26, female Sometimes I'm a writer, when the mood strikes right. Love all things Marvel. Always down for a good gushing about my favorites 😍😋 I repost a lot of my favorite fics! #America'sAss #chriscrisis #EvansEveryday #RennerforPresident #StanforStan #Buckyislife #TomHollandisliterallymywholeheart #PeterParkerPlease
Summary You share something with Dean that an ex used to say to you. Leave it to a Winchester to tickle the truth out of you. Kind of literally.
CWs Dean being his most charming self. Casual sex. Dumb exes. Squirting. Dean talkin' filth. Lots and lots of bodily fluids. POV: reader
18+. 1.6k words
AN Something short and sweet to start us off! Welcome, my darlings! ❤️
Smutober prompt Squirting
Smutober masterlist ⏐ Dean Winchester masterlist
“And that’s the thing,” witness number 5 says, not bothering to keep his gaze off your cleavage even for a second. “I like a chick who’s insatiable. Who wants to keep going even after we’ve gone over and over, you know?” He chuckles, looking into your eyes for the first time.
“Uh huh,” you say, wondering how the hell you got from talking about the last time anybody saw the victim alive to talking about this asshole’s preference in regards to chicks. Remember what Sam said, you tell yourself. Punching witnesses bad. Punching witnesses bad. Punching witnesses–
“A wild cat, kinda,” he continues and you need to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes and relocating his nose a couple inches deeper into his head. “Just can’t get enough, the little –”
“And that’ll be all, Mr., uhm…” you say, looking down at your notes. “Ambrose. Thanks for the info.” You throw a look over his shoulder at Dean, but not quickly enough to miss the douchebag in front of you fucking winking.
Four hours later, and you’re throwing your head back to down another shot. The glass lands on the table with a loud thud, and you suppress a violent burp.
“Jesus Christ!” you groan over the loud music being played in the bar, bringing up your hand to brush it over your forehead. “What is wrong with these people?”
Dean pushes your new beer towards you and you reach for it, shaking your head.
“They get someone who listens to them and they think you’re their shrink,” Dean says, taking a sip from his own beer.
“But still, they just tell on themselves,” you say, the mask of disgust slowly turning into a grin. You lean forward, one arm going out to steady yourself a little. Maybe the last two shots were a bit of a mistake. “This one guy, the sleazy one? He told me…”
You laugh, feeling some heat rise to your cheeks, but this is Dean. If anyone’s gonna love this story, it’s him.
“He told me all the women he has sex with are insatiable,” you continue, dramatically emphasizing the last word. “No matter how many rounds they went. Or he went, I guess.”
Dean’s eyebrows go up and the corners of his mouth quirk up in one of those endlessly charming smiles he has.
“Is that right?” he says, his voice all scratchy and curious.
“Yeah,” you say, regaining some of your composure. “I have this feeling he was getting insatiable and unsatisfied mixed up.” Dean scoffs, then chuckles.
“Some people just love oversharing,” he says, lips pouty. “Or maybe that’s what he was into? Like those guys that like it when you laugh at their dicks?” Now it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows.
“Dean!” you say and he laughs, evidently loving that he was able to surprise you. You shake your head, pick at the label on your bottle. “Well, can’t ever do it right, that’s what I learned. As a woman, I mean. Either you’re not coming often enough, or you’re too fast or too slow or you’re too loud, too… enthusiastic.”
Dean’s just taking a sip of his beer and he puts the bottle down with a frown.
“Sweetheart,” he says, “I don’t think there’s a man on this planet would complain about that last one.” You give an awkward chuckle, shift around on your stool.
“You’d be surprised,” you mutter, brushing some hair behind your ear, looking down at the table. You only look up when you notice Dean leaning back. He’s studying you, an unreadable expression on his face.
“You’re serious?” he says. “What kind of douchebag–”
“My ex,” you interrupt him. Maybe you really shouldn’t have had those two last shots, but damn, it feels good to talk to someone about it. “He found it off-putting, said I got too…”
You look into Dean’s eyes and he’s looking back and all of a sudden, it feels like there’s something in the air between you, something fiery and heated, like a gas leak someone held a match to, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Could be the shots. Could be, well, just Dean.
“Wet,” you finish what you were saying. Dean’s eyes narrow just the tiniest bit, and then there’s that smile again.
“Not gonna lie,” he says, voice a little lower as he leans in again. “But I’m kinda itchin’ to see that for myself.”
