you." Clark sighs, letting his words drift into your voicemail.
Clark arrives at the farmhouse after an hour's drive. A bag of your favorite chinese food on the passenger seat of his truck. He pulls out the key from the ignition, noticing the lights from the window panes.
"Oh, must be awake then," he mumbles to himself, hurriedly walking up to the front door.
He drops his bags on the chair by the door, hanging his coat on the hanger. "Baby, I'm home!"
Considering the amount of lights turned on, he expected you, or at least Shelby, to come running to his arms but you don't. Shelby doesn't either.
After going around the first floor of the house, he calls again. Thankfully this time, you yell out give me a sec! from upstairs.
Clark finally gets to let out that nervous sigh in his chest, walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water for himself, the chinese he'd bought home placed neatly on top of the counter.
The water going down his throat nearly rises up as you walk down the stairs and face him; you wore nothing but a gigantic shirt on. One of his go crows! shirts back when he was still playing for the school's football team. The hem ended by your mid-thigh, swallowing your entire frame as your bare legs left nothing to his imagination.
"Hey, handsome," you greet, walking over to him and getting on your tip toes to kiss his lips.
Clark's x-ray vision goes off involuntarily, giving him an entire peek into what you wore underneath his shirt—which is nothing.
Nothing but that red and blue cotton panties you jokingly bought on sale, saying it goes well with his recent outfit color combinations. He got cranky about it, the way you made fun of his fashion taste. Looking at the piece of fabric now, though, he can't help but let his mind zero on the thought of taking it off—
"You brought take out! Did you get—you got the crab rangoons too!" Your eyes sparkle as you take a long whiff of the food in your hands, moaning as you bite into one.
Clark blinks, sweat starting to bead on his temple.
"I, uhm—I was calling you earlier. Were you doing something?" he carefully walks over to you, one arm deviously sliding across your lower back right before you walk away with the takeouts in your hands.
Clark rolls his eyes, mouth parting as he watches you bend over ever so casually, neatly placing the containers inside the fridge. He looks away, fist and jaw clenched. His nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, a desperate attempt to regulate his hormones.
"Oh, I was busy helping Lana move out from her apartment and I kinda got sidetracked with my book upstairs," you say, glancing up at him from where you were bent, "Sorry, Clarkie."
You rise up, placing your hands on your hips, "Wanna go freshen up before bed? I'll finish up the chapter I'm reading."
Clark quickly turns you around, back to the counter, big hands holding your waist still.
"Oh and Shelby's over at Chloe's too. She needed the company for something," you continue, placing your hands on both of Clark's wrists. He had his eyes glued to your body, not really listening to whatever you were saying. "Now go away, I told you I want to finish the chapter before we go sleep and cuddle."
You do your best to get Clark's attention, even slapping his shoulder to get his head to tilt up. When he does look up, it's to stare at you with a look you recognize all too well.
"Claaaark..." you warn, doing your best to put some distance between the two of you but there was only so much you could do trapped in his arms.
So you let him kiss you, let his lips swallows your all so greedily. His hands running all over your body, slipping underneath the hem of his shirt, palms squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before landing a slap on one.
You gasp, pulling away. "Clark, wait—baby."
Your boyfriend hoists you up the counter, clearing whatever fruit basket is left there, hungrily grabbing your face in his hands. You cross your legs behind his back, pulling the man even closer, already feeling the raging hard on pressing against your core.
He groans into your mouth, sinking his canines onto your bottom lip as you pull at the hair at his nape.
"Missed you so fucking much," he mumbles over the skin of your neck, "Kept thinking about you all day at work. Your smile, your voice, your body." His voice roughens, hands making quick work at unbuttoning the button of his trousers.
"Did you now..." You arch into him, drawing your head back to expose your neck to him. "That why you've been messaging me all day, handsome?"
Green eyes snap up at you, darkening each second, "So you were deliberately ignoring me."
The sound of his metal belt hitting the floor has your lips stretching into a mischievous grin. A good-for-nothing chuckle leaving your throat as you watch him shove down his pants, cock springing out and making itself known.
You lean forward to take him in your hands, squeezing his tip to elicit a deliciously rough grunt from his lips. Clark grips the countertop, desperate to keep his own mind in control.
You move your hand up and down his shaft, smearing the leaking pre-cum all over to lubricate his hard cock. His groans increase in volume. The sound sending shockwaves straight through your core. You spit on both of your hands, jerking him vigorously, desperate to hear more and more of his sounds.
"H-hey—stop," a strong hand comes over yours, effectively stopping you from moving. "We can do that later, baby. I just—fuck, I need to feel you right now," he lets go of you, pushing the hem of your shirt up until it reached your waist. Red and blue panties in full display for him.
You grab the edge of your shirt, already pulling it off of your body when Clark stops you.
"What?" You ask, breathless.
"Keep it on," Clark takes the ends from you and lets it fall back to your waist. "I like how it looks on you, baby. That and these—" he slips his fingers inside of your panties, running them through your slit before he presses them down on your clit.
A shriek escapes your lips as he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. Your hands claw at your hair, feeling his other hand pull your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt to the cold night air.
Clark bends down, spitting directly onto your clit, completely oblivious of how loud the sound was. You inhale sharply, eyes screwing shut when you feel his long, thick fingers thrust into your hole, curling upwards right at the spot that had you desperately trying to close your legs.
He'd spent years knowing your body in and out. Practically memorized the exact ways on how he'd get you clenching uncontrollably around him. His fingers moved languidly inside you, massaging your walls in such a sensual pace that your wetness dripped down his forearm.
Your hand drops down, circling your clit yourself while your other hand squeezed your tit, rolling your nipple in your fingers.
Clark pushes your hand away, dropping his lips to suckle on your clit. Flicking it in every direction all the while he inserted another finger. Three fingers now working you open, pressing all in the right spots.
Muddled words escaped your lips, a symphony of please, fuck, Clark filling the air alongside the lewd sounds of your cunt.
"Oh god—that's, fuck, right there, Clark," your hips desperately try to move against his fingers, trying to chase the high building inside of you.
Clark looks at you from where he nestled in between your legs, innocent eyes locking with yours as he makes a show of his tongue. Rapidly swirling around the small bundle of nerves like it was his favorite toy.
"Here?" Clark mumbles, raising his brows before he messily kisses your puffy clit, grinning to himself when he sees your eyes roll back, the sweet moans leaving your swollen lips sounding like pure music to his ears.
He pulls away, the area around his mouth shining with your wetness. "Think she missed me too," his ragged breaths fan against your pussy, the warmth of his breath making you clench around his fingers. "Oooh, she definitely did. Look at that, pretty cunt's turning inside out just to keep my fingers in."
The amusement in his voice was like drugs to you. Driving you even more insane by the second.
Putting his lips back on your clit, his fingers quicken their pace as they begin to bully through your walls. Languid strokes now rougher, thrusting in and out of you in loud squelches.
"Fuck! Shit—Clark, d-don't stop. Fuck, fuck fuck don't you dare—Yes, there!" Your words come out in incoherent babbles.
The way your body shook in his arms was a sight Clark'd never, ever, want to forget. How your fingers tensed as though extending out your claws, clutching to whatever sanity you had left in you. His eyes watch you like a hawk, noticing every tell-tale of your orgasm as his tongue flicked at all the right moments.
Your release comes out in gushes of wetness, spraying all over his forearm, some even landing on the premium fabric of his button-up long sleeve.
Stunned, you clutch at your chest with deep breaths, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your legs tremble weakly, all but falling to the smooth counter if not for the way Clark held onto them.
"Look at that, you've drenched my shirt too," Clark suddenly says, his palm snaking under your head to lift it up, forcing you to see the wet splotches on the shirt you were wearing.
"Whose fault is that?" You huff at him, body still spasming with occasional tremors.
Clark chuckles at you, ignoring the way you stare at him like he was somebody that just wronged you. "Not mine," he answers, ghosting his lips over your jaw, suddenly tugging you down the counter with his strong arms.
Your knees wobbled as your feet touched the cool floor, you would have surely fallen straight down if not for the firm and stable grip Clark had on your grip.
"Well hello," you gulp, throat going dry as you stare at his cock. Impossibly harder and bigger than before. More pre-cum leaking out. "You should probably tend to that in the shower."
He smirks at you, enjoying the challenge you're putting up for him. Pulling you snug up against him, he presses into you until his pre smears all over the fabric of your shirt. "I think I know a better way to tend to it," he ruts his hips up, breathy grunts leaving his lips.
"Turn around," you barely hear his voice as he whips you around.
Your tits touch the chilly smooth surface of your countertop, your ass practically presented to him in all its glory as he gently pushes your ankles apart, spreading your legs even more. You all but yelp at how fast he's manhandling you, his own neediness evident in the way he rubs his shaft along your slit. Letting your wetness drip down and lubricate his cock.
"Shit. Really couldn't wait 'til we're all fresh and cuddling up in our bed?" You whip your hair to one side, craning your neck to look at him.
He's entranced with your ass. The way the thin red and blue fabric contrasted with your skin, pathetically hiding his pretty pussy from him. His hands rove all over the soft, plush skin. Kneading and spreading your cheeks apart all the while he rubs the tip of his cock up and down your holes with that perverted glint in his eyes.
Clark looks back at you, biting his lip, "Not my fault you decided to wear this," he pulls the center of your panty before letting it go. The harsh snap of the fabric against your cunt making you jump.
He pulls your panties to the side again, thrusting the tip of his cock in. The two of you watch as he slowly feeds the rest inside, a long and deep moan leaving both of your lips when he finally bottoms out.
You feel full. You are full.
"Fuck, I've prepped you already and you're still so tight." Clark's voice comes out shaky as he pistons his hips in and out of you, barely even giving you any time to adjust. The side of your face hits the surface of the counter, high-pitched shrieks leaving your lips with each drag of his cock in your walls.
Clark watches how your walls engulf him every time he thrusts in. The way your skin bulges from where he kept his hand by your belly. He could feel each time his cock slides in and out of your tight cunt.
"Ah, shit, you feel so good. Pussy eating up every inch of my cock," he's more so talking to himself than to you, his abs clenching tightly as his own climax drew close dangerously fast.
You whimper, pressing your self even harder on the counter, doing your best to fuck your ass back onto his cock. Your own arousal getting the better of you.
Clark's hand slithers itself to your clit, running rough circles around the small nub until he feels your legs shake. Holding you up with his other arm, he thrusts even harder into you. Shifting his angle just enough to hit the spots he knew like the back of his hand, the resounding scream of his name telling him he'd just found it.
You stretch your arm back, sharp nails drawing red lines on his forearm, your entire body convulsing as the pleasure hits you from every direction. Each firm thrust of his hips made his balls smack up with your clit, both of you moaning uncontrollably.
Feeling his firm chest against your back, you could feel yourself creaming on his cock. Every time he pulled out, the sloppy sounds of wet bodies smacking against each other rang in your ear.
His hand disappears from your waist, instead it moves up your chest and to the sides of your throat, gripping it firmly as he pulls you up to press against his chest.
At that moment, you were only held up by his body pressing you firmly against the counter. His thrusts jerking your entire body up until you're basically putty in his hands.
Clark grazes the side of your cheek with his lips, his deep, guttural groans going right into your ear and down to your aching cunt. "Mhmmm feel so good. Yeah—fuck," he takes your lobe into his mouth, grazing his sharp canine on the soft skin. "Close, baby? Almost there? Can feel your cunt crying for me, creamin' on my cock."
He applies a bit more pressure on the sides of your neck, "Talk to me, beautiful. Wanna hear about your day."
You'd do that, if only your head wasn't pre-occupied with the fact that he's ramming into you so hard and fast that every word in your pretty little head is nothing but sparkles.
"You read all day?" He prompts further, desperate to hear your voice speak something that's not nghhh or so good! or clark! "C'mon, you can tell me. I know you can, beautiful. Get those pretty words out your head."
Your mouth falls open, strings of saliva dripping down from your lips. "C-Clark, I'm—ohmygod—Almost there."
"What?" He grunts, shifting his thrusts to deeper ones than quick ones. "Your day, sweets. Now." His words were punctuated with a harsh thrust, abusing your spot continuously.
"Shit it was good!" you sob out, the strength leaving your body as you fully leave yourself in his arms. "I-I...book... all day. M-me and... me and Shelby went out."
"Yeah?" Clark nuzzles his nose into your hair. His thrusts became sloppier, his fingers speeding up. "Must be—fuck, ah—tired then?"
You nod, unable to push any more words out. Your mind was fuzzy. You couldn't think straight. Definitely not with the way his big arm constricted the air flowing in and out of your lungs.
The pleasure eventually consumes you. The high-pitched scream that leaves your lips quickly swallowed by Clark as he kisses you dumb. Tongue invading your warm mouth as he spills inside of you. Already feeling the warm, thick spurts of his come leaking out of you from how much it was.
When Clark pulls away, you draw in a deep breath, practically gasping to try and get the air back into your lungs.
Both of your bodies were drenched with sweat. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, chest also rising and falling in labored breaths.
"Hey beautiful," he slurs, closing his eyes as a dumb smile grows on his face. Taking the hand previously wrapped around your neck and brushing your hair away from your face. A rather innocent kiss placed right on your forehead.
You feel his cock twitches inside of you when both of you lock eyes again, his soft curls grazing your cheeks.
"Clark," you call out, voice hoarse.
"Mhm?"
"I can't feel my legs."
What you receive after was a boyish chuckle from him, two strong arms wrapping around your body as he lifts you up, cock still hard inside you.
"Don't worry, beautiful," he says, taking easy steps to the stairs. Each step making his length move inside. "You're not gonna feel them anytime soon."
hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! if you liked my work, you could consider commissioning / supporting me <3
patrick sumner masterlist | main masterlist
summary: reader coaxes patrick to open up to her about his past, a checkup at the doctors’ ensues…
warnings: 18+ explicit, patrick after the events of tnw, established relationship (married), shy patrick, perv patrick?, perv in the 19th century that is, both reader and patricks thoughts, bit of corruption kink if you squint, improper medical practices (can you guys tell i dont go to the doctors that often oops), patrick wears glasses briefly yum, awkward and bashful, fingering, edging, teeny bit of praise, unprotected p-in-v, rushed ending (how do you end a fic…)
word count: 6.6k
a/n: hi sorry i fell off the face of the earth my mental is crazy but im back hi. can you tell ive been playing a lot of stardew valley and my favourite bachelor is harvey…? medical men with moustaches am i right?
dividers: @bonnieknowsbest
Berlin, Germany, 1869. After the events of The North Water.
Patrick stepped out onto the cobbled pathway, seeing his breath in the air as he pulled his gloves on. You stepped out next to him, dressed in your warmest skirts and coat. He peered down at you in his peripheral but was displeased to find your face was obstructed by your hat.
He had insisted on you staying home while he ran his errands, but you were far more insistent, going on about how you “needed the air” and “wanted to spend time with him.” With one more glance at you when you took his arm, he led you down the dampened pathway.
The two of you had been married for two years now, rounding on your third, and Patrick was a quiet lover. Despite the years knowing him, he was still quite stiff and reserved when it came to speaking about himself or showing affection. Still, he had his ways of showing he cared. Even if that was by minute squeezes he gave your arm before you crossed a road or leaving an extra strudel for you at breakfast.
The only thing you couldn’t crack about him was his past. You were both two of few English speaking people in your town, though Patrick was decent in Deutsch, so you figured he had come from elsewhere.
“Just down here,” he tugged your arm gently, leading you to what looked like an apothecary. He didn’t see the way your brow lifted, removing his hat as you both stepped into the building.
You let go of his arm to give him room to roam but still stayed close by. The owner of the apothecary was an old man who eyed you suspiciously to which you lowered your head, choosing to stay close to your husband.
Patrick looked around on the shelves before addressing the owner, “four ounces of the laudanum, please.”
You watched as his hand clenched into a fist on the counter, bouncing it absentmindedly. You were well aware of his indulgence and you also may have snooped around in his study, finding many empty vials of the substance.
He looked over at you as the owner riffled through the supply, smiling shyly as if you had caught him red-handed.
The owner wrapped the bottle up while Patrick paid for it, offering his arm once more as you both left the apothecary. The cold bit at your nose once you stepped out and you wished you had brought a scarf. You squeezed your husband’s arm lightly, letting him guide you to where else he needs to go.
“You should’ve brought a scarf,” he murmured as if sensing your discomfort. “It’s awfully cold out.” He steered you around for quite some time, buying a couple things for his studies as well as some ingredients for the house. Despite your protests, he even bought you a fresh new pair of slippers as your old ones had started to fray.
As soon as you both arrived home he had you sit down so he could unlace your boots—just one of the many ways he showed his affection.
While he quietly undid the laces of your boots, your mind began to wander over to the paper bag which contained the laudanum, and how much time he spent in that study of his. You knew he must’ve had some medical background since there were many anatomical texts in his study, and not to mention how trivial he was about your health.