Dean rolls the two of you so you’re on top of him and you push yourself up, hands on his chest, before you continue fucking yourself down on him at the same pace he just picked - which is fast and relentless. There’s loud, desperate sounds coming from your throat every time Dean’s cock hits that magical spot inside you, and for the first time in you can’t remember how long, you’re simply letting them out.
Dean’s not faring much better. He’s vocal, and you had no idea he would be, but it’s a damn nice surprise. One of his hands is on your hip, the other traveling up your side, squeezing the skin. He looks down at where he’s appearing and disappearing inside of you, his mouth dropping open.
“Jesus, fuck, darlin’,” he pants, then looks back up at your face. “You’re fuckin’ drenching me. Fuckin’ sexy.”
You moan loudly, your head dropping back again as another orgasm shakes your body, your toes curling, muscles trembling.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you cry out as all of you convulses, Dean groaning loudly under you as you keep riding him to prolong your release.
“Sit up, sit up,” he says, just as you’re coming down and your brain barely has the capacity to understand him, and it definitely doesn’t have the capacity to question him, so you do. Dean’s cock slips out of you and just as you’re wondering what the hell he’d want to go and do that for, Dean’s hand moves and then two thick fingers are pressing into you.
You see the tension in his underarm, the tendons and muscles playing, the strength there, and then you don’t see anything because you need to lean your head back and close your eyes as Dean fingerfucks you hard and fast, basically assaulting your g-spot. You nearly scream when another orgasm rips through you, and this time you feel it under you, the wetness, the spread, the all of it, as your stomach clenches and a volley of broken whines leaves you while your brain goes postal. But rather than express the disgust you expect, Dean seems to love it.
“Oh shit,” he presses out as you drop your head forward, try to focus on him, “you’re so fucking gorgeous. That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” Your brain is pretty much mush and you try to lower yourself again, but it’s impossible with how your legs have turned to jello. Dean sits up, quickly, toned muscles moving under sweaty skin, and wraps an arm around you, flips you around. Your back meets the mattress, your head hanging off the side and then Dean pushes into your sopping pussy again and goes to town.
Your fingers claw into the thickness of his arms while his other thickness pounds into you. You’re gasping and crying out, no longer chief to your physical reactions. Dean groans loudly over you, then grabs your hip, pushing himself up, switching to smooth, deep, rolled thrusts that make you whimper.
“Look at that,” he says, and blinking him into focus is about as hard as, well, as hard as Dean is. You follow his gaze, see it’s going between your legs. “That’s all you, sweetheart. All for me.”
Dean’s cock is glistening with your wetness when he pulls out, only his head remaining inside of you. There’s also, and your insecurity might return at that if Dean hadn’t fucked it right out of you, a white ring of your arousal at the base of his cock, wrapped around it like a crown, shoved there by his relentless fucking.
“Dean,” you whine, but he’s already positioning himself again. He looks down at you, pretty brow glistening, chest heaving.
“Let’s see how loud you can really be,” he says and rams himself into you so hard you see stars.
Ten minutes later, you’re still on your back, but Dean’s lying next to you. You can feel his spendings slowly dripping out of you, and you’re almost certain you’re gonna have to burn those sheets you’re lying on, though they might be too drenched to actually catch fire. Dean is catching his breath, completely out of it, while your heartbeat is still roaring loud in your ears.
He groans, turns his head towards you.
“I think I got third degree burns on my johnson,” he mumbles and you snort, then give a lazy laugh. He smiles at you, looking blissfully fucked-out.
“Tell me about it,” you reply. Dean pushes himself up with a groan, but it’s only to roll closer to you.
“So,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “still feeling insatiable? Or unsatisfied?” You raise your hand, run it over his shoulder and then his back, as far down to his absolutely delectable ass as you can without moving the rest of your buzzing body.
“I’m pretty sure,” you reply, “that was my orgasm contingent for the year.” Dean gives you a broad, proud smile, presses a kiss to your shoulder, which must taste salty.
“Anything else your asscrack of an ex complained about?” he asks and you purse your lips, pretend to think.
“There’s a few things I seem to recall,” you say, voice playful and Dean grins, taking your meaning.
“Alright,” he says, slinging his arm over you and pulling you in. “Rest up. Sounds like we got work to do.”
Summary: It's been the same almost every night since Dean left. You wander the halls of the bunker, feet always carrying you to his closed door. Only tonight? It's open.
Warnings: 18+!, language, angst, cheating, mocking, guilt, pining, smut (dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, fingering, p in v, ass-play kinda, gagging), I think that's all.