“What did you do before coming to Germany?” You asked tentatively, noticing the way his fingers paused for just a second.
Patrick was always honest with you, but it was rather he held information back. He sucked in a breath before continuing his ministrations, “must you be so curious?”
“Well, sometimes I feel you know me better than I know you.”
He hummed quietly at that. It wasn’t a jab at him and he knew it. It was simply a fact, one that he felt bad about constantly. He slipped your last boot off before rubbing your ankle, his thumb smoothening over your stocking. He stood before you, picking up the paper bag which held his personal purchases. “Come.”
You watched him walk off for a moment before rising to follow, placing the bag of groceries on the counter on your way. He led you into his study. You’d been in here countless times before, most of which you had snuck in to ponder about his texts. You rounded his desk to take a seat while he looked around on his bookshelf before meeting your curious gaze.
“I was an army surgeon back when I lived in London,” he explained slowly, as if debating whether or not to tell you the full story. When your curiosity remained unwavering, he resumed, but not before staring at your fingers as you shed your gloves. “I was stationed in Delhi, but to spare you the details, I was soon cashiered and left with nothing but a limp…”
His eyes flicked back up to yours but quickly avoided your sympathetic look and reached for a worn journal on the shelf, fingering through the pages. “I eventually boarded a ship, the uh- The Volunteer. Horrid things, horrid times.” He practically shuddered as he recalled the events. His gaze returned to you with a deeply furrowed brow, “the things that happened were much too vile for a lady like you to hear.”
“Why haven’t you told me about this?” You frowned not out of contempt, but sadness for making him feel like he should withdraw this information from you.
“It’s not that simple,” he sighed before pushing the journal back onto the shelf, “I had done things and well, I had to flee London essentially.” He looked at you nervously, frowning back at you. “I had to make sure I could trust you.”
“Patrick…” your shoulders slumped. You had figured he was hiding things from you for good reason, but you hadn’t expected him to assume you’d rat him out on whatever it was he did.
“I know,” he sighed and walked over to where you were sitting, dropping down onto his knees and lying his head down on your lap. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Another part of me also wanted to leave my past behind and start anew.”
You weren’t upset by his admission, just sad he had kept it hidden for so long. His head remained in your lap, only turning slightly once your fingers started through his hair.
“An army surgeon, hm?” You started more lightly, “much more qualified than I thought.”
He froze slightly, lifting his head to glare at you in mock offence. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Here I thought you were just a physician, turns out you served as a surgeon.” A grin tugged at your lips upon seeing him pout, “what else have you been hiding from me?”
Patrick couldn’t keep his sulking up for long, not when his beautiful wife was getting a kick out of teasing him. His hands rubbed at the sides of your hips, shaking his head. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
He rose to his feet with an audible grunt, turning to put his earlier purchases away. But you weren’t quite done, still wanting to know more.
“You know a lot then?” You hummed softly, trying to sound casual as you leaned forward in the chair with a hand on your chin, playing with a pen.
“You could say that,” he rumbled absentmindedly.
“So, you could give me checkups?”
He looked over his shoulder with a furrowed brow, “that, I could… why?”
You leaned back in the chair, stretching out with a cheeky grin. “Just wondering. It’s always good to go to the doctor’s, and seeing as you were one, it’s more convenient.”
“I suppose you’re right…” he squinted at you suspiciously before returning to his organizing. Just as you had composed yourself, he murmured, “what are you getting at, honey?”
The endearment sent a pang of warmth to your chest. It wasn’t often that he used them on you, but each time was a pleasant surprise. You offered a gentle hum in wonderment, shrugging even though he couldn’t see it. “Nothing, just making sure you’re alright with me asking.”
“Are you hoping for a more… confidential checkup?” The way the question came out, you wondered if he meant to say it aloud, due to the way his shoulders tensed and his ears reddened. You also froze at the implication and didn’t respond save for a small gasp. “Sorry- That wasn’t what I-”
“What would that entail?” You asked despite yourself, somewhat curious as to what a ‘confidential checkup’ looks like.
Patrick said nothing for a long while, staring off into the abyss as he struggled to find an excuse to his unintentional innuendo. “It’s not inherently sexual,” his eyes darted over to you for a split second before looking back at the wall, “but it may involve… intimate procedures.”
“Oh,” was all you could say. The room quickly filled with tension, the awkwardness was suffocating. Intimacy was never an issue for you two but perhaps one was more shy than the other. And you weren’t the one. “We could do a confidential checkup, make sure nothing is wrong with me, yes?”
Patrick fidgeted with his hands, pursing his lips to the side until his eyes met yours. “Of course, it would warrant that there are no issues.”
“Shall we do it after dinner?” He answered with a slight nod and kept his head bowed as you got up to leave the room.
As soon as the door shut Patrick finally let his shoulders relax. Unbeknownst to you, he was being driven crazy. He let out a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, doing his best to compose himself. He’d been doing his best to keep his needs tame throughout his time with you. You, his poor, dear wife had no idea how much he wanted you.
The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked towards his desk, picking up your discarded gloves. He thumbed over the fabric, letting himself feel the softness that enveloped your hands everyday. He imagined the warmth and possibly even sweat that seeped into the gloves.
Before he knew it, he lifted the gloves up to his nose, closing his eyes to inhale your scent deeply. Something sweet, a tinge of musk, and irrevocably you filled his senses. And now, all he could think about was where else smelled like that.
“Over here, honey.” Patrick guided you over to the chaise with a hand on your lower back, not fully pressing, but enough for you to feel the heat seep through.
You sat down tentatively and watched him carefully as he walked around to grab his dog-eared journal. He took a seat across from you and slipped his reading glasses on before draping his stethoscope around his broad shoulders. You’ve seen his medical instruments before, some of which he let you tinker around with.
He looked so focused in his seat—glasses framing those ice blue eyes as they squinted at his notes, suspenders sitting pretty on his shoulders, and fingers lightly tapping a pen against the leather journal. The journal was soon abandoned as he rolled his seat closer to you, taking the stethoscope into his hands.
“Undo your bodice, please.” His voice was a low murmur, as if embarrassed to ask it. Your hands moved delicately to unlace the front of your bodice to create enough space for him to perform his procedures. Patrick took a sparing glance at you but just as quickly looked away, “actually, remove your bodice completely.”
Your cheeks warmed immediately upon his request but did so without a word, leaving yourself in your skirts and a thin chemise. Despite being married and having had seen you in far less clothing, he kept his gaze respectful as he put the eartips of the stethoscope into his ears.
The cool metal pressed over your chemise which sent a shiver down your spine from unexpectedness. Patrick leaned a bit closer but still had his eyes averted to keep your modesty. He dragged the chestpiece over your heart and paused for a moment to listen to your pulse. He hummed in satisfaction before moving it down to your sternum, sliding his free hand onto your back.
“Breathe in for me, slowly.” He rumbled, listening as you did. “And out.” He moved the chestpiece around a couple times—just underneath your breasts and back.
He pulled away with an approving nod which could only mean that your lungs and pulse were in good shape. You sat awkwardly as he wrote in his journal, still improper in just your chemise and skirts.
The checkup resumed in bashful silence. Patrick moved about doing the necessary routine checkups—blood pressure, reflexes, and strength tests. You saw how relieved he seemed to be after seeing no abnormalities in your results. Patrick often worried about you, though he didn’t show it as to not worry or annoy you.
“Perfect,” he murmured as he looked over his notes and scribbled more onto the worn paper. You smiled triumphantly and reached for your bodice, wanting nothing more than to cover up. “Hold on,” he stopped you with a raised hand, “not quite done yet.”
“Oh?” You almost pressed on why you were not done, but then remembered his earlier words—how it may involve intimate procedures. “Oh.”
Patrick allowed himself to take a gander at you, shamefully dragging his gaze down your half-clothed body. His ears warmed and he cleared his throat before snapping up to look into your eyes. “It won’t take long, much of it is just to determine there’s no cancers and that your… receptors are in working condition.” He stumbled over his words as he fought to maintain eye contact, overcompensating by adjusting his glasses multiple times. You weren’t sure what he meant by receptors, but you had a feeling you’d be well aware soon.
He got up to grab gloves before returning at your side, snapping the latex against his wrists. Patrick was internally fighting himself to be respectful. Throughout your marriage he remained nothing but sweet and respectful, always making sure you were comfortable. The fact that he still had to proceed with these routines made it so much harder for him, and he wished he kept this side of him hidden from you a while longer.
“For this examination, you’ll have to remove your chemise.” He murmured as calmly as possible. He observed the way you perked up in shock but moved without a word, like always. He admired your resilience and how despite the awkwardness, you followed his commands without complaints. He wondered what else he could make you do. As you undressed further, he turned away to give you privacy, though it wouldn’t matter much sooner.
You murmured a soft confirmation for him to turn back around and the sight almost ended him as he faced you once more. You were sat straight and proper, skirts tousled and breasts out for his eyes only. The standard procedure would usually involve feeling the breasts under a fabric to keep propriety, but of course Patrick took advantage of your home examination to see your body in all its naked glory.
“I’ll just be feeling for any abnormal bumps or lumps,” he explained while fixing his gloves, mentally thanking the latex for hiding the sweat gathering on his palms. He knew this was an innocent procedure. It was checking for breast cancer for god’s sake, but he couldn’t deny the stirring in his gut as he began to reach for your breast.
Your breath hitched as his hand cupped the swell of your breast, holding the tissue for a moment. A slight shiver ran through you which resulted in your skin pebbling, and your nipples hardening. It had been a while since Patrick had touched you and even though this was strictly medical, his fingers sent a little flutter in your lower stomach.
His fingers started groping and feeling around, squeezing and prodding. You felt as though these gestures were beginning to feel less innocent once he kept it up for longer than you assumed it’d take. Your breathing became laboured in turn, your skin warming as the heat bloomed deeper.
Patrick suddenly switched to the other breast, giving a not so unintentional swipe over the peak which punched out a moan from your mouth. His hand stilled as he realized what he had just done.
Neither of you verbally acknowledged what just happened and Patrick continued the examination with more careful hands. It was hard not to squirm and even harder to keep your hands to yourself. You wished you could touch him the way he was touching you, but you didn’t want to scare him after he was vulnerable enough to share his past, and again, this was a medical exam.
He released your breast and turned to his journal to jot down some notes before clearing his throat gruffly, “no issues there.” His hands were tingling, warm from touching your skin and sweaty under the gloves from how flustered he was getting. Without missing a beat—and without looking up—he ordered, “remove the rest of your clothes.”
“What?” If you could feel any more humiliation, you’d combust, but something in your gut made you want it. “Is that necessary?”
Patrick snapped his head up, seemingly realizing his rashness. “I- Well- Uh- Yes, it’s extremely important you’re bare for the next examination.” He stumbled over his words, wiping his gloved hands on his trousers as if that could remove the sweat clinging to his palms.
With a moment’s hesitation, you removed your skirts and petticoats, and finally, your drawers. Patrick held his breath as he watched you, hiding the way his eyes darkened by pretending to fix his gloves and glasses. You laid down on the chaise and placed your hands over your stomach in an attempt to retain the propriety you carried.
“Part your legs for me,” he placed his hand on your knee gently. He caught the way your eyes widened in horrified shock and explained, “it’s to ensure your pleasure receptors are responding.” Patrick knew he was making things up, there were no such things, but he did not have the guts to admit he just wanted to touch you.
“I’m sure I have no issues there,” you attempted to get out of the situation, but to no avail as he tugged your knees apart. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go through with the examination, the issue was that you were absolutely soaked.
He gave you no reaction as he eyed your moist center, but a twitch at the corner of his lips gave him away.
“Stop it,” you scolded bashfully, “it is perfectly normal, a woman’s body will do many things.”
“Oh, I know.” He allowed himself a bit of smugness into his tone, proud that his plan was working. His stool slid along so he was positioned by your legs, dragging a finger up your calf and admiring the way your skin pebbled so easily. “Your body is responding. A good sign.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking. Judging by your lack of questioning, he knew you believed him in performing this pseudo-examination. His fingers continued their path up your leg, tracing over your knee, and then your inner thigh. He could see the hair on your legs stick up and the pulse between them.
You let out a shuddering breath as the tip of his finger met your puffy clit. It didn’t move or even push, it just rested over the needy thing. Patrick’s eyes gazed intensely as your walls clenched around nothing. All attempts at propriety were thrown out the window as you squirmed in frustration, bucking your hips to feel something more than just pressure.
He awarded you with gentle circles over your clit, two fingers swirling in tandem with each other. His eyes flicked up to your face, observing the way your eyes fluttered shut and the way your lips parted. “Now, your body is definitely responding.” Before you could snap at him, the pads of his fingers pressed down harder, tracing harsh circles now.
“Patrick,” you couldn’t help but moan, “is this really an examination you’ve done with other patients?”
“No,” he admitted, no longer ashamed now that you were unravelling. “This is just for us.”
The usually quiet office was now filled with the obscene sounds of your slick and breathy moans. Patrick was breathing almost as heavy as you were, lips parted while his tongue darted out every so often to wet them.
You bit your lip as you watched his dark, hungry eyes, his glasses had slipped down his nose a bit. He’d never looked at you this way before—so irrevocably infatuated with how wrecked you’d become. Your clit was pulsing with need as his fingers rubbed back and forth over it, the sensation burning down your calves. Moans wretched themselves from your throat and your hips bucked in an embarrassing cry for more and less at the same time. Patrick was glaring down at your center, blue-grey pupils barely noticeable. Your legs shifted in an attempt to hide yourself from him, but his other gloved hand reached up to pry a leg away.
A wet whine left your mouth as he suddenly pulled away. You’d fallen out of the daze to realize that your eyes were wet with unshed tears, the pleasure was overwhelming. Your husband looked down at you with a tinge of guilt, his hardened features softening.
“Oh, honey.” He whispered, leaning down to nuzzle along your hair line, pressing kisses there. “You okay? I’m sorry.” You responded with a meek nod, nuzzling back against his face. He shifted in his chair, no doubt adjusting himself. His warmth left you once he leant back on the stool, “for the next examination, I’ll have to remove these, is that okay?”
You looked to him after blinking back your tears, his hands were gesturing to his gloves. Your mind was still swimming somewhere high above you which made you unable to think for a moment. You almost forgot that this was a checkup, an examination of your responses. Beneath the softness however, there was hunger in his gaze. And yet, you nodded.
“I’m afraid I’ll need verbal confirmation.” He suddenly switched back to that authoritative “doctor” voice he had on before, all the tenderness he just showed was gone.
Your cunt clenched around nothing, mouth opening and croaked, “yes.”
He efficiently discarded the gloves before moving closer once more, positioned side by side with your hip before moving his hand over your core. His middle finger gathered the slick that dripped from your hole, lubing the digit up before pressing in slowly. A low groan left his lips as he felt you contract around the thick finger, rubbing against your walls. Your eyes rolled back as he explored you with little shame, the pad of his finger rubbing hard against the ridges inside of you.
“Nothing unusual,” he rasped, very clearly trying to stay composed but failing. His finger prodded around a bit more, not yet thrusting, just wiggling around and rubbing. He made a face of disapproval and your heart lurched, “but very tight.”
A cry tore out as he shoved a second finger into you without warning. No gentle, slow press like he did with the first. Just a dull pain as your hole stretched to fit his fingers. They twitched as he heard your cry, but didn’t pull them out. The digits rested and let you adjust.
His tenderness returned as he planted a soothing kiss on your jaw, the scratchiness of his facial hair distracting you from the throb down below. His fingers drew back slowly, your hole instinctively closing around them. “Shh, relax sweetheart.” He cooed into your ear while his free hand stroked your knee.
You turned your head to rub your head against his cheek, like a cat seeking warmth from its owner. The soft praises and encouragements helped you relax and his fingers began moving, slowly. In and out the two thick digits went, a sticky sound escaping every time they withdrew. Your legs grew less tense as he worked you slowly and you could feel the knot in your gut grow tighter.
“Patrick— I’ll—” Your back arched off the chaise as you warned him of your incoming release. Much to your displeasure, he removed his fingers with an audible ‘shlick.’ His brow twitched as you let out a soft keening sound before bringing his soaked fingers up to his lips.
“Not yet,” he chastised, licking your slick off his flesh. You watched with hunger and a tinge of disgust as he savoured your taste, wondering if he liked it or if it was horrible. A groan escaped him as he licked more and more off his fingers, eyes fluttering shut as he cleaned them off. “Good, your pH balances are perfect.”
His eyes blinked open and you could now see how wide his pupils were blown. You swallowed thickly, both eager and nervous to see what the next examination would be. His eyes bored into yours to the point you felt almost bashful to be looking at him directly. You could tell he was still holding back by the way his fingers clenched into his trousers and how he shifted in his seat to relieve the aching bulge that was hidden beneath them.