Word Count: 4,410
It starts with silence. The kind that swells in old, haunted places—thick with ghosts, thicker still with the things left unsaid.
The bunker was never quiet when Dean was alive. Even asleep, he filled the space—snoring down the hall, boots echoing off stone, laughter ricocheting off walls like a warm, familiar gunshot. But now? Now it's just Sam.
Sam and the weight of all that's missing.
He sleeps restlessly beside you, long limbs tangled in the sheets, one arm slung over your stomach like it's instinct. You've been his anchor for years, since before Lucifer, before Ruby, before the bunker was even carved into your lives. His grief is a living thing now—tucked into his spine, sewn into the dark crescents under his eyes. He doesn't cry. Sam doesn't do that. He burns. Quietly. Patiently. Like a fuse with nowhere to go.
And you love him. God, you do.
You love the way he softens when you brush his hair back. The way his voice cracks when he says your name like it still means safety. The way his fingers find yours in the dark, like maybe you can hold each other together.
But you haven't been sleeping. Not since Dean. Not really.
Because love isn't always enough to quiet the hum beneath your skin. The one that started when the bunker went still. When Dean's door slammed shut. When Sam stopped saying his name with any emotion because the syllable hurt too much on his tongue.
It's been a couple months, maybe more, since Dean disappeared. Since the Mark swallowed him whole and left Sam behind to dig through the wreckage.
He won't call it that. Disappeared. He says gone, like he's coming back. Like he's late, not lost.
But every time Sam leaves to follow another lead—a demon sighting here, a body drained dry there—he comes back heavier. Shoulders hunched. Jaw clenched. A little more wrecked than the time before.
The last time, he came through the war room doors with his arm in a sling and blood crusted in his hair. He wouldn't look at you when you pressed your hands to his chest and asked what happened. Just muttered something about a crossroads deal gone sideways and that he "got what he needed."
You didn't ask what that meant. Not because you didn't want to know. Because you weren't sure you could carry it.
So you kissed his temple and made him tea and sat beside him in bed, letting his weight lean into yours until the tension bled out of his body. He was asleep in minutes.
He always sleeps when he's home now. And you? You stay awake.
Because when he's gone, the bunker is all stone and silence and the sound of your own spiralling thoughts. And when he's here, it's somehow worse. Because you can feel how far away he is—even with his arm around you, even with his head on your chest.
He used to laugh more. God, he used to laugh.
Now, he only talks about Dean. His voice tight. Raw. Like the name alone is a wound.
And you love him. You love him with everything you are. But love doesn't keep the walls from closing in. It doesn't stop your skin from prickling every time you pass Dean's room. It doesn't erase the way your heart beat different when Dean was still here—messy and loud and impossible.
It just makes you feel worse for noticing.
You don't mean to get up. You try, god, you try to just lie there, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of Sam's breathing beside you—soft and even, his body warm under the blankets, pressed into your side like he knows the second you leave, he'll feel it.
But still, you slide out from under his arm like a ghost. Still, you pull his flannel off the back of the chair and slip it over your bare shoulders. Still, you pad barefoot across the bunker floor, silent and aching, like something inside you is pacing the walls of your ribcage.
It's not that you're not tired. It's that you can't rest. Not with all this noise inside your head.
You make your rounds like you always do—through the library, past the war room. Everything's dim, quiet, lit only by the soft golden wash of overhead lamps left on low. Books you've already read sit open-faced on the table. A mug of tea long gone cold. Nothing helps.
Your feet move on their own. They always do. And you know where they're taking you. You always know.
Past the weapons room. Past the corridor where the lights flicker just a little when you breathe too hard. And then—
There it is.
Dean's door. Always shut, still sealed like a tomb. Except tonight, it's not. It's cracked open, just barely. Just enough.
You stop in your tracks, throat going tight. Your heart pounds like it's got something to say—but you don't want to hear it. You should go back to bed. You should lie down with Sam and pretend you didn't notice. Pretend you don't always end up here, standing in front of the last place Dean touched.
But the truth is...
You were always going to stop.
Even when he was alive, there was something about Dean that pulled you off course. Something gravitational. It wasn't like it was with Sam—steady, soft, true. Dean was a fire you kept your hands from, even when your skin ached for the burn.
You never said it out loud. Not even to yourself. Because to name it would've been to shatter everything you'd built. And you loved Sam. You still do. That's the worst part.