It was getting hard not to just take you as he pleased, but Patrick was a gentleman, and he knew you were fragile. If he were to act without thinking he knew he’d break you. As much as he’d like to see that, he knew he had to tread lightly, take it one step at a time. Which is why he chose his next words carefully.
“Our final examination is to make sure you can reach your peak,” his voice was getting rougher by the second, the lust coursing through his veins as his eyes wandered in places that would have him shanked if you were not his wife. “While I don’t doubt that you can, you’ve almost proved it just now, I must find a specific spot to help bring you there.” You watched him lick his lips as he zeroed in on the tuff of hair between your legs, “I would use my fingers, but I have something better.”
Your skin was already plastered in a sheen of sweat, your baby-hairs sticking to your forehead. The implication was made clear once his hands moved to his belt, those thick fingers that were once in you were now moving to reveal something even thicker.
A lump formed in your throat as his hands pushed down his trousers. His cock sprung out, thick and flushed at the tip. He ran a palm up the length of it, brushing over the head to wipe away precum. Patrick sucked in a breath at the way you ogled him. The sight wasn’t new to you, but the nature of this encounter was.
It was confusing in all the right ways—an innocent doctor’s checkup turning into something so vile and lewd, wrong but right.
The chaise groaned under his weight as he climbed on, pulling your legs around his hips. He lowered himself over your body, hands on either side of your face as he rested his forehead against yours.
For a moment you two just breathed each other in, lips parted and brushing. He reached up and removed his frames, tossing them aside where they clattered somewhere on the floor. His lashes dusted your cheeks as he leaned down while his thumbs came up to rub along your jaw. While the moment was lovely, all you could focus on was the heavy weight resting on your lower stomach.
Patrick knew it too, you could tell by the way it twitched against you. He tugged your bottom lip down before kissing your firmly, moaning lowly into the kiss. It broke off with a loud smacking sound and his hands crawled down your sides until they reached your hips, squeezing once. His eyes flicked between yours and where his cock rested against your belly.
His panting was barely audible as one hand left your hip to grab his cock, thumb rubbing along the base. You shifted your hips in quiet impatience to which he tutted and slapped his shaft on your stomach gently. “Patience,” he rumbled, “it’ll come soon.”
Your head fell back in frustration and you huffed at the ceiling. He watched you in this small act of defiance, admiring the arch of your neck as you exposed your throat to him—bare and sticky with sweat. Before you knew it, his nose was prodding along your neck, his sniffs tickling you just the slightest bit. He took one long inhale and groaned, twitching his hips. With a final kiss to your throat, he leaned back to look down between you two again.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “The female body—your body—was always fascinating to me.” He dragged a large palm from your chest down to your waist. “Your reactions especially. You’ve always wanted me, no doubt about that, but seeing you, so raw, so… so vulnerable…”
He shook his head and reached down to position himself properly. He pushed forward without warning, making your breath catch as he sheathed himself inside in one go.
The pain was immediate—burning through your hips and locking up your legs. You jolted as your core clenched around him tightly. It felt like an electric shock and you hissed through your teeth.
Patrick leaned down upon seeing your discomfort, peppering kisses on your face while rubbing your thigh in an attempt to soothe. “Shh,” he hushed before kissing you firmly, “it’ll be alright. The pain is just as important for the examination.”
A tear slipped down to your temple, but his lips quickly found it and pecked along your sweaty hairline. For a moment, you just laid there panting while your body adjusted to the feeling of him inside. It had been a while since the last time you both coupled, so it was almost as if your body forgot how it felt. Almost.
As soon as you began to loosen up was when he started to move. It started off with short, shallow jerks, moving just enough that you could feel it. Nothing pleasurable yet, just the feeling of being full. His thumb pressed into the side of your jaw so he could force you to look at him. You were letting out soft puffs of air, legs trembling where they rested over his thighs. His hands pressed into the soft cushion beneath you, being very conscious not to crush you.
After ensuring you were no longer in pain, his thrusts became more deliberate and drawn out. A slow press in until he was seated fully, and then a slow pull back—not all the way, no, just enough to watch the way your hips chased after him. He repeated the motion a couple times, observing your reactions closely. However, it was hard to when you were throbbing around his length and whimpering like a pup.
The soft, breathy whimpers that left your lips had him straining. He was already pushing himself throughout this entire checkup that he had to keep his hands clenched by your sides in order not to grip bruises onto you. He ducked his head down to rub his nose into your cheek, panting hotly as he slammed his hips harder.
The room filled with the sounds of your panting, his groans, and the wet slap of his balls against your ass. He moved his hips in a way that let you feel every inch of his cock, scooping upwards in search of something. Your walls constricted in response, throbbing like you wanted to swallow him whole.
“Perfect,” he groaned, his head now resting against your collarbone. “Your body is responding excellently.” Another hard thrust and a moan slipped out, earning you a soft bite.
Patrick’s attempts at keeping his hands off your body proved unsuccessful once the passion burned hotter. He cupped your ass in both hands and squeezed as he pulled you in in tandem with his thrusts, the head of his cock hitting even deeper than before.
He could tell he was getting closer to that spot by the way your moans turned needy and breathier, so he honed in on that spot and went harder.
You clenched around him as your back arched, pushing your breasts into his chest. He sighed softly at the contact and almost melted, rubbing his head against yours like a cat wanting attention. His cock was relentless, pulsing into you at such a fast pace that you could hear the slosh of your shared fluids.
It was then that you felt it—the rush of pleasure and the settling of this inner ache as he finally found that spot. Your eyes rolled back into your head and your moan was cut off, leaving your mind reeling in pure bliss.
Above you, Patrick watched in a mix of awe and affection. He licked his parted cracked lips, wanting to let you feel out this moment for yourself, but also wanting to ruin you further. Instead, he maintained his speed and pressure and brought his hands up to your ribcage.
“Good,” he whispered once you could see again, grunting a little as he snapped his hips. “That proves the spot does exist.” He said that mostly to himself, but even in your blissed out daze did you pick up on it.
You moaned out again as he hit the spot over and over again. The beginning of your end was soon arriving as the tension in your belly grew tighter.
Your hands didn't know what to do. You’d been as modest as you could be throughout the encounter but now you were completely debauched—hands scrambling over his back and into his hair, tugging enough to send the man above you whimpering into your shoulder. The sweat in his hair coated your fingers which slid down to his neck, pressing into his skin as you pulled him into a heated kiss.
He groaned into the kiss, his teeth and tongue clashing with yours. His own hands slid under your head and into your hair, holding you still unlike his hips moving below.
The heat was reaching an all time high. Every part of your body was dripping with some sort of fluid—sweat, slick, and saliva. You were burning all over, deliciously so. The ache in your cunt was starting to feel almost uncomfortable and you broke the kiss to let out a soft keening noise. Patrick’s eyes widened immediately and his first instinct was to peck your cheeks.
“’m okay,” you mumbled hoarsely, throat sore from all your cries. “Just so… close…”
“I know,” he cooed, licking the sweat off your neck. His pace didn’t change, maintaining those steady, deep thrusts. “You feel perfect… so pretty…” His praises egged you on, making your walls throb and close around him rhythmically.
You weren’t the only one close to your breaking point. It was evident in his actions that Patrick was there too. His hips stuttered every so often, his cock pulsing angrily at the sound of your moans and the feeling of your warm flesh. He panted heavily into the crook of your neck and let his whole body sink down onto yours, ensuring you were flush against him.
“You’re still… wearing all your clothes,” the revelation came to you as soon as you felt him all over. He had removed his waistcoat earlier so his shirt had since been wrinkled and damp, and his trousers hung loosely around his thighs.
“Taking them off would be…” his voice came out as a whisper. He was straining to hold off his release, wanting to come with you. “…well, it’d be unprofessional. Wouldn’t it?”
You felt the cheeky grin against your collarbone and clenched around him in revenge, “you’re ridiculous.”
He shuddered in response and nibbled your neck, “your cunt seems to like it.”
Before you could snap at him for being so vulgar, the head of his cock punched your sweet spot, knocking a loud cry out of you. He didn’t tease, too busy trying to make you both come to make fun of your attempts at propriety.
“There you go…” he whispered as a hand slid down to the curve of your ass, “take it, sweetheart.”
You were uncomfortably hot—feeling the sweat drip down your temples and pool between your breasts, but the pleasure just kept building. You were beginning to lock up and tighten around him, bucking yourself up to chase that friction.
With a few more pumps, you were sent over the edge. Your thighs trembled with the shock of overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. Your eyes rolled back into your head as a shaky cry escaped you, grasping onto his shoulders while he kept moving to coax you through it.
Patrick pushed himself up to gape down at you, bringing a hand up to brush away your sweaty hair from your face. He liked seeing you like this, fully debauched and wrecked. The sight—along with the way your walls fluttered—had his hips stuttering and he soon followed you over. You felt his head drop and the warmth flood your insides.
The moment you came back to earth, you went limp. Patrick’s lips grazed your shoulders while his fingers traced gentle shapes into your skin. He let you bask in the silence and bliss, pecking the softness of your jaw.
The tension still hung in the air, the room heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You blinked away the haziness and caught your breath, feeling lighter than you had before.
Patrick withdrew from you with a slick sound and sat back to button his trousers. You just laid there and watched him with half-lidded eyes, no longer worried about covering up. He turned to look at you and his eyes landed right between your thighs where the evidence of his release leaked from your cunt.
“Christ almighty,” he shuddered and turned away to rub his eyes as if that could wipe away the sight of that. He rose with a grunt and walked out, leaving you completely bare and lewd in his home office. You didn’t make any attempt to move since the tremble in your legs was still very relevant, and because you knew he’d return soon.
A soft sigh left your lips as you closed your eyes, feeling that post-coital drowsiness that always took over. It wasn’t until you felt the warm press of a wet rag did you realize Patrick was back, but you didn’t open your eyes. Instead, you let him wipe you down, feeling the wet washcloth slide from your neck, between your breasts, and then between your legs.
He pressed a soft kiss on your closed eyelids after he was done pampering you, coaxing your eyes open with a gentle nudge of his head. “Are you feeling alright?”
You met his tender gaze with a yawn, earning a squeeze to the thigh. “Feeling really good.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled softly and covered you with a thin blanket, “that wasn’t too much for you?”
“Not at all…” you smiled sleepily, still feeling light and dazed. “I think we should make these checkups weekly.”
Patrick barked out a laugh before kissing your cheek, shaking his head. “Weekly might be much… but I won’t turn down any requests for an intimate checkup.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He smiled at you and then stood to gather his things, flipping through his journal. “Safe to say you have no issues or complications. Everything is in order, now get some rest.”
You watched his back as he walked to his desk, blinking drowsily as the feeling of sleep slowly took over. “Yes, doctor.”
hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, & reblogs greatly appreciated :)
Pairing: Spy!Steve x Spy!Reader
WC: 10.5k
Warnings: enemies to lovers, loosely inspired by mr. and mrs. smith, the avengers are not super mainstream in this, sexual tension, shower scene, makeout, jealousy, mean!steve at times, brat!reader, eventual smut (dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, edging, creampie, steve eating you out within an inch of your life (munch steve come homeeeeeeee), doggy style, tonguefucking), mentions of voyeurism, surveillance, size kink, miscommunication, angst-ish with comfort.
Summary: You and Steve are voluntold you're married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other.
+fran: this is the opening showing of the Captain Americana Film Festival and my humble contribution to Steve's birthday!!! I cannot tell you how much it filled me with joy that I sat down to write this on the 4th and actually spat out 10k words. WE ARE SO BACK!!! Happy 108th to the man who will always have my heart, has been the gold standard against which I measure every man, (this is blond man propaganda) and also my astrological twin <3 no one gets me like he does fr.
⤷ you should go listen to the incredible playlist named "mr and mrs smith [john and jane]" by marybatz on spotify
"Absolutely not!"
Fury had the timing of a tax audit to a billionaire CEO. Of course, of course, you'd be stuck playing this mission with fucking Steve.
One second you were minding your business, enjoying what was left of your coffee and your relatively peaceful morning, and the next Nick Fury was informing you that you would be spending the foreseeable future pretending to be happily married to Steve Rogers.
"You're going." Fury didn't even break stride. He rolled his eye and kept walking down the hallway toward the conference room, clearly done entertaining your complaints before you'd even finished making them, with you hot on his heel.
Your footsteps echoed in the wide hallway as you walked backwards, facing Fury. "Can't I marry someone else for this?" You pondered. "What about Barnes?"
Fury stopped so suddenly you nearly tripped. "You want to pretend to be married to Barnes?"
You opened your mouth, immediately closed it, thought for a second and shrugged, squeezing your eyes shut. "That's not the point."
"That's what I thought."
The polished floors reflected the overhead lights as the two of you moved through the hallway. “Nat, maybe? Some of those married dudes would eat up girl-on-girl and spill the beans right away. Mission would be so quick!”
Fury walked with the patience of a man who'd dealt with far worse than you. The fact that he hadn't strangled you after years of working together was honestly kind of impressive, a little endearing almost.
Both of you quickly arrived at the conference room door, Fury stopping with his hand on the handle, turning his face to you and letting our a frustrated sigh. "Do you like working here?"
You rolled your eyes, "Yes, sir." What kind of question was that?
"And what's your title?" His brow quirked up.
A confused look plastered all over your face. "Agent."
He leaned down to talk to you closer, almost like explaining rules to a petulant child, "Then be an agent." and proceeded to push the door open and hold it for you, giving you full view of Steve Rogers sitting at the head of the table with a sour expression on his face, just as displeased to have to pretend to love you for the mission.
The training room should've been empty half an hour ago, and technically, everyone was done for the day.
It should’ve been quiet—mats wiped down, lights dimmed, everyone gone for the night.
Instead, the air was thick.
Heavy with sweat, heat, and something sharp enough to make the back of your neck prickle. The entire team and a couple recruits were watching you.
Well, you and Steve.
At first not openly—no one was stupid enough to make it obvious—but they lingered. Leaned against walls, sat on benches, hovered just close enough to pretend they had somewhere else to be.
It started as any other training session did, you rotated partners, almost like shark bait: in and out, partner after partner cycling through you while you stayed planted on the mat, pushing your stamina, your endurance, your patience.
Until you ended up on the other side of the mat from Steve.
Barefoot, sleeves rolled, skin already lightly sheened with the littlest bit of sweat that somehow made him look betterinstead of worse—which was deeply, personally offensive.
Here's the thing: he was a super soldier. He had endless stamina, super strength, reflexes that outmatched 99% of the population, and he had it all with perfect blond hair and barely breaking a sweat on his sculpted body.
It infuriated the hell out of you.
He blocked every kick, every punch, and when he didn't he wasn't even phased.
It made you go harder, to the point where you found yourselves now: almost trying to hurt each other.
By then, no one was even preteding to be occupied by anything else, shamelessly staring at the two of you at the center of the mat like Oppenheimer waiting for a bomb to go off.
Steve had stopped treating you with the same careful restraint he used with newer recruits. He'd throw you harder into the mats, knock the wind from your lungs, shove you back with enough force to remind you exactly how much stronger he was, and you'd borderline play dirty.
Every hit had a little more weight behind it. Neither willing to back down. Neither willing to lose.
Sam was sitting backwards in a chair, chin propped on his arms, watching like he had front row seats to the best show of his life; Natasha looked delighted; Bucky looked concerned, brows drawn, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was trying to decide whether to step in or let you both learn your lesson the hard way.
Steve stood opposite of you, his feet staggered and his arms up, making a "come at me" motion with his fingers. His hair was slightly mussed, a damp strand falling forward over his forehead.
"Come to daddy."
The entire room held their breaths, and you saw red.
In hindsight, you should've planned a better move than to just charge at him, the strength in your muscles and bones not being able to match his. You should've thought of something tactical, something smart.
But also… you fucking hated his guts.
Which is exactly how you ended up with your cheek and stomach pressed to the sweaty mat, with Steve's whole weight on your back, your wrists pinned between the two of you and his right arm laced under yours and up your back, hand holding your neck down.
His hands caught you mid-motion, grip iron-tight as he twisted, using your momentum against you with terrifying ease, his grip locking your body in place, the angle just shy of painful.
"You need to work on your psyche. Mind over matter." His stupid voice right in your ear made goosebumps bloom up your spine, so you did what any reasonable person would do.
You flexed the knee that was between his spread legs hard enough that you hit him square in the balls, giving you the out you needed.
You straightened on your feet, pushing damp hair back from your face, a breathless, borderline feral grin breaking across your lips as he winced on the mat in pain.
"Who's your daddy now?"
Your breathless laughter was cut short, Fury's booming voice breaking through any pain or enjoyment present in the room. "You do know domestic violence is not part of your cover story, no?"
Both of your heads whipped in the direction of his voice.