But Dean... Dean was something else entirely.
Something dark and sharp-edged and dangerous. Something you only let yourself want in your dreams—the kind that leave you waking up gasping, thighs clenched, shame curling in your gut like smoke.
You thought the ache would die with him. You thought grief would overwrite the hunger. But here you are, standing in front of his door again.
And tonight, it's open.
Your hand moves before your mind can catch up. Fingertips against wood. A breath held in your throat. The door groans quietly as it opens wider beneath your touch.
And he's there. Standing in the middle of the room like he never left.
Dean.
But not.
His hair is perfect, of course—flawless in that infuriating, tousled way like he rolled out of bed smug. His skin is golden under the low light, his jaw shadowed with stubble. A tight red shirt clings to him like a second skin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexed like he's waiting for something.
But it's the look on his face that stops your heart dead in your chest. That grin. That slow, smug, shit-eating grin. It's Dean, and it isn't. His eyes are darker. Not black, but close—gleaming with something feral. Something cruel.
And he's leering at you. At your bare legs. At the way you're clutching Sam's flannel closed around your body like it's armour. Like it's going to protect you from him.
"Lookin' for me, sweetheart?"
His voice is a low drawl, thicker than you remember, honey poured over poison.
You can't move. Can't speak. You just... gawk at him.
Because what the fuck?
Sam has been tearing the earth apart looking for him. Nearly died chasing after scraps and whispers and demon tracks. He's got a sling on his arm and bruises he doesn't talk about and a look in his eyes like something inside him is breaking, and—
And Dean's just here. Standing in his room like it's a Tuesday. Looking you over like you're dinner. Like he's already decided how this ends.
"Cat got your tongue?" He murmurs, cocking his head, eyes dragging slowly down your body. "That mine?" He adds, chin-jerking toward the flannel you've pulled tight over your chest. "Or Sam's?"
You swallow hard, voice lost somewhere between your ribs and your gut.
He steps forward. One slow stride. Then another. And the closer he gets, the clearer it becomes—this isn't the Dean you remember.
This Dean doesn't carry guilt like a second skin. He's not breaking apart under the weight of his choices. No—this Dean is whole. Whole and dark and dangerous. And from the way he's looking at you now? He's starving.
Your voice slips out of you like it's been trapped behind your teeth for weeks.
"...Dean?"
He exhales like you just gave him life. His eyes flutter closed for a second, jaw flexing, that awful, beautiful grin widening.
"Fuck," he whispers, almost to himself. "There's that voice I missed."
When he opens his eyes again, they're molten. A furnace. Locked on you.
"You have any idea how many times I imagined you saying my name just like that?" He says, low and lazy, taking another step closer. "'Cept maybe you're on your knees. Maybe you're spread over Baby's hood. Or—fuck, maybe you're sittin' right in Sam's lap while I'm—"
"Dean."
It comes out more like a warning than anything else, but your grip on the flannel tightens. Your knuckles are white.
"What the hell is going on?" You whisper, pulse pounding in your throat. "You're alive? Where the—how are you here? Sam's been—he's been looking for you, he's been—"
"Oh, I know," Dean cuts in, eyes glittering. "Sammy's been very busy. Playing hero, getting himself all bruised up just for little old me." He steps close enough now that you can smell him—soap, leather, whiskey, and something wrong. Something deep and sulphurous beneath the surface. "And where's his sweet little girlfriend while he's out savin' the world?"
You don't answer. Can't.
Dean's gaze drops to your mouth. Lingers there. Then drags slowly back up.
"Home alone. Wrapped up in his flannel. Lookin' like a fuckin' gift."
"Dean, stop—"
"Why?" He murmurs, cocking his head. "You're standing in my doorway, baby. Wearing his shirt but lookin' at me like you wanna drop it and let me ruin you right here."
You stumble back a step, but he follows, slow, stalking. A predator playing with his food.
"I mean, shit," he drawls. "You don't think I noticed how you looked at me back then? All those years? You were so good, weren't you? Loyal little thing. Always kept your legs crossed, always trying to keep your eyes on Sam."
He steps close enough to touch you, but he doesn't. Not yet.
"But I bet you wondered," he whispers, voice like smoke curling around your ears. "Bet you laid awake more than once, wondering what it'd be like to get a taste of the bad brother."
Your breath catches, and Dean smirks.
"Lemme guess. You'd ride Sam's cock like a good girl, but you were thinkin' about me. About how I'd make you beg for it. About how I'd tear you apart and leave you a mess on the sheets. Don't lie. I can see it all over your fuckin' face."