He continued to walk in your direction, dropping two folders in front of your feet, and Steve, who was still kneeling down on the mat. "Shower this off. You leave in the morning, lovebirds."
The neighborhood looked like the kind of place where people complained to the HOA because their neighbor's hydrangeas were the wrong shade of blue.
Every lawn was trimmed within an inch of its life, sharp lines cutting through impossibly green grass like someone came out with a ruler every morning.
The mailboxes all matched—sleek, black, expensive-looking—and every driveway held something polished and obscene:luxury SUV or a car that definitely cost more than your first apartment.
The houses themselves were enormous. White trim, brick facades, wraparound porches, massive windows that left little room for privacy on a street that looked like it loved to mind every business but its own.
You sat in the passenger seat while Steve drove to your home, the undercover file open across your lap like a book while your bare feet rested on the dash.
Because annyong Steve was free, and your favorite past time. "No feet on the dash."
You turned a page, ignoring him. "They're staying." You read more of the file. "It's more comfortable that way." Your light blue summer dress was bunched up higher across your thighs, and he did a double take before taking a right turn to your house block.
He sighed. "If we crash—"
"Just look at the road instead of me and we'll be fine." That made him shift in the driver's seat, straightening his posture and looking ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing in annoyance.
What irritated Steve about you was the fact that these comebacks never even seemed to make sense or be thought of, it just rolled off your tongue, almost just for the plot. And you didn't even care.
He didn't even know why you hated him so much in the first place, but he reciprocated the feeling as soon as he saw how insubordinate and bratty you were.
Steve sighed the long suffering sigh of a man questioning every life decision that had brought him to this moment. "You're impossible." Muttered under his breath.
"You're a Senior Project Manager at your own company, honey!" Fake admiration and praise filled your voice. "Oh, you proposed quick! Only a year after our first date." You turned to him, your first real smile plastered on your face. "You're so down bad."
The car came to a stop in your driveway, and Steve turned it off, unclipping his seatbelt. "Put your shoes on, we're here and I feel eyes already."
"Bossy." You muttered, doing exactly as he said. As you got out of the car, your voice went up an octave, carrying through the humid summer weather.
“Ready, honey?” you asked, slipping the word out effortlessly, like you’d been saying it for years.
He opened the front door for you, making sure whoever was watching heard him just as well, possessive in a way that made your breath hitch before you could stop it.
“After you, sweetheart.”
You'd barely had enough time to figure out which bedroom closet was yours before the doorbell rang.
ding-dong. ding-dong.
You froze in the middle of the bedroom, one hand still gripping a hanger, Steve somewhere down the hall filling a modified cabinet with all sorts of concealed weapons.
You dropped the hanger onto the bed without another thought, smoothing your hands down your dress as you moved. Steve stepped out of the kitchen at the same time, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he’d been doing something domestic instead of checking sightlines and exits.
Ben and Julie Poindexter stood in your porch like they had been plucked straight out of a catalog. They were ones you hoped to make the acquaintance of quickly, as he was the right hand of the big druglord you and Steve were tasked with making an airtight case on.
Years of field work had taught you that monsters were rarely obvious, still, some primitive part of your brain always expected criminals to look like criminals.
Instead, Ben Poindexter looked like somebody who coached Little League and had multiple PTA moms undoing extra buttons in their cardigans to get his attention. Beside him, Julie beamed, already leaning slightly forward like she couldn’t wait to know everything about you.
“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, eyes lighting up. “You must be the Adlers!” You felt Steve shift beside you, his hand coming to rest warm on your back with an ease that shouldn't be there in the best of actors.
He smiled, and it was a good one. The kind that made people relax immediately. The kind that five years ago made you—
“Guilty,” he said easily. “Frank.” Right. Frank Adler.
He extended his hand and Ben took it immediately, introducing you then. “I’m Dex,” the shorter blond said in return, just as easy. “This is my wife, Julie.”
“Hi,” you said, stepping forward like you hadn’t been mentally preparing to dismantle her entire social circle for intel. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
She lit up.
“Oh, you are just adorable,” she gushed, reaching out to squeeze your arm like you were already best friends. “We saw the moving truck this morning and I told Ben, I said, ‘We have to go introduce ourselves before everyone else gets to them first.’”
You faked confusion. "Ben…?"
He chuckled lightly in response. "That's me, I… uh… Ben's really only for her and my parents. Friends call me Dex."
You smiled back in understanding. “We appreciate that,” he said smoothly. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind getting settled.”
“So,” Dex cut in, tone casual but eyes observant, “what brings you two here?” There it was. The first test.
You felt Steve’s thumb twitch slightly against your back. A cue , or maybe just instinct. “Work, mostly,” he said, not missing a beat. “I just transferred to oversee a new branch out here.”
Julie gasped softly. “Oh! That’s right, you’re the project manager, right? We heard something about that—”
Of course they did.
You tilted your head toward Steve, letting your smile soften just a touch as you looked at him. Pride, affection… Just enough to sell it.
“He won’t say it, but he’s very good at what he does.” You interjected, turning your sweet smile to your nosy neighbors again.
His hand pressed a little more firmly into your back before easing again. “Someone has to pay the bills,” he joked lightly, glancing down at you.
"It's a 50/50 relationship," you shot back, nudging his side with your elbow just enough to look playful. "You earn money, and I look pretty in the things it buys." Your hand reached up to scratch the freshly shaven skin of his chin.
“Wow,” Julie breathed, practically vibrating with delight. “You two are so cute.”
You laughed, soft, a little embarassed… and completely fake. Dex watched that exchange carefully. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes sharpened just a fraction.
“New couples usually take a while to settle in around here,” he said, tone still easy. “But I think you two will fit right in.”
“Well,” you said lightly, leaning just a little closer into Steve without thinking about it, “we’re counting on our neighbors to help with that.”
Julie clasped her hands together. “Oh, you have to come to dinner this weekend! Everyone’s going to be there—it’s kind of our thing.”
“We’d love to,” Steve said, lightly nodding.
Both of them smiled in satisfaction, briefly saying their goodbyes and we'll let you get settled. As they started to step back, Julie waved enthusiastically. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”
Integration happened faster and easier than either of you expected. Almost like… bait.
It started with waves.
Small, polite acknowledgments from across driveways—neighbors watering already-perfect lawns, women in linen sets pausing mid-walk with their equally curated dogs. At first it was just smiles, quick introductions repeated twice because no one actually listened the first time, or maybe they expected you to slip up.
Names, occupations, how long you planned to stay.
Somehow, without either of you saying much at all, your lives had already been filled in for you. Steve—Frank—was “the project manager from the city.” You were “so sweet” and “adjusting beautifully.”
It was unsettling.
Steve got pulled in first.
Dex made it look casual—leaning over the fence one late afternoon while Steve pretended to struggle with a hose attachment he absolutely knew how to fix.
“Couple of us head out to the club on Saturdays,” Dex had said, like it wasn’t a test. Like it wasn’t an invitation into something much bigger. “You golf?”
Steve had shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel like the answer didn’t matter. “Enough not to embarrass myself.”
Dex chuckled. “Good. Fisk hates losing.”
That was how Steve Rogers found himself in pressed polos and quiet greens, standing under the sun with a man who ran half the city from behind clean hands and cleaner money.
Wilson Fisk didn’t look like a monster either. They never did.
From the sidelines, it would’ve looked normal—three men talking shop, trading easy laughs, the soft crack of a golf ball slicing through the air.
But Steve came home with tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and eyes that thought too much.
You were integrated differently. Faster, deeper in a sense. If you wanna know a man, you need to know the woman in his life first. Julie took one look at you and decided you were hers.
Brunch turned into wine nights, which turned into yoga classes and impromptu shopping trips where you learned which women talked too much, which ones listened too closely, and which ones pretended not to notice everything while noticing everything.
You laughed when you were supposed to, touched arms at the right moments, let yourself be pulled into conversations about renovations and charity events and who was “having trouble in their marriage” this week.
You played the part. Perfectly.
But you also listened. And Julie talked, about Dex, about their marriage, about his schedule, the men he worked with, his "job".
About Fisk in a careful, vague way that told you she knew just enough to be useful and not enough to be dangerous.
Inside the house, however, nothing really changed. You were in bliss whenever Steve was anywhere outside of the five thousand square feet of the house. And in hell when you could hear his footsteps through the hallways.
“Why are your shoes in the middle of the hallway?” “Because I took them off.”
“You put a gun in the cereal cabinet.” “It was concealed.”
And yet, somewhere in between the arguing and the slammed cabinets and the pointed silences, you moved around each other.
Steve adjusted the cuff of his polo as he stepped out onto the green, the sun warm against the back of his neck, the grass trimmed so perfectly it almost didn’t look real. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly—controlled, decorative, intentional.
Everything here was curated, including the people. Dex stood a few feet ahead, already mid-conversation with a Fisk, Steve immediately recognizing his big frame.
“Frank,” Dex called easily, turning just enough to wave him over. “Glad you made it.”
Steve walked up at an even pace, shoulders loose, posture relaxed, every movement deliberate in its lack of tension. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Dex clapped his hands lightly. “Let’s see if you actually know how to swing that thing.”
The game itself was uneventful on the surface, small talk, a couple of drinks over a few holes, business talk, the kind of conversation that never said anything directly but still managed to reveal everything if you knew how to listen.
Steve pretending to be worse than Fisk at golf remembering what Dex said about him not liking losing.
Well, who does? He thought.
He missed a shot he could’ve made here and there, fake grimace on his face to help sell the lie, burrow himself deeper in the web.
Dex talked the most—easy laughter, casual stories, the kind of man who filled silence before it could become uncomfortable.
Fisk didn’t, he was quieter, more measured. Almost amused.
By the ninth hole, Steve could feel the shift, the attention settling more fully onto him. He was past the evaluation phase and onto something else.
Fisk set his club aside after a clean shot, stepping back as one of the attendants moved to retrieve it. He didn’t look at Steve immediately, instead adjusting his cufflinks with slow, precise movements.
“Beautiful house you’ve got,” Fisk said finally.
Steve shrugged lightly, taking a swing of his beer. “Got lucky to swoop in right when it went on the market.”
Fisk hummed. “I find luck tends to favor the well-prepared.” Steve didn’t respond, Fisk’s gaze lifted then. “You and your wife settling in well?”
For some reason, hearing such a dangerous man mention you made him uneasy. And it shouldn't, because he hated you. Steve forced his expression to remain easy. “Yeah. She likes it here.” He paused for a second. “She’s… adjusting.”
Fisk’s lips curved slightly. “Is she?” Steve’s grip on the club in his hand tightened just a fraction.
Dex shifted beside them, glancing between the two, something quieter settling over his usual ease.
“You know,” Fisk continued, tone almost conversational, “I take a great interest in the people who choose to live in the neighborhood.”
Steve tilted his head slightly. “Seems like a lot of effort.”
Fisk chuckled softly. “It is if you don't have the… resources.”
Steve didn’t like the way he said that, didn’t like the weight behind it.
The back nine loosened things.
Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
Dex got louder, a little more relaxed with each hole, his posture easing into something casual as the game stretched on. Drinks appeared somewhere around the seventh—cold, expensive, handed off by staff who moved like ghosts—and by the tenth, the conversation had shifted.
Way less about business.
Dex snorted at something one of the other men—some hedge fund name Steve hadn’t bothered to remember—had said, shaking his head as he lined up his shot.
“I’m telling you,” the man continued, grinning like he thought he was hilarious, “if you’re doing it right, she’s not walking straight the next morning.”
One of the others chimed in with something worse, cruder. The kind of joke that got easy agreement and knowing looks passed around like currency.
Steve didn’t react, just stood there, one hand resting loosely on his club, gaze fixed somewhere out over the green like he wasn’t listening.
“C’mon, Adler,” Dex called, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”
Steve glanced over, trying to seem unbothered. Like he didn't want to roll his eyes at everything coming out of that prick's mouth. “Just listening.”
“That’s not how this works,” the hedge fund guy said with a smirk. “You gotta contribute. You’re married, right?”
“Familiarity,” Fisk continued, almost thoughtfully, like he was discussing market trends instead of people, “breeds a certain ease.”
“Guess some guys are just more private.” Steve chimed, moving as to redirect the conversation, walking a couple steps to the next hole. "I don’t feel the need to talk about my wife like that."
Silence fell upon the group for a second, Dex interjected to change the subject quickly, but the way Fisk looked at Steve the rest of the time made he hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Steve unlocked the kitchen door, toeing his shoes off as soon as he stepped inside. The house was clean, marble countertops reflecting the golden light coming through the curtains.
A candle burned on the center island that made the house smell like a bouquet of fresh flowers, blooming in deepest winter.
The door clocked shit behind him with a soft, controlled click, as he called out "Babe?" while letting his keys rattle against the marble.
He stepped further into the kitchen, eyes sweeping automatically—back door locked, blinds angled just enough, nothing out of place. The cabinet he’d modified earlier sat closed, unassuming, hiding everything it needed to.
He called out for you again, "Sweetheart?", feet padding into the house and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the shower running on.
Steve's mind kept replaying the interactions he'd had that day, how Fisk seemed to have too much knowledge of his dynamic with you to not have—
Of course.
A man like Fisk wouldn't just intentionally have a blind side.
The motherfucker had surveillance on your house.
In your house.
The sound got clearer and clearer as he moved up the stairs. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and sun-dimmed, and then right outside of the bathroom door, steam curling underneath it. Steve paused just outside it, his hand hovering near the frame, his head tilting slightly as he listened.
You were humming, soft and absentminded.
Like you weren’t in the middle of a mission that had just taken a very sharp turn.
He exhaled softly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching briefly on the tension sitting heavy there.
He should wait, he knew he should. Whatever he had to say could wait ten minutes.
Five.
Hell, two.
But the words Fisk had said—had implied—sat in his chest like a weight that refused to settle. So if Fisk had creepily put surveillance in your home like Steve was 98% sure he had, you were gonna have to roll with the punches.
Steam hit him immediately, warm and thick, fogging the edges of his vision for half a second before it cleared.
Stripping his shirt, kicking off the rest of his clothes in a blur of motion that would’ve felt ridiculous under any other circumstance.
He walked into the shower, watching you let the water trickle over you, over your face, your neck, your chest, and he thanked every God he could think of that his body was cooperating and he did not have more than a half-hard on right then and there.
Which meant that you finished rinsing your shampoo off and opened your eyes to find a very, very naked Steve Rogers encapsulated by the shower stall glass around you.
With you.
All naked, and very wet, and very naked, and—
"Ahh!" You shrieked in surprise, stumbling back half a step, water splashing over him as your hands came up instinctively. "What the f—" Steve put his index finger on his lips with one hand, the other motioning to his ear and out.
We're being listened to.
"Honey," You immediately switched into your undercover tone, "you scared the crap out of me!"
Steve stepped closer, couldn't risk his voice being any louder than absolutely necessary to get you the information right then and there.
His frame in comparison to yours felt even bigger now, steam curling around him like vines. You'd blame the way your nipples hardened at the sight on the water.
“Fisk,” he whispered, barely audible over the spray. “He knows something’s off. Pretty sure we’re wired. The house is.”
Your breath hitched.
Absolutely having nothing to do with the fact that you were trying very hard not to stare at his— "Where?"
"Everywhere." He confirmed.
Water ran down both of you in steady streams, heat curling between your bodies, steam thickening the air until everything felt too close.
“Well,” you murmured, louder now, just enough for anyone listening to catch it, your tone dipping into something softer, more playful, “next time, maybe knock?”
Steve huffed out a quiet breath that could almost pass for a laugh, his forehead dipping closer to yours, but not touching, droplets of water falling from his hair onto you.
“Didn’t think you’d mind.” One of your hands braced lightly against his chest, the other gripping his arm as if for balance.
Your hand slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling the hair there enough to make him hiss. “Oh, I mind,” you said lightly, your fingers threading just a little deeper into the short hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re lucky I like you.”
You were pretty good at… faking it.
Night settled over the house smoothly, the sun bleeding into deep indigo slowly and surely until stars littered the sky and you all you could hear was the fair sound of nature beyond the glass.
The neighborhood dimmed in stages—porch lights flicking on one by one, warm squares of yellow glowing through wide, uncovered windows. Somewhere down the street, laughter carried faintly. A dog barked once, then twice, then went quiet again.
As your brain processed the information Steve had given you, you moved through the motions anyway.
Teeth brushed. Face washed. Lights turned off and on in the right order. The kind of routine that would look normal from the outside, mundane and unremarkable to anyone paying attention.
The thought sat in the back of your mind, somewhat panicked and loud, but also a constant, steady pressure.
You dried your hands slowly on a towel, eyes flicking briefly to the mirror. Your reflection stared back—hair dried and silky, skin still warm from the shower, expression carefully neutral.
Steve stood near the dresser, back half-turned to you, pulling a t-shirt over his head. The fabric stretched sinf— normallyacross his shoulders before falling into place, softening the sharp lines of him into something more… domestic.
You watched him through the mirror without meaning to, picking up a book, turning on his bedside lamp, and crawling under the covers of your bed, letting the light comforter rest on his legs and hips while he flipped through the pages with his back resting against his pillows and the headboard.
You bit your lip, thoughts blooming fast and messy under your skull, and flicked the lights in the bathroom off, walking towards your side of the bed.
Your short camisole shifted through the air as you moved, light and soft, brushing against your thighs. Steve's eyes immediately clocking your bare legs before he forced them onto the words in front of him.
You laid onto your side and closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, your body fitting against his side like that's where it was always supposed to be.
Your arm slid across his waist, your cheek pressed lightly against the plane of his pecs, and you felt the very warm, solid, real muscle of him under your face go completely still.
Not in any subtle way, you could feel the exact moment his brain short-circuited.
He turned his face just enough to look down and meet your gaze. His expression screamed an unfiltered "what the hell?"while yours softly said "we have to sell it."
He shifted, turning just enough so he wasn’t facing away from you anymore, his arm coming up—hesitant for half a second—before settling around you, his hand resting on your forearm, thumb tracing soothing patterns on the soft, moisturized skin.
As you laid there, the cogs in your brain turned. You bit the inside of your cheek lightly, the more he believes it, the quicker we get out.
You moved forward, your hand pressed against his chest, using him for leverage as you pushed yourself up, swinging one leg over his hips in a smooth, deliberate motion until you were straddling him.
The poor book slid uselessly to rest on the mattress on the other side of his body. You nuzzled your face into his neck, pretending to pepper kisses on the skin there, and Steve stiffened up.
His hands instinctively came up, not grabbing or even stopping you, just hovering at your waist like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go.
Your mouth lingered by his pulse point just long enough to make it convincing before you spoke, your breath hot against his skin. "Play along." You whispered.
You felt the tension in him—every muscle coiled, controlled, restrained in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the position you’d just put him in.
“Sweetheart,” he said, louder now, his tone shifting seamlessly, to something warmer, rougher, like it belonged to someone else. “You trying to kill me?”
From the outside, it sounded like a joke. A husband amused by his wife.
You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost just below his ear. “You just been working so much lately,” you murmured, just loud enough to carry.
His grip on you flexed, and he leaned into it.
“I know, baby, I know,” he said, voice dropping, threading something you hadn’t heard from him since he had your face pressed into a sparring mat through it as his hands settled more firmly at your hips, anchoring you there. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flipped, shameful heat pooling low in your core even though you tried to ignore it and call it by a different name.
His fingers pressed just slightly, grounding, guiding, selling the illusion with an ease that made your pulse stutter.
Steve moved, fast as always, one second you were on top of him, the next your back hit the mattress, making it dip hard beneath you as he flipped you with practiced ease, your breath catching as his weight settled above you, caging you in without quite touching.
His face dipped toward yours, close enough that your noses almost brushed.
“What you’re doing,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm, controlled, “is reckless.”
Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, heart beating too fast, and you tilted your head just enough to whisper back, your tone soft and teasing, so low he almost didn't hear it. “So is getting caught.”
You tilted your neck up, and your lips connected with his.
It had been weeks of little pecks, prim and proper kisses in front of your neighbors, just enough to sell it on the outside.
Holding his face in your hands and actually kissing Steve Rogers felt like a completely different experience.
His tongue licked into your mouth with an intention you never really expected from Steve. Specially a Steve that was faking it. Your hands roamed the plane of his shoulders, trying to make it seem like the actual rustling of sheets one would expect of a couple who was going to—
He should really take this shirt off.
And so your hands went to the hem of his white cotton shirt, pulling it up. Steve reluctantly let you take it off of him, leaving him only in the grey boxers that let you see he wasn't faking that much.
"Oh my God," You whispered. "Are you serious?" That was more of a hiss. Was he seriously getting hard right now?
"I know," He whispered back, annoyed, frustrated, "I know. Just shut up about it."
Oh.
He wanted you to shut up about it. He wanted you to—
The petty part of your brain took over, and before you couldn't think of a less reckless thing to do, you squeezed your legs tighter around him, bringing his bulge flush against your clothed pussy.
"O-oh—" Steve was surprised, not about the pettiness, but at the action itself. You bit your lip, almost proud of yourself, and tilted your hips up.
That earned you a scolding look.
"Mmm," you breathed, just loud enough to carry, your voice shifting instantly to a soft, breathy, higher pitched version of yourself. "Fuck, baby, right there."
Steve's ears were ringing. Mostly because he didn't know what to do with his hard cock rubbing up and down against you. “Relax,” you murmured against his jaw, barely moving your lips. “You sound like you’re filing paperwork.”
He huffed softly, turning it into something that passed. “Maybe I like paperwork,” he muttered.
You scoffed. “You do not.”
“You don’t know that.” He whined softly against you.
"You need to actually move your hips, Steve. Video needs to look like you're fucking your wife." You whispered in his ear.
It's not like he couldn't feel how wet you were, slick pressing through the cotton of your panties and onto his underwear, darkening a spot there.
“You’re unbelievable,” he breathed low, close to your ear.
“Say it louder,” you shot back quietly.
“You’re unbelievable,” he repeated, louder, tone shifting, like it meant something entirely different now.
Your heels dug into his ass cheeks, pulling him closer and closer to you, and closer and closer to the edge.
You could feel the length of him twitch with each pass of his hips, and you pictured the leaking head of him making a mess out of the inside of his boxers, precum slicking him all over.
“Okay—” he muttered quickly under his breath, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far. “We need a time frame. We can’t just—keep going forever.”
“Two minutes,” you whispered. “Make it believable.”
“Two minutes?” he echoed, actually offended. “That’s insulting.”
The thought of it sent heat down your core. His face was buried in your neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands threaded through his hair. "Talk about me." Another perfectly placed thrust that nudged your clit. "'bout how I feel."
Steve grinded his teeth like he was fighting a mental battle between letting himself be consumed by this moment, and being proper.
You nudged him again with your heel.
"Nice and tight, sweetheart." He let his voice carry, surprisingly unwavering for how close he was. "Never get enough of your pussy."
What in the fuckity fuck?
Steve?
He almost said your name, your very real name, too lost in himself, letting his rhythm build up much too realistically, his thrusts deeper, the bulge now rubbing and nudging your clothed entrance as well.
Your could hear the sound of wet fabric shifting, your panties getting caught and letting one lip slip out of safety and closer to Steve's leaking cock.
"Frank," You said loudly, trying to catch his attention without success. "Frank." You tried again, more stern, being met with the same squeezed-shut eyes you tried to get an answer from. You dropped your voice low, hushed like a secret. "Steve."
That made him open his eyes, powder blue irises staring at you as his thursts hit a spot that had him moaning, stuttering over his own breath.
And spilling all inside his boxers, looking right into your eyes.
His hips stuttered, almost as if his body wanted to milk itself dry, and his breathing slowed.
You were speechless, big wide eyes looking up at him, genuinely not knowing what to say.
Both of you stared at each other in shock, horror, confusion as to why it felt so good to do that without someone who managed to get under your skin without even trying.
You stayed like that until you felt the warm trickle of his seed seep through the cotton of his boxers and onto the front of your panties.
Steve dropped back to his side of the bed, and both of you avoided each other's gaze, just staring at the ceiling.
"Are we—"
“…go to sleep,” you muttered.
Whatever Fisk needed proof of, seemingly he got it, since both you and Steve got invited the the biggest 4th of July bash of the neighborhood.
Right at the belly of the beast.
The whole backyard looked like something out of a magazine.
String lights draped across the perimeter, glowing warm against the deep navy of the night sky, fireworks already starting to crackle faintly in the distance.
The lawn stretched wide and immaculate, dotted with clusters of people holding drinks in delicate glasses, laughter spilling easily between them like nothing in the world could touch this place.
It was loud, busy, perfect, and underneath it all— wrong.
Steve had light wash jeans and a light blue polo on, you had a strapless summer dress and one of his linen shirts on, the shirt unbuttoned to give the air of a casual outing.
You stood near one of the long tables, fingers loosely wrapped around a Moscow Mule you hadn’t touched, your eyes scanning without looking like you were scanning. Steve was across the yard, pulled into a circle of men near the grill, one of them mid-story, the others laughing at something you couldn’t quite hear from this distance.
And there she was.
Blonde, tall, and much too interested in your— Steve.
Her hand landed on his arm like she’d been waiting for an excuse, your eyes narrowed at her as you shoved a piece of salami and cheese into your mouth.
“That's Sharon.” Julie’s voice chimed in beside you, far too cheerful for how observant she actually was. “She's new. Came to stay with her aunt a bit, they live a few strees back. Divorced. Which means she’s—”
“—looking,” you finished lightly, before finally taking a sip of your drink like you hadn’t already clocked every detail.
Julie laughed. “Exactly.”
Your eyes flicked back to Steve. He hadn’t moved away, hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t even noticed.
Of course he hadn’t.
He was listening—really listening—to whatever the man next to him was saying, nodding slightly, relaxed in that effortless way that made people lean in closer without thinking about it.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. “If he's anything like Dex, he's clueless. They don’t even realize when they’re being flirted with.”
You hummed softly. "He is clueless, alright."
“He’s very charming,” Julie added, watching you now instead of them. “Frank, I mean.”
Your lips curved. “He has his moments.”
Julie giggled, and you finished downing your drink, making your way to him, wrapping a hand around his perfectly sculped bicep and turning on your smile to the sweetest setting possible.
His body reacted immediately, adjusting to your touch like it always belonged there. His gaze dropped to you, surprise flickering for half a second before smoothing into something softer.
“Hey,” he said, one hand coming up to rest at your hip without thinking about it.
“Hi,” you replied, tilting your head up toward him, your smile warm in a way that felt almost too real. “Sorry,” you said sweetly, not sounding sorry at all. “Am I interrupting?”
She blinked, then smiled tightly back at you. “Not at all.” Steve’s hand pressed slightly into your hip, a silent question that you answered it by leaning just a fraction closer into him.
“We were just talking about the neighborhood,” she continued.
“Were you?” you asked, your tone light, but your grip on Steve tightening just enough to be felt.
“Oh—yes,” she said, glancing briefly at him. “Frank was just telling us about his work.”
“Mm,” you hummed, eyes flicking up to his. “He works too much.”
Steve’s brows lifted slightly. “Oh, I do?”
“You do,” you said simply, sighing longingly, your fingers sliding absently against his side like it was second nature. “I barely see you anymore.”
Sharon laughed softly. “That’s a shame.” Steve lifted the beer up to his lips and took a swing.
“It is,” you agreed, smiling again. “But I make sure he makes up for it.”
Steve choked on his drink. Actually choked. Coughed once, quickly covering it with a laugh that didn’t quite hide the surprise.
His hand flexed at your hip. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping just slightly as he looked down at you, something new threading through it. “I do.”
For a moment it didn't feel like pretending, but it also didn't feel real. It felt like a limbo much too similar to five years ago, when he first recruited you into SHIELD by accident.
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Colombia had been too hot. The humid, muggy weather made your skin sticky, a sheen coat of sweat all over your arms and legs, even though you were only wearing a white tanktop and a flowy, maxi floral skirt.
Music was bleeding from open windows, people crowding narrow streets, making it the kind of place where mistakes didn’t just cost you the mission.
They cost you everything.
You’d been handling it just fine, up until you weren’t. The intel had been wrong. Or incomplete. Or leaked.
You didn’t know which yet—only that the second you stepped into that dim, crowded cantina, something in your gut twisted. Too many eyes, too many men pretending to drink, too many sharp ears and even sharper looks.
You were planning an exit strategy, a way to get out of here with as few scratches and as many of these men killed. Mid counting how many thing you could use as a weapon, in walked a picture perfect specimen.
Muscles everywhere, blond hair lightened even more by the sun, the faintest sunburn across his nose and cheeks making his blue eyes stand out more.
You turned slightly, lifting your drink to your lips like you were just another woman trying to cool off, not someone seconds away from deciding how many people she might have to kill.
He clocked the men immediately.
And then he clocked you. His broad frame faked a smile at you and stepped quickly to stand beside you at the bar, hand resting on your hip.
“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to try to get the bartender's attention.
“Don’t what?” you shot back just as quietly, adjusting your sunglasses on your head like you were annoyed at them and happy to see him, not seconds away from being cornered.
“They’re looking for someone,” he said.
“I know.” A beat where he leaned down to whisper in your ear.
“They’re closing exits.”
And you responded through gritted teeth and a smile. “I noticed.” You let your body rest closer to his, feeling the heat radiating off of him.
Outside, thunder and lightning started, and a summer storm came pouring down.
“Babe,” you said, loud enough to carry, tilting your head up at him like you were teasing. “You said one drink.”
He leaned into you, his hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer in a way that felt practiced.
“Yeah?” he shot back easily. “Thought you wanted to see more of the place.”
“Oh, I do,” you laughed lightly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Just… from inside a bedroom window right now." You leaned in closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it look intimate, like you were sharing something private instead of tracking his every movement.
“Relax your shoulders,” you murmured.
He huffed softly—almost a laugh, almost something else—and adjusted just slightly, his grip tightening at your lower back like he was settling into the role instead of fighting it.
A beat passed between you—quick, sharp, charged—and then he leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting just along your temple.
“Storm’s our out,” he whispered. “We gotta go.”
“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his shirt, turning your body into his as thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows. “I am not ruining my hair for this.”
“Tragic,” he murmured, letting you pull him toward the back hallway.
The rain hit hard the second you stepped out of the main room—heavy, sudden, loud enough to drown out most of the noise behind you. The narrow corridor smelled like damp wood and cheap liquor, dimly lit and barely used.
Perfect.
Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt as you stumbled slightly—just enough to sell it—as he caught you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist.
“Careful, sweetheart.” he said, louder now, for anyone who might still be listening. “You’re gonna slip.”
The back door burst open under his hand.
Rain poured down in sheets, warm and relentless, soaking the edges of your skirt instantly as you both stepped out into the alley behind the cantina.
Steve looked around to make sure no one followed, he kept you closer than necessary as you moved, your bodies angled into each other like you were shielding yourselves from the storm instead of disappearing into it.
One block, then another, until you were far away and safe in the back alley of the Sofitel. Your clothes were soaked, as were his, your shirt basically see through, you kept moving, pulling him down the short hallway and into the first unlocked door you found—some storage room or unused guest space, it didn’t matter.
The door shut behind you with a soft click. Steve walked in last, and you didn't put distance between you two, though right now looking at him through wet lashes you wish you did.
His eyes reflected the gloomy sky outside, his lips were pink and plump, and you felt yourself being drawn closer and closer to him, as did he.
The storm outside cracked again, lightning flashing briefly through the thin curtains, illuminating the space in stark white for half a second, loud thunder taking you out of your trance, Steve jerking away like he was burned.
"I, uh… I think we lost them." Your voice was shaky and unsure.
“Not bad,” he added, quieter now, his eyes flicking over your face like he was reassessing something.
You scoffed lightly. “High praise.”
PRESENT
“Fireworks are about to start,” someone called from across the yard.
And just like that, the moment broke, and your attentions turned to the mission at hand: while everyone is distracted, get into Fisk's office and copy all of his intel.
Steve leaned down slightly as people shifted away in the direction of the fireworks, his lips brushing near your ear, voice low. “You’re laying it on thick.”
“Am I?” you murmured back, sly smirk playing on your lips.
“A little.”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "You should go for the office. I'll keep watch."
Steve looked at you like he wanted to say something, but nodded and snuck away, your eyes immediately making sure all persons of interest were accounted for and not in the office.
The party swelled around you.
Fireworks cracked overhead in bursts of red and gold, laughter spilling across Fisk’s perfectly manicured lawn, glasses clinking, music humming low beneath it all.
Steve had been gone for about five minutes when you noticed Dex was gone mid conversation with Claire and her husband Matthew. You saw the little flop of blonde hair make its way into the house and your blood ran cold.
Steve.
“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said lightly, lifting your empty glass as proof, bee-lining up the stairs on the porch and to the kitchen.
You moved like you weren’t tracking footsteps that weren’t yours, counting seconds, mapping distance in your head.
You slipped inside through the side door, heels soft against polished floors, your breath steady even as your pulse kicked harder.
You moved faster, turning the corner just in time to see the office door slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the hallway, and footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.
You pushed the door open and slipped inside, Steve standing by the big mahogany table with a thumbdrive pluggesd into the desktop, downloading everything.
“What—”
“Dex,” you cut him off, already crossing the room. “Coming.” His expression shifted instantly, worry, anxiety, combat.