"Dean, stop," you say again, but your voice is thinner this time. Weak. You don't sound convincing, and he knows it.
"Oh, you want me to stop?" He purrs, finally reaching up, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers, so gently it makes your knees tremble. "Or you want me to drag you into this room, bend you over that chair, and fuck you like you need it?"
You're shaking. You hate him. You love him. You hate yourself for standing there. And still—
You don't run.
Dean's fingers brush your jaw again, and when you don't flinch—don't recoil, don't run—he grins. That grin. Wicked and slow. Like he knew this would happen eventually.
"Atta girl," he purrs, voice gravel-thick with satisfaction.
Then he grabs you.
Not rough, not yet—but with enough force to make your breath stutter. His hand closes around your wrist, dragging you across the threshold and into the dim, still room that smells like leather and bourbon and the faintest trace of gun oil.
You don't fight him. You should. But your feet move where he leads. Right into the lion's den. And then he glances at the door behind you, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your wrist like he's weighing something. Considering.
Then he looks back at you with a raised brow, lips twitching.
"...Fuck it." He lets the words roll off his tongue like a dare. "The door stays open."
Your heart lurches in your chest.
"What—"
"I wanna see if you can keep that pretty little mouth shut," he says, stepping in close, his breath hot against your cheek. "Wanna know if you can take my cock and not wake Sammy up down the hall. That sound good, sweetheart?"
You shake your head—somewhere between no and I don't know—but he's already walking backward, pulling you with him.
"You really shouldn't be here," he says, faux-regret dripping from his voice. "But fuck me, you look so goddamn good in his shirt. Like you want me to wreck you while you're still wearing it."
He backs up to the desk and spins the chair around behind him.
"C'mon," he murmurs, low and filthy. "Over the chair, baby. Let's get you nice and bent for me."
You hesitate. Just for a second.
But then he tugs the flannel—Sam's flannel—just a little, exposing one shoulder, and hums like he's opening a present.
"Keep it on," he says, voice darker now. Rougher. "I wanna fuck you in his clothes. Wanna ruin you in the last thing he touched."
Your knees hit the chair. His hand is on the back of your neck now, guiding, not forcing—but firm enough you feel your breath stutter.
"Bend over," he whispers. "Hands on the seat. Ass up. That's it."
You're shaking. And he loves it. He kicks your legs apart gently with the side of his boot.
"There we go. Look at that. That's my girl."
You feel the flannel shift as he runs his fingers down your spine. His palm smooths over your ass, slow and proprietary.
"All these years playin' house with Sammy. Being good. Loyal. And all it took was one look at me tonight, and now here you are—wet and desperate and ready to get fucked like the filthy little secret you are."
He leans in, breath at your ear.
"You gonna let me ruin you, baby?"
You break before he even touches you.
Tears spill without warning, hot and fast, sliding down your cheeks as you grip the edge of the chair. Your body's trembling. With shame. With want. With everything you're too afraid to name.
Dean pauses. Then you hear his boots shift behind you. A second later, he's in front of you. Squatting down, one knee bent, his eyes catching yours beneath the curtain of your hair.
"Oh, baby," he coos, voice like silk dragged across a blade. He reaches out, thumb brushing your cheek, swiping away a tear.
Then he brings it to his mouth. Licks it clean.
"Cryin' already?" He murmurs, tilting his head. "That for me, sweetheart? Or for Sammy?"
You sniff, ashamed, eyes closing as another tear rolls free.
"There's no use in cryin'," Dean goes on, softer now. "You're getting what you've wanted for years."
He leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, feather-light. Then your lips. You melt into it without meaning to. A broken whimper caught in your throat, your whole body pressing forward into the kiss like you need it.
He grins into your mouth. Smug. Knowing. And you hate him for it. But you don't pull away. When he finally draws back, he wipes your other cheek with the pad of his thumb.
"That's my girl," he whispers, and then—he's gone. He circles behind you again, hands dragging slowly down your back. "Flannel still on. Good."
Then you feel it—his fingers sliding beneath your panties, tugging them slowly down your thighs. He catches them just before they fall past your knees, lifts them to his face, inhales.
"Christ," he mutters, voice wrecked for a moment. "You smell like sin."
He folds them up, tucks them into the breast pocket of his red shirt like a souvenir.
"Mine now."