A shadow passed the crack of the door and you closed the distance between you, pushing yourself to sit on top of the table and pulled Steve to stand between your legs. Your hands grabbed his shirt, yanking him down toward you hard enough to make him stumble.
He exhaled harshly the second your lips touched, tasting the vanilla macadamia flavor of your lipgloss. Your tongue licked into his mouth and one of his hands found the plane of your back, the other bracing against the desk behind you as he backed you further into it, the impact soft but enough to sell it.
“Mm—” you exhaled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.
Your fingers thread through his hair as you sighed against him, losing yourself in the cedarwood of his cologne, the taste of beer on his tongue, and—
The door creaked open lgithly with someone's breathy "oh." coming through at the sight.
You didn't pull away, didn't even flinch. If anything, you leaned in more, your body pressing fully into his, your mouth lingering just long enough to make the moment undeniable.
You heard a the sound of someone clearing their throat, and that made both of you break apart. Your lips brushed his once more before you turned your head, like you’d just noticed her. “Oh—” you said, a little breathless, but smiling.
“Sharon,” your eyes widened slightly when you looked behind you, a flush creeping into your expression like you’d been caught.
Her gaze drifted from his hands on you to the hem of your summer dress, pulled up and draped high on your thighs, then up to your hands in his hair and Steve's face — his expression a mix of very confused, flustered, and fucked out.
Steve cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly, like he was trying to recover something that had already slipped.
“We were just—”
“—busy,” you finished easily, sliding off the desk but not moving far from him.
“…right,” she said after a second, her lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Well, enjoy the, uh… the party."
You stifled a laugh, biting your lip, as she walked away leaving the door open behind her. You hopped off the desk as Steve got his brain working again.
“What the hell was that?” His voice cut through it, low and sharp.
You shrugged. "Saved your ass, you're welcome." You smoothed the hem of your dress against your thighs and walked around the desk, making your way out the door as Steve hushedly called out for you, swiming the thumb drive into his pocket before following you out of the house.
Your heels hit the pavement in sharp, even beats, your jaw locked, your eyes fixed straight ahead like if you didn’t look back, he wouldn’t follow.
Fuck him and his long legs that caught up to you as soon as you reached your lawn.
You stormed into your kitchen, pushing the door closed quicky to slam it behind you, but making it hit Steve on the shoulder as he crowded the space behind you. “Hey—” he pushed still, stepping closer. “No, seriously. What was that?”
You still gave him nothing, your jaw tightened. You stood with your back to the kitchen island, fingers gripping the marble, biting your own cheek. Your gaze stayed anywhere but him.
“That wasn’t about getting caught,” he said. “You knew she—” Then it seemed to dawn on him. “You kissed me to make her jealous.” His voice was incredulous, almost like he solved a decade long mystery right then and there. "You were jealous."
You scoffed, still not meeting his eye. "Jealous? Over you? Plea—"
He crowded you even more now, bending down to look for your gaze and force you to meet his, sly smile playing on his lips. "You were jealous."
You huffed, finally looking into his eyes, sunlight playing on his face making the blue just a tad lighter. Steve had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, almost waiting for a response from you.
For what it felt like a second and a day all at once, your brain went numb.
And then your hands were on each side of his face, bringing his lips to crash into yours.
Steve's lips were warm against your mouth in the same way they were minutes ago. He stepped forward, towering over you making you tilt your head up to keep the kiss going, his hands grabbing your hips as he pressed you against the counter.
He licked into your mouth and your hands fell to the nape of his neck, his shoulders, and finally his arms.
Steve leaned over, pushing you back further, until you had no more oxygen to burn in your lungs and you broke the kiss, making him kiss your jaw, below your ear, and down your neck. "You had no reason to be jealous, you know."
He grinded his hips against yours, letting you feel the length of him hardening by the minute. "'M not jealous." You felt underwater, dizzy, borderline having fuzzies in your vision.
Steve chuckled against your neck, the warm breath making shivers run down your spine, his hands dropping to graze outside of your thighs. "Mmhmm." His right hand brushed over your thigh and made it way to your core, tickling the skin of your inner thigh.
His fingers quickly found the wet spot on the front of your underwear, kissing his way back towards your lips. When he pressed deep circled into it, he felt you sigh into his mouth.
"Steve… People might see…"
"Don't care" he pressed his fingers harder, until your hips were bucking to get more friction, and you were whining against him. Words came muffled against your mouth. "Not jealous, huh? Didn't want me a single bit, right?"
You scoffed despite youself, "You're the one that came into your pants the other day."
That did it.
Skin to skin. His rough fingers sliding through your soaked slit, dragging your arousal across your folds, teasing you right at the entrance. You broke off mid-sentence, a soft whimper catching in your throat.
His thumb easily found your clit, and one of your hands squeezed around his bicep while the other pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, your moans getting breathier and breathier by the minute.
His fingers thrusted in and out of you bringing you to an edge so close you could taste it, letting out little pants by the crook of his neck, inflating Steve's ego, making more blood rush south. "Wanna try that again?"
He curled them just right, your slick coating his knuckles as your hips twitched against his hand.
Your head fell back, lips parting on a desperate moan. "N-not jealous…" through gritted teeth, making him click his tongue.
"Suit yourself." And just like that, his fingers were gone, slick mess on your thighs and an unsatisfied beast inside of you.
"Steve, what the—"
He pulled away the slightest bit and bent down, lacing his arm around your legs and throwing you over his shoulder, walking away in the direction of the stairs.
Steve nudged your bedroom door open once you got upstairs and flopped you down on the bed, making you bounce on the mattress.
He hovered over you, settling between your legs and rubbing the heat of him against you, while one if his hands snuck to the back of your dress and pulled the zipper down. He pulled the clothing item down your body as he kissed the same path, and soon you were only in his shirt and a thong.
Your legs opened to accommodate him further, thighs falling to your sides, and he slotted himself chest to mattress, lips barely an inch away from your pussy. Steve kissed your inner thigh once, then again, and your fingers threaded through his hair.
"She's wetter than that night," He spoke softly, but his voice had a dark tone to it, blue eyes staring up at you. "Can't blame me from coming in my boxers when," and a bite to your flesh. "you were grinding a wet spot onto me, honey."
Fuck him and that nickname.
His middle finger came to curl beyond the hem, pulling the sticky wet fabric down your thighs, and both of his thumbs spread your lips, watching your hole clench around nothing.
His gaze once again reached yours, almost asking for permission.
You didn't seem to be able to find it in you to say anything, not a single word but a quiet "Please." leaving your lips.
The second his tongue touched your slit, you were all the way back in that mission in Colombia. Wet, horny, and almost begging him.
At the first taste of you, one would think Steve got possessed, quickly settling further into the mattress and wrapping his arms around your thighs, holding them open. "F-fuck, Steve—"
He groaned against you, the vibration going through you like electricity through water. His tongue traced your entrance, nose nudging your clit, and your back arched off the bed slightly, pushing your hips closer to his face.
Steve's fingers pressed against the tops of your thighs with bruising strength, not that you minded.
Not at all.
He licked zigzag patterens up and down your slit, and then would circle your clit with his tongue, sucking the nerves into his mouth and flicking it. "O-oh my God."
He chuckled into you, "Stop squirming."
Like you could help it. Like it was your damn fault he let Sharon touch him and flirt with him and all but forced you to make sure everyone bought this sham of a marriage.
"Easier— fuck me, easier said than done, Rogers." Your nails scratched deeper into his scalp.
Steve angled his head differently so he could tense his tongue and fuck you while his thumb moved from your thigh to rub quick circles onto your clit.
Your thighs closed around his head, eyes squeezing shut as you heard him breathe heavy against you. Steve's other hand landed on your breast, kneading the skin there, pinching and pulling a nipple drawing a mewl out of you.
"Steve, Steve, I'm— fuck, I'm gonna—"
You really shouldn't have told him, though he'd know you were close judging by the little flutters of your walls around his tongue.
He pulled away harshly, chin slick and lips swollen, his hair a mess from you running your fingers through it.
He stood by the foot of the bed, stripping down to nothing watching your dumbfounded fucked out expression. Your hair was matted, your nipples were hard, and there was a wet spot on the white comforter under you.
In front of you, though, stood 230lbs of pure, unadultered, perfectly sculped by God, blond 100% American Prime Steve Rogers.
Standing naked, tall, thick and proud.
And hard.
Your mouth salivated at the sight, looking at the leaking head of him appear and disappear inside his fist with each slick stroke he gave himself. Steve caught your ankle with his other hand, and pulled you to the edge of the bed, your toes touching the soft carpet of the bedroom.
He turned you around, fingers gripping the linen of his shirt you had on, dragging it down your arms but not over your wrists, twisting the fabric around his own fist.
And just like that, you were face and shoulders down on the mattress with your wrists tied behind you, feeling him rub the head of his cock up and down your puffy slit, coating himself in your wetness.
Steve heard a muffled whine from you, any words being impacted by the fabric of the bedding, "What was that, sweetheart?" He leaned over you, the tip of him notching just a smidge further.
You turned your head to the side. "Steve, please…"
He clicked his tongue again. "No, you didn't want me, remember? Think I shouldn't even be doing this to you."
He motioned to pull out and you whined louder. "She— she was all o-over you…" Tears pricked your eyes from the pressure in your chest, from the ache between your legs, from the desperation of being kept at the edge.
“Steve, please put it in…”
"Yeah?" He gave you the cue to keep going, pushing in unbearably slow and barely any.
You nodded against the mattress. "Pissed me off." You gulped. "Please, please don't leave me like this…"
"All you had to do was stop being such a brat about it."
And then he thrust in enough to knock the air out of your lungs. The squelch of his cock pushing into you was obscene. And in your mind every inch he pushed after that thrust had one though going through your head:
There's more?!
"Oh God…"
That made Steve chuckle. "Just me, baby."
"Is— is it all in?" Your voice trembled, and if you had a mirror you'd see Steve's evil smirk as he dragged your wrists down to where your bodies connected, arching your back and hurting you with the stretch, only to wrap your delicate hands around what was left of him.
"Barely half." He grunted.
You whimpered, both in fear and anticipation, and Steve took the queue to push the rest of the way through, until your hand was flat on his pelvis, and then he let you rest against the mattress again.
"So fucking good." He gave a couple tentative thrusts. "Can feel you gripping me like you don't wanna let me go."
You moaned at the feel of him hitting that sweet spot inside of you, making your eyes roll. "So— hah! Good, Steve…"
After he felt your pussy get used to the size of him, that when he really stopped playing nice.
You could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the length of him pulsing and pulsing inside of you, throbbing against the spongy spot that made you see stars.
“Steve, please, please let me—“
Another harsh thrust interrupted you. “Tell me the truth then.”
You whimpered. The bastard was really going to make you admit it.
As you tried to think through it, brainless as you were, he slowed down, and down, until you could feel the pulse of his cock inside of you just as he could feel your walls flutter around him.
You whimpered, cheeks blushing at the thought. “I was jealous! I was jealous, okay?!” You pushed your hips into him, chasing friction harder, deeper.
“She thought she could have you and— and—“ He picked up the pace, your brain mush as your neck strained to keep your voice from being muffled. “And you’re my— Oh— oh my God!”
“Yeah?” Steve leaned over you, fingers finding your clit with ease. “I’m your what?”
You could cry. You could cry right no— oh you had tears streaming from your eyes onto the bedding. “Steve…”
His eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“That’s right, I’m your Steve.” His fingers picked up speed as did his hips, lips kissing your shoulder blade. “Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock.”
“Mmmmngghhh—“ your vision went white, your body clenching tight around him and pulsing, as your moans got drowned out outside by the fireworks still going.
Steve slammed his hips deeper into you, to the point of almost painful, muttering curse words in sequence of “fuck, fuck, fuck.” until you felt him spill thick ropes of cum inside of you, filling you up until it dripped onto the floor.
As you both caught your breaths, you heard the wet schlick of him pulling out, dropping himself on the bed with a bounce.
After a minute, you spoke. "There's gonna be so much paperwork to explain all this..."
He looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, turning to you with that boyish smile of his, sheen coat of sweat on his chest and hairline. “Got time for a couple more rounds before all that. You tapped out?”
You smirked at him, using your arms to push yourself up, hands on his chest for leverage as you straddled him, slick pussy on top of his hardening cock.
“I could do this all day, Cap.”
final thoughts: this started as me and Maddie just thirsting over the shower scene, and then... yeah... heh
You’re laying on top of your bed reading your favorite book, you’re so immersed in the fictional world you don’t hear the click of your door open, your boyfriend just came home from a long day at the office. Having to be professional all day has always exhausted him and you know exactly how he likes to unwind, you jump slightly as you come back to reality at the touch of his fingers on the back of your bare thigh, “shh, it’s just me baby,” his deep voice instantly soothes your nerves.
Goosebumps form all over your body as his hands wander up, he palms your ass through your skirt before lifting it up to expose your bare ass, a soft breath falls from his lips, “such a good girl, always keeping yourself accessible.” He praises, noting your lack of under garments. “Looks like that little pussy is already wet for me.” You hear the soft thud of his knees hitting the floor and can’t help but let out a soft yelp as he pulls your lower half towards the edge of the bed. You can feel your clit throbbing with anticipation as his breath ghosts across your aching core, that book you were reading is long forgotten.
A needy whimper leaves your mouth as his tongue makes contact with your cunt, your legs tremble from the immediate pleasure that courses through your body, the vibrations of his hums of satisfaction sends shocks of pleasure to your clit. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, my favorite meal.” He says against your flesh and begins to devour your core with hunger, your brain completely turns off as your body is taken over by pleasure. His tongue knows your body better than you do, every little flick sends you closer to the edge. You reach around and grip a handful of his hair as you feel yourself start to come, your whole body shakes violently when you go over the edge. He holds you steady as he finishes lapping up your juices before slowly pulling back, “I needed that, baby, thank you.” He says softly and places a soft kiss on your ass cheek before pulling your skirt back down, standing up, and getting on the bed beside you.
⁀➷ Beneath the Bubbles // Poly!Marauders x F!Reader
Summary: A playful bet between her three boyfriends turns an innocent pool day with friends into a secret game of distraction, control, and quiet desperation—and she has no idea she’s the prize.
Requested by: @fictionalgoddess -- thank you so so much for this request! I absolutely loved writing this, I hope you enjoy!
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom marauders, sub reader, big dick!Remus (!!), public sex, cockwarming, praise kink, teasing, size kink (!), dirty talk
Words: 3.1k
my masterlist 📚
AO3 Link
The bag sitting by your family's fireplace had been packed and ready for days. It had also been packed and repacked multiple times to help pass the time.
“Why so glum, love? Only another ten minutes.”
You tried to fake a smile as you stared down at the two-way mirror in your hand, staring at Sirius's relaxed expression. He was lying in bed, arm behind his head, and hair curling over his forehead. The mirror was a creation of Sirius and James. It was initially used to talk while Sirius was home with his hellish parents; however, now that he was living at the Potter mansion, you were the safekeeper of the mirror.
It had been great over the last couple of days when missing your boyfriends, though Remus’ face was still one that you needed to see, missing the sound of his calming voice.
Now, you were becoming unsettled. You wanted to be in their arms, smell their bodies, and feel the warmth of their skin rubbing against yours.
“Ten minutes is a long time,” you explain with a defeated tone, shoulders hunching over from where you’re waiting on your sofa.
“Aww Darling, I know it is. But it’ll be worth it, and we’ve to make sure Moony gets here first so you both don’t clash in the Floo Network. I don’t want to risk your pretty little head.”
“Hmm.”
You’re being grumpy, but really, you’re excited. Seven days seems like such a short amount of time to be away from your boyfriends in the grand scheme of things, but having been at Hogwarts for months, waking in their arms, constantly being attached to one of them, it was easy to fall into a comfortable routine.
Sleep had been difficult to come by, and the amount of masturbating you’d been doing was probably unhealthy. But once again, you were going to put it down to the fact that you’d been having sex with three men daily, and now, you had an enormous appetite for all things pleasurable.
“PADS HURRY UP! MOONY IS HERE!” came the distant shout of James in the background, where Sirius was.
“Coming!” he shouts with a handsome grin, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he sits up on his bed. “See, I told you it wouldn’t take long, Darling. Safe travels, see you in a couple of minutes. Say hi to your parents for me.”
“Will do! See you soon!” you say with rejuvenated motivation. Rushing from the sofa, you say your goodbyes to your parents and collect the bag you’d been staring at for too long.
You’ve barely had the chance to step out of the green flames in the Potter’s dining room before you are wrapped in a blur of bronze skin, wild hair and frantic voices.
James was the first to tackle-hug you, arms circling your waist as he picks you up and spins in a circle as you cling to his neck. “You’re here! Finally!”
You laughed even as your feet planted back onto the floor again, only to be pulled away by Sirius, who practically buried his face into your neck, fingers digging into the back of your shirt as your hands moved into his hair. “A week without you? Torture, Honey. I almost set fire to the Potters’ kitchen again to feel something.”
“I thought you said seven days wasn’t that long!” you exclaim, looking back into his pouting face.
“Fine, I lied. I missed you every single second. " With a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, he finally releases you to allow the tallest Marauder his reunion.
Remus steps forward, calmer as always compared to James and Sirius, but you could see in his eyes how they softened when he looked you over. His jaw had a subtle clench like he’d been holding something in all week. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped up, taking your face carefully in his big hands, and kissed you slowly, steadily, and so full of longing that your knees nearly gave out.
“Hi,” you whisper as he pulls back, in a daze and breathless.
“Hi, love.”
When I was back with them, everything fell back into place—the laughter, the comfort, the safety. It was just right. However, James’ parents were only away for the weekend, so the four of you took the opportunity of an empty, beautiful home to host a little gathering with your friends.
An hour later, the mansion is buzzing with life. Lily and Marlene have brought drinks, Dorcas, Mary, and Alice are setting up the music on the back patio, and Frank has thrown pool floaties everywhere.
James’ parents' house was always breathtakingly beautiful, no matter how many times you visited. Despite its size, it still felt homely, thanks to Mrs Potter’s effort. The garden was truly the prize, with freshly cut green grass that stretched for acres, surrounded by a thick forest. More towards the house is a sizable pool, with a hot tub to one side that bubbled away, and a patio that stretched the width of the house.
You were lounging in one of James’ quidditch shirts, your bikini underneath, leaning against Sirius on a pool chair while he ran his fingers up and down your arm. Remus sat beside the two of you with a book, one hand always resting on your thigh, which was pulled into his lap.
James, meanwhile, had energy to burn. He was shirtless and loud, tossing a quaffle with Frank, and flexing his arms and abs every time he caught your admiring eye.
“I’ve decided”, James announces loudly, making sure he’s heard over the music, grinning. “I’m the hottest person here.”
“Not even close, “Sirius deadpanned, leaning over to take a sip from your drink. “Look at this face.” He points at his own smug expression.
“Look at her face, “Remus interrupts, not looking up from his book. “Much better view.”
Your face warms immediately as you pull your shirt collar up to hide your face, and the others laugh at your embarrassed response.
Hours later, after sharing the butterbeer, a failed BBQ attempt ends with charred food, and pizzas are ordered instead. Everyone is having a good time, catching up on each other's summers, giggling, laughing, and singing. The sun has since set, and the floating orange lights gently illuminate the back garden, aided by the now roaring fire. It’s a memorable evening with friends.
You didn’t think twice as Remus began to pull on your clasped hand, dragging your body towards the hot tub portion of the pool.
“We’ll only be a minute”, Remus calls over his shoulder to where the others were dancing around the fire. “She’s cold.”
You thought it was an odd excuse considering that Remus had perfectly kept you warm as you rested in his arms, laughing at your friends, but you went along with him, glad to have some quiet time with him.
After removing James’ shirt from your body, Remus helps you into the warm, bubbling water. The water was surprisingly loud, and you struggled to hear your friends even if they were only a couple of meters away. Remus then eases himself in, sitting on the bench in the tub, pulling your body into his lap.
Sighing into the touch, your fingers dig into his forearms, which curl against your waist as his chin rests against your shoulder. It was calm and serene, and you could still catch a hint of his aftershave over the chlorine.
The dainty touch of his lips against your shoulder causes a full-body shimmer, despite not being cold. Remus smiles against your skin, moving further up the slope of your neck as you tilt your face towards him.
Your noses brush together as you tune his arms. You lean in to close the final distance, but he holds himself back. “I want you to keep looking in the direction of our friends. Do you think you can do that?”
Biting your lip, you hum in response, turning back to your friends. You notice Sirius and James moving animatedly now, whilst the others are resting on the seats surrounding the fire.
“I missed you,” Remus speaks into your ear, his voice just above a whisper so that you could hear over the noise of the hot tub machine. “I’ve missed your voice, your smell, those little giggles when you’re embarrassed. It feels like I’ve been lost with you.”
The words had emotions soon rising as you wiggle in his lap, trying to hold onto him tighter, needing to feel his entire body on yours.
With one arm still secured around your waist, the other moved to the inside of your knee, helping each of your legs onto the outside of his thighs. As he stretched out, your legs spread, and your upper body slumped back against his chest, until the waterline reached up to your collarbones.
“And I know you’ve missed us, haven’t you? Sirius told me about your late-night chats, my poor needy girl,” Remus continues, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear. Your body shivers once more for an entirely different reason now as you think back to those nights when Sirius had talked you through touching yourself using the two-way mirror.
“Tell me, Sweetheart, do you want me to look after you? I think you’ve been patient enough these last seven days. Let me help you.”
Swallowing hard, you nod.
“Use your words, Love.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
You’d expected his fingers, maybe some teasing strokes–but what you didn’t expect was the way he shifted beneath you, the slow grind of his hips, the subtle press of his hard cock beneath the water.
“Remus,” you breathe, eyes darting toward your friends. Laughter. Singing. James is yelling about the rules in a game while Sirius attempts to do a cartwheel, dangerously close to the fire.
No one was looking.
And Remus was easing his shorts lower on his hips.
The bubbling water distorted the view, so if anyone did look over, they wouldn’t necessarily see that his swim shorts were just pulled down enough that his cock was freed.
“Got to stay nice and still for me, can you do that?” Remus encouraged as his fingers ghost along the seam of your bikini bottoms.
“Yes, sir.”
The rush of water against your bare pussy was comforting for a moment. Then Remus’s bare cock is sliding between your thighs. Thick. Hot. Heavy.
And so fucking big.
Remus hears your quick breath as his thumb brushes comfortingly against your side. “I know,” he said softly, already moving your hips so that he’s able to press the tip of his cock to your clenching hole. “I know how much it hurts, baby. You always need a minute to take me.”
Because he was he biggest, Sirius may be the wildest. James might be the loudest. But Remus? The man was obscene.
He was the one who went last when you were all intimate together, had to go last, because you’d be too sore for anyone else after. You swore it didn’t even make sense how he fit, how he stretched you so wide, you were surely the evidence of his cock would bulge your tummy.
And now, with your friends just a few feet away, he was sliding inside you.
Slowly. Deeply. Until your walls burn, clenching in a way that makes it feel like your body was trying to push him out of you because it was just too much.
“F-fuck,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms as your eyes flutter close, legs moving to shut on instinct, but his thighs keep them open.
“You can take it,” he encouraged, kissing your cheek sweetly. “You always do. Just sit pretty, Sweetheart. That’s it. Take every inch for me. Keep those eyes open for me, nice and quiet.”
Your eyes widened as you looked back towards your friend, now able to hear Sirius and James shouting at their friends jokingly.
You couldn’t move. Not with the stretch, the perfect and devastating stretch, pinning you open, gaping, holding you still.
Remus didn’t thrust. Didn’t pump his hips, just simply stayed inside of you. Deep and full. And already you were aching.
“You’re stuffed so tight, huh? Squeezing my cock like it’s your lifeline, Love. Bet they’d all know if they looked over what’s inside of you, there’s no hiding that pretty little face when you’ve just been fucked.”
Remus, as passive and laidback as he was with most day-to-day activities, was in charge of sex and relationships. Whether it was with you, Sirius, or James, he was the leader, giving orders, making sure you’re all in the right headspace to keep going, and that aftercare was enough.
It was challenging to stay still and quiet. Even if you weren’t sure that you’d have the energy to move up and down on his big cock, even just not squirming in his hold was difficult to do.
Seemingly reading your mind, Remus speaks firmly, “I’m not going to fuck you, I don’t want to break you, Love. I just want to reward you. I’ve missed being inside of you. So that’s what we’re going to do. With all of our friends just over there, we are going to sit here, me inside you, nice and deep, whilst you get all wet and desperate for me.”
You were already ruined, needy, clenching repeatedly around the thickest cock you’d ever taken.
“Look at you, taking all of me without making noise. I’m so proud of you.”
Those praises had you feeling lighter, as if your body were made of clouds, ready to float away.
“JAMES, YOU CANNOT THROW A BEER AT ME MID-BACKFLIP–”
“OH I ABSOLUTELY CAN SIRIUS–LOOK MARLENE, WATCH THIS!-”
Your boyfriends were being obnoxiously loud, captivating your friends' attention, and you’re so fucking thankful for this.
Warming his cock with your pussy, you eventually run out of energy, slumping further back in his hold. To anyone else, it would look like you’re falling asleep in his arms, but Remus knew it was because you were exhausted from teetering on the edge of orgasm for so long.
You were too full, too hot, too aware of Remus pulsing inside you, his cock thick and unmoving, buried to the hilt. Every breath, little shift, made you clench down violently in a helpless reaction.
He knew you were balancing on that very limit. Your thighs were trembling nonstop, the fierce dig of your nails calming but only because your energy was directed to your cunt, to the muscles that were pulsing and clenching around his dick.
“Please,” you finally whimpered, tilting your head to lean back against his shoulder, face nuzzling into his neck. “Remus, sir, I can’t-”
“You can”, he gently rubs soft circles along your stomach. “You’ve been doing so well. You just need a little push, don’t you?”
You nod desperately, never having been so wound up before in your life.
Then you felt it, his fingers dipping between your thighs, resting heavily against your clit. There was hardly any movement, just a subtle nudge, but it was enough to send you flying.
You choked on a gasp, biting on the inside of your cheek painfully. The orgasm was blinding, hot, your body quaking and clenching down. Your breath stuttered, your orgasm rolling through you like a slow, devastating tide with each squeeze of your internal muscles.
“Good girl, my best girl. There it is. Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”
Your head is spinning by the time you can catch your breath. The ache between your legs now from the emptiness as Remus eases out, having found his quiet release whilst you were holding on for dear life.
The others were still laughing, loud and clueless, as Remus readjusted both of your swimsuits.
Later, when you are wrapped in a fluffy towel, cuddled against the patio sofa with your cheeks still hot to the touch and legs wobbling. James plopped beside you, arm curving around your shoulder until you’re pulled against his chest.
“You good, baby?” he asks casually, giving you a comforting squeeze.
Tilting your face up to stare at his, you answer, “Y-Yeah.”
Irius sat on your other side, his hand resting on your thigh, grinning like he could see into your soul. “You looked like you saw Merlin himself over there.”
Your eyes widened. “I- what?”
“You came, baby”, Sirius said with a low, teasing laugh. “We saw.”
Your face lit up in horror, but before you could bolt, assuming that it meant that all of your friends saw the same thing, James reached out and gently tugged your towel tighter around you.
“Relax,” he cooed. “They didn’t notice. Not the way we did.”
Remus walks up just in time, handing you a bottle of water and a couple of blocks of chocolate.
“You said no one would notice,” you hiss, your voice filled with embarrassment.
Remus squats down, smirking before kissing your head. “They didn’t.”
“But they did,” you say, nodding your head towards James and Sirius on either side of you.
“Oh, Darling,” Sirius purrs, squeezing his arm under your knees and pulling your body into his lap. “How could we not?”
“You were absolutely fucked out,” James teases, moving closer to your back that now faced him. “All dazed, little pout on your lips, still clenching your thighs together like you are trying to hold him in.”
“And let’s be honest, only Remus’ cock could do that to you. Our girl always looks ruined after he’s been inside her.” Sirius kisses your temple as his arms tighten around you.
“You’re not the only one who needs comfort after him,” James adds with a wicked grin.
“Oh my god,” you groan, hiding your face in Sirius’ shoulder.
“Don’t listen to their teasing, Love. You were perfect,” Remus reassured.
You peek at him through your lashes. But James’ cheeky face pops into your eyesight as he leans over your shoulder. “Okay, so small confession time.”
Sirius chuckles as Remus rolls his eyes. “There was a bet. Remus had to make you cum without anyone noticing, so Sirius helped to keep the others distracted.”
Your jaw dropped, “You what?”
“You won,” Sirius said proudly. “You were so good for him, Darling. Took him so deep, didn’t even move. And then when you had to hide your face as you were cumming, just beautiful!”
“I hate you all,” you declare into Sirius’ chest, where you were hiding your face.
“Do you though?” Remus asks as his hand massages your thigh. “You looked very happy sitting on my cock.”
Your face feels impossibly hot, but you don’t move from Sirius’s lap. You just sigh softly as one of them kisses your forehead.
“Love you,” James murmurs as he leans against your shoulder.
“Love you too.” Because even if they were smug little shits, you were happy and content being in their arms.
description: everyone in hawkins thinks you and eddie munson are already married. honestly? you can’t even blame them. between the shared garage, the constant flirting, and the way he cannot help but stare, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend there’s nothing going on between you.
pairing: mechanic!eddie x mechanic!reader (fem!reader)
tags: mechanic!eddie, eddie x you, no y/n, coworkers to lovers, unresolved sexual tension (until...), small town romance, flirtationship, mechanic core aftercare, old married couple energy, fucking on a '67 impala, workplace romance, tension tension tension, whimpering eddie, teasing each other mercilessly
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!!!, PiV, unprotected, needy eddie
WC: 4.1k
A/N: requested by my beloved @bitterestwillow I HOPE YOU ENJOY QUEEN AHHHHHHH. reblogs are a writer's best friend <3
yes, i had to use this gif for this fic...it does something to me idk......
The bell above the garage door jingled as Mrs. Patterson dug through her purse for her checkbook, glasses sliding halfway down her nose, while you leaned against the counter with a rag tucked into your back pocket.
“So,” you said, tapping the invoice with your pen, “the rattling sound was your serpentine belt. Thing was practically shredded.”
The elderly woman gasped softly. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, but you caught it before it snapped completely, which is good. We replaced the belt, topped off your coolant, changed the oil, and Eddie patched that little leak underneath your radiator.” You smiled reassuringly. “She’s good as new now.”
Beside her, Mr. Patterson squinted out toward the garage floor where the familiar sound of classic rock echoed through the open bays. “Which one’s Eddie again?”
Almost on cue, Eddie emerged from beneath a lifted pickup truck with grease smeared across his cheek and curls shoved back with a bandana.
Sweat darkened the collar of his black tank top, coveralls hanging around his hips, while he carried over a sweating tray of lemonade cups.
“There you are,” he said, setting them carefully on the counter. “It’s too damn hot outside not to hydrate.”
Mrs. Patterson practically lit up. “Well, aren’t you sweet?”
“Tell her that more often,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward you. “She’s mean to me.”
You rolled your eyes. “I told you to stop using the good shop towels to wipe down your van.”
“They’re towels.”
“They are expensive towels.”
Mr. Patterson laughed under his breath while Eddie handed them their drinks with an exaggerated flourish.
“Anything for my favorite customers.”
Mrs. Patterson smiled fondly at him before looking back toward you. “That husband of yours is such a gentleman.”
You nearly choked on your own spit.
Eddie froze for exactly one second before slowly turning toward you with the most insufferable grin imaginable.
“Oh?” he said. “You hear that, sweetheart?”
“Oh my God,” you muttered immediately.
The poor woman looked horrified. “Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed—”
“No, no,” Eddie cut in smoothly, leaning against the counter. “Please continue. This is the best day of my life.”
You shot him a glare while he looked seconds away from laughing himself unconscious.
Mrs. Patterson pointed knowingly between the two of you. “You’ve got the look.”
“What look?” you asked suspiciously.
“The ‘been in love for years’ look.”
Eddie outright cackled. You grabbed the invoice and shoved it toward them. “Okay! Your total is—.”
The elderly couple left smiling to themselves while Eddie leaned against the counter, watching you with entirely too much amusement. The second the door shut behind them, he pushed off the counter and followed you toward the office.
“Husband, huh?” he mused.
“Don’t start.”
“I personally think it has a nice ring to it.”
You dropped into the squeaky office chair with a dramatic groan. “You’re unbearable.”
Eddie leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “And yet you keep having me back every morning.”
“You work here.”
“Semantics.”
“Hey,” Eddie said suddenly.
You looked up, and he tossed something shiny toward you, and you barely caught it before it hit your face. Your keys, the little keychain Dustin made you years ago, swung between your fingers.
“You left ‘em by the toolbox again.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “Thanks.”
“Mmhm,” he hummed smugly. “Good thing your husband’s lookin’ out for you.”
You pointed toward the door. “Get out.”
Instead of leaving, Eddie just grinned wider, sunlight pouring in behind him from the open garage bays.
“Say it once.”
“No.”
“C’mon, sweetheart. Just one little ‘thank you, my husband.’”
You threw a balled-up receipt at his head while his laughter rang through the entire garage.
By noon, the July heat had turned the garage into a furnace.
Every bay door was rolled open, old fans rattling uselessly in the corners while the smell of motor oil, hot pavement, and cigarette smoke clung heavily in the air.
Foreigner blasted low from the radio perched near Eddie’s toolbox, occasionally cutting out whenever someone used the compressor.
You were bent over the hood of a Mustang, wiping grease from your hands while talking to a customer, your laugh carrying across the shop floor. And across said shop floor, Eddie was staring. Not subtly, either.
Steve had noticed immediately, mostly because Eddie had been holding the exact same wrench for nearly three minutes without moving.
Steve slowly lowered his sandwich. “Jesus Christ.”
“Hm?” Eddie hummed absently.
“You are down catastrophically bad.”
That got Eddie to blink. “What?”
Steve pointed dramatically across the garage where you were explaining something with animated hand gestures, sunlight catching the sheen of sweat on your skin.
“You’ve been staring at her this entire time.”
Eddie scoffed, finally looking away. “I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been holding that wrench upside down.”
Eddie glanced down, and sure enough, he was.
“Shut up.”
Steve barked out a laugh and leaned back in the lawn chair they’d dragged outside for Eddie's lunch break. It was honestly kind of ridiculous to witness at this point.
Everyone in Hawkins knew something was going on between the two of you, except apparently the two of you.
The lingering touches, the teasing, the way Eddie always magically appeared beside you whenever some asshole customer got too flirty.
The way you unconsciously reached for his cigarettes to steal one straight from his mouth…and the constant staring, especially the staring.
Steve watched Eddie’s eyes drift right back over toward you again.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “There he goes again.”
Eddie ignored him completely. You’d just looked up from the engine bay, pushing hair from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and the second your eyes met Eddie’s from across the garage, you smiled.
It was quick, maybe two milliseconds, but enough to make Eddie smile back immediately without even realizing it. Steve made a loud fake gagging noise.
Eddie finally tore his eyes away. “What is your problem?”
Steve stared at him incredulously. “Dude. I genuinely thought you two would be married by now.”
Eddie choked on his drink. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Like three years ago, I would've put money on it.”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, trying very hard to act unaffected while heat crept up beneath the grease on his cheeks.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Hasn’t happened.”
“Why not?”
Eddie began to argue, but froze up. Because honestly? He didn’t fucking know.
Somewhere along the way, the flirting had become second nature. So had the late nights at the garage together. So had sharing fries at the diner after closing. So, had you climbing into the passenger seat of his van without asking. So had you wearing his flannels whenever the shop got cold in winter.
It had all become so normal that crossing the line felt weirdly terrifying. Steve watched the gears turning in Eddie’s head and sighed dramatically.
“You’re both idiots.”
“Says you.”
“I’m serious.” Steve pointed between him and you across the garage. “She might as well have personally invented beer by the way you stare at her. It’s honestly kinda sad, man.”
Eddie snorted. “That’s dramatic.”
Steve deadpanned, “You literally stopped mid-cigarette yesterday because she walked by in shorts.”
“That is such a lie!”
“It is the truth.”
Before Eddie could argue, your voice cut across the garage.
“Munson!” Both men looked over.
You stood beside the Mustang with your hands on your hips. “You gonna come help me, or are you too busy staring at me again?”
Steve immediately burst into obnoxious laughter while Eddie nearly dropped his beer. And from the way you smirked before ducking back under the hood, you absolutely knew what you were doing.
The next morning was somehow even hotter.
By ten a.m., the air inside the garage already felt thick enough to chew through, every fan working overtime while the sun beat down through the open bay doors. You had your coveralls tied around your waist, a cropped tank clinging to your skin with sweat, as you worked under the hood of a Jeep.
And Eddie was being an absolute menace. It started innocent enough; he’d complained dramatically about the heat for twenty minutes straight before finally yanking his shirt over his head with a frustrated, “I’m gonna die in this godforsaken town.”
You had looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Because suddenly there was just, Eddie. Shirtless. Hair tied back messily at the nape of his neck. Grease streaked across his stomach and chest. Dog tag and guitar pic hanging against tan skin. His jeans slung low on his hips while he wiped sweat from the back of his neck with a rag.
And the worst part? The asshole noticed immediately. You looked away so fast you nearly smacked your head against the underside of the hood. From somewhere across the garage, you heard another mechanic whistle loudly.
“Ohhhh,” he sang. “How the tables have turned.”
“Shut up, Mark,” you muttered.
Eddie, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself. For the next hour, he became absolutely insufferable. Needlessly stretching, standing too close, asking you to hand him tools he absolutely could’ve reached himself.
At one point, he bent over the engine bay beside you, and you caught the smell of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and his cologne and nearly forgot your own name.
“Wrench?” he asked casually, but you evidently handed him the wrong one.
Eddie bit back a grin. “Sweetheart, this is a screwdriver.”
Heat flooded your face. From behind him, Mark made an obnoxious gagging noise, and you narrowed your eyes.
Fine. If Eddie wanted to play this game? Two could absolutely play. Play a stupid game, win a stupid prize, right?
About twenty minutes later, Eddie was halfway underneath a truck when he heard your laugh ring across the garage.
That’s not unusual. However, what was unusual was the guy you were laughing with. Some customer leaned against the front counter while you smiled up at him, twirling a socket wrench lazily between your fingers.
Eddie immediately rolled himself out from under the truck on the creeper.
“What’s that?” Mark asked innocently from nearby.
“Nothing,” Eddie muttered.
“Looks like jealousy.”
“Not jealous.”
“Mhm.”
The customer laughed at something you said, briefly touching your arm, which caused Eddie to sit up straighter. Then the asshole smiled.
“Oh,” Mark murmured. “He’s flirting.”
Eddie stood immediately.
Mark burst out laughing. “THERE he is.”
Before Eddie could storm over there and make an idiot of himself, the rumble of an engine pulled into the lot. All three of you looked over automatically, and then Eddie froze.
“No fucking way.”
The car rolling slowly into the garage was gorgeous: black paint gleaming beneath the sunlight, chrome shining, low growl of the engine unmistakable.
A 1967 Chevy Impala. The entire garage seemed to pause.
Even you looked impressed. “Well,” you said softly. “Would you look at that?”
The driver climbed out, explaining something about rough idling and overheating, but Eddie barely heard a word. Because holy shit, it was pristine.
You walked slowly around the car, fingertips dragging lightly over the hood appreciatively. “She’s beautiful.”
And unfortunately for Eddie? The way you said it sounded dangerously similar to the tone you sometimes used with him. Mark caught the look on Eddie’s face and immediately started grinning.
“You alright there, big guy?”
Eddie ignored him entirely, stepping beside you near the Impala. “Think it’s the thermostat,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward you instead of the car.
You glanced up, and there it was again: that stupid tension. Especially when your gaze dipped briefly down his bare chest before snapping back up. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.
“Oh, now who’s staring?” he asked quietly.
You held his gaze for a long second before reaching forward and grabbing the grease rag tucked into the back of his jeans. Eddie blinked, then watched you slowly wipe your grease-covered hands on it while maintaining eye contact.
Mark made a strangled noise somewhere behind him while the customer looked wildly confused. And Eddie? Eddie looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his mind entirely.
By the time the sun finally started setting, the garage had gone quiet.
The OPEN sign in the front window buzzed faintly before Eddie reached up and flicked it off with grease-stained fingers, plunging the office into dim golden light. Outside, cicadas screamed into the warm Indiana night while the last of the heat clung stubbornly to the concrete floors.
Most nights ended like this lately. Just you and Eddie lingering hours after closing, claiming there was still work to finish when really neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.
The Impala sat in the center bay now, hood propped open while you leaned halfway into the engine compartment with a flashlight between your teeth. From the radio near Eddie’s toolbox, a slow rock song crackled softly through static.
And across the garage, Eddie was still shirtless, still. All damn day.
You tightened something with your ratchet a little harder than necessary before finally glancing over toward him. He was bent over the workbench this time, curls falling loose from his hair tie while sweat gleamed across his shoulders under the overhead lights.
Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.
“You know shirts exist for a reason, right?” you called.
Eddie didn’t even look up. “Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
You rolled your eyes, ducking back under the hood. “Pretty sure OSHA would have a field day with you.”
That finally made him laugh. Then you heard the scrape of his boots as they crossed the garage floor. A second later, Eddie appeared beside you, leaning against the Impala with crossed arms.
Still shirtless, and still oh-so-very smug. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like what you see?”
You made the mistake of looking at him fully then. Big mistake, because up close was somehow worse.
Grease streaked across his stomach, forearms flexing where they crossed over each other, and his stupid hair half falling out of the tie from working all day.
Your eyes dipped for half a second too long, and Eddie caught it immediately with a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You do.”
You snapped your gaze back to the engine. “Shut up.”
“Nah.” He leaned closer. “C’mon, tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re sweaty.”
“Thought girls liked that.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Heat crawled up your neck as you tried very hard to focus on the engine instead of the fact that Eddie was standing close enough for his knee to brush yours every few seconds.
“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said softly.
You scoffed. “You wish.”
“You handed me a screwdriver this morning because you were too busy looking at my chest.”
“That happened one time.”
“And then you wiped your hands on my jeans while making eye contact with me like a psychopath.”
A smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. “That was funny.”
“It was hot.”
Your ratchet slipped loudly against the engine, then silence. Then Eddie laughed quietly under his breath. You pointed the flashlight at him threateningly. “Don’t.”
But Eddie just leaned further over the hood beside you until your shoulders bumped.
“You know,” he said casually, “if this is your way of admitting you’re into me, there are easier methods.”
You snorted. “Into you? Please.”
“Sweetheart, half this town thinks we’re married already.”
“That’s because old people are nosy.”
“That’s because you look at me like that.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Eddie’s eyes flicked slowly over your face, enough to make your stomach flip and your face burn pink. “Like you want to kiss me every time I open my mouth.”
Eddie’s grin faltered just slightly when you stepped closer instead of backing away.
“Oh yeah?” you asked lightly.
His eyes flicked over your face. “Yeah.”
You crossed your arms, leaning against the Impala beside him now, shoulder brushing his bare arm. “What about you, huh?”
Eddie blinked once. “What about me?”
“You think I don’t notice?” you continued, voice quieter now. “The staring. Following me around the shop all day?”
“That is not—”
“You literally almost dropped a transmission last month because I called you pretty.”
“That was one time.”
A smile tugged at your mouth. “Mhm.”
Eddie opened his mouth to argue again, but you stepped even closer first, close enough now that he had to tilt his head down to look at you properly. And suddenly, he wasn’t smirking anymore.
Interesting.
“You wanna know what I think?” you murmured.
Eddie swallowed visibly. “What?”
You reached up slowly, fingers hooking around the chain of his dog tags. The sharp inhale he took was immediate.
“Oh, you like this way more than I do.”
His eyes went dark instantly. “Careful,” he said softly.
“Or what?”
Eddie laughed once under his breath, disbelieving almost, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to kill him on purpose. Then, the tension snapped like a fan belt under too much strain.
You tugged harder on Eddie’s dog tags, pulling him down until his mouth crashed into yours. He groaned into the kiss; raw, needy, and immediately pliant.
His hands hovered at your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch, even after years of circling this exact moment. You solved that for him by grabbing his wrists and planting his grease-streaked palms firmly on your ass.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Munson,” you growled against his lips.
Eddie melted. His mouth opened for you instantly, tongue sliding hot and desperate against yours while you backed him up against the Impala’s fender.
He tasted like cigarettes and the beer he definitely should not have had earlier, and he whimpered, actually whimpered, when you bit his bottom lip and sucked it between your teeth.
“Fuck… sweetheart,” he panted when you finally let him breathe. His cock was already straining against the front of his coveralls, obvious and aching. You shoved a hand between you and palmed him roughly through the fabric. Eddie’s hips jerked forward into your grip with a broken sound.
“Close the hood,” you ordered, voice low.
Eddie blinked, dazed. “Wh—”
“Now.”
He scrambled to obey, reaching over and slamming the heavy hood of the Impala shut with a solid thunk that echoed through the empty garage. The second it latched, you pushed him back, hopped up onto the glossy black hood, and spread your legs in invitation.
Your coveralls were already half-off, tank top shoved up, work jeans unbuttoned, and yanked down your thighs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. Eddie’s eyes went wide and dark, pupils blown as he stared at your exposed pussy glistening under the overhead lights.
“On your knees,” you said, hooking a boot behind his shoulder to drag him forward.
He dropped so fast his knees probably bruised on the concrete. The first drag of his tongue was tentative, almost reverent—then you grabbed a fistful of his messy curls and ground against his face, and Eddie moaned like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.
He licked broad and sloppy, sucking your clit between his lips exactly how you liked it once you told him, “Higher—there, fuck, just like that.”
His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, but he never tried to take control. Every time you tugged his hair or rolled your hips, he whimpered gratefully into your cunt and doubled down, tongue fucking into you while his nose rubbed perfect circles against your clit.
Sweat and grease streaked his bare chest; his cock was leaking a wet spot through his coveralls. You came hard on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head as you rode his face through it, moaning his name loud enough that it probably carried out the open bay doors.
Eddie kept licking you through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to stop. When you finally pushed his head back, his chin was shiny with your slick, lips swollen, eyes glassy and adoring.
For a second, you thought he was going to stay soft, sweet, and submissive, but then he grabbed your hips, spun you around, and bent you over the warm hood in one rough motion.
“Eddie—” you started, but he was already kicking your feet apart.
“Please,” he whined, voice cracked and needy as he shoved his coveralls and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It slapped heavily against your ass, dripping wet. “Need to be inside you—fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”
He didn’t give you time to answer. He lined up and pushed in with one desperate thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The broken whimper that tore out of him was pure filth.
“Oh my god—oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he gasped, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His hips jerked forward again, shallow and frantic. “Feels so good… so fucking good—”
You gripped the edge of the hood, moaning as he started fucking you harder. He was still whimpering and panting with every thrust, but he had you pinned now; big hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, cock driving deep and relentless.
“Eddie—shit—”
“I’m sorry, I just—fuck—” He sounded wrecked, voice cracking as he slammed into you again, the car rocking under the force. One hand slid around to rub messy circles over your clit, too desperate to be coordinated, but perfect anyway. “Can’t stop…wanted this for so fucking long—”
You pushed back against him, and he sobbed a moan, pace turning sloppy and needy.
“Please—please let me come inside you,” he begged right in your ear, hips snapping faster. “I’ll be good—I'll be so good for you, just—fuck, I’m so close already—”
You clenched around him on purpose, and his rhythm stuttered, another broken moan spilling out as his cock throbbed inside you.
He came with a loud, shattered moan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside you, shuddering and whimpering through every pulse. Even after he finished, he stayed buried in you, breathing hard against your neck, cock still twitching.
“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “I think I just died.”
You laughed breathlessly and gently tugged his hair. “Good,” you murmured.
You sat on the edge of the workbench, now wrapped loosely in Eddie’s discarded flannel, while he rummaged through one of the lockers near the tiny office bathroom.
“You alive over there?” he called.
“Mhm.”
“Liar. You sound deceased.”
You laughed tiredly, resting your cheek against your shoulder as you watched him move around the shop, half-dressed and still unfairly attractive. Honestly, it should’ve annoyed you more. Instead, your chest felt warm.
Eddie finally turned around, holding a towel triumphantly over his head. “Ha! Told you I left one here.”
“You keep towels at the shop?”
“Sweetheart, sometimes engines explode on me.”
He crossed back over toward you, hair falling loose around his face again now that the tie had disappeared somewhere in the chaos.
Up close, you noticed how pink his cheeks still were, how his lips looked swollen from the relentless eating and hungry kisses.
“C’mon,” he said gently, nudging your knee apart so he could stand between them. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
The bathroom attached to the office was tiny and honestly kind of terrible. Half the lightbulbs buzzed, the water pressure sucked, and the shower curtain had little motor oil stains near the bottom from years of mechanics rinsing off after long shifts. Still, with Eddie in there with you somehow, it felt strangely intimate.
You stood beneath the spray, rinsing soap from your arms while Eddie sat on the little built-in ledge beside you, lazily rubbing shampoo through your hair with surprising gentleness.
“There’s no way you know how to do this,” you mumbled.
“I’m multi-talented.”
“You use dish soap on your hair sometimes.”
“That is slander.”
You snorted softly while he carefully worked his fingers through the ends of your hair. His touch slowed after a minute, fingertips brushing lightly along the back of your neck.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
The softness in his voice caught you off guard, and you turned slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Then he reached forward, wiping a little mascara smudge from beneath your eye with his thumb. “Pretty girl,” he murmured.
You leaned against the tile wall while Eddie stood close enough for the warm water to run down both of you at once. Then, after a long, quiet moment, he grinned suddenly.
“So.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “What?”
“You think fucking on an Impala counts as our first date?”
anywayy... hope you all enjoyed ;) dean winchester fic coming later today if you're interested MUAHAHAHA
yousharknotpass
2087
gamechangershow
amandla
areudirty
izzy806
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
titsay