You whimper again, and he hums, pleased. A belt clinks open. Denim rustles a fraction. And then he's back—kneeling behind you this time. His hands spread your thighs wider, and then—
Oh god.
He sniffs you.
Right at the crease of your thigh, slow and obscene. Then his tongue drags a stripe up, hot and deliberate, until he's right at your centre.
He moans.
"Fuck."
Another kiss, soft and maddening, pressed to your clit like worship.
"You have no idea," he breathes against you. "How many nights I used to lie awake in that bed..."
He presses a finger inside. Slow. Deep. You choke on a gasp.
"...jerkin' myself raw, thinking about this pussy. About how sweet you'd sound begging me to ruin you."
The finger curls. You cry out—too loud—and he growls.
"Shhh. You wanna wake him up? Huh?"
You shake your head, clutching the chair like it's the only thing anchoring you to the earth.
"I'd come back from hunts all wound up and pissed off," he continues, voice ragged. "And you'd be there—wearin' your little shorts, leaning over the table with your mouth all smart and your ass lookin' like sin. And I'd be thinking about what you sound like when you come. How tight you'd feel clenching around my cock. What kinda mess you'd make."
He slips a second finger in. You cry out again—quieter this time. More desperate.
He grins against your thigh.
"Bet Sammy's never even made you come like this, huh?"
Dean's fingers pump into you slow and steady—just enough to make your thighs shake, but not enough to push you over. You bite your lip to hold back the sounds, forehead pressed to the seat of the chair, breath fogging the leather.
"You wanna wake him up?" Dean mutters, his voice low and tight as his fingers curl just right. "You wanna hear him walk down that hall and see you spread for me like a fuckin' whore?"
You gasp. Whimper. Shake your head.
"Didn't think so," he huffs. "Then keep your goddamn voice down."
He thrusts his fingers deeper, scissoring them inside you, tongue dragging along your inner thigh again like he's starved.
"Son of a bitch," he groans. "You're tight."
He fucks you with his hand like he means it, wet and obscene, the sound of it echoing off the stone walls of the bunker like a crime.
"Holy crap," he breathes out. "This is even better than I imagined. And trust me, sweetheart—I imagined it a lot."
He grazes your clit with his thumb, just a whisper of contact, and your whole body jolts.
"Shit, look at you," he laughs. "So fucking desperate. So goddamn wet for me. And in his shirt, too. That's real cute."
Your legs are trembling. You can feel it coiling in your belly—that tight, unbearable pressure.
You're gonna come.
"Dean—please—"
"Oh no, sweetheart," he cuts in, voice going sharp as he slows his pace to a crawl. "You don't get to come yet. Not unless you tell me what I wanna hear."
You shake your head, gasping. "What—what do you mean—?"
He leans in, lips brushing your ear, fingers curling inside you with cruel precision.
"You don't come," he says, low and commanding, "until you tell me you love me."
You freeze.
"Go on," he murmurs, breath hot. "Say it. Say you love me. Say it like you mean it."
"I—I can't—"
"Then I stop," he shrugs, withdrawing his fingers with a slick, obscene sound. You cry out, body clenching around nothing, so close you could scream.
"You don't wanna come that bad?" He taunts. "Guess I overestimated you."
"No," you breathe, desperate, eyes stinging again. "Please—please, Dean—"
"You think Sam would make you beg like this?" He growls, grinding his cock against your ass now through his boxers. "You think he'd know how to ruin you right? Like this?"
You moan, the friction almost enough to tip you over again, but not quite.
"Then say it."
He grips your hips hard, hissing under his breath. "Say you love me or I'm leaving you right here dripping and empty."
And you break.
"I love you," you sob. "Dean—I love you."
There's a beat of silence. Then—snap. His belt hits the floor.
"That's my fuckin' girl."
He's kicking his jeans off, tearing his boxers down, and then his cock is pressing against your soaked entrance, thick and hot and so fucking wrong.
He pushes in slow. Deliberate. Every inch feels like a sin you can't take back.
"Holy shit," he groans. "You really are tight."
You bury your face into the seat, choking on a cry, your entire body shaking.
"Take it," Dean hisses, hips rolling as he bottoms out. "Take all of it, baby. Fuckin' feel me."
He starts moving—hard and slow and deep. The chair rocks beneath you with every thrust, the open door behind you reminding you exactly how close this secret is to shattering.
"You feel that?" He pants. "Feel how deep I am? That's where I belong. That's mine. Always has been."
You're moaning now, helpless, face streaked with tears and pleasure.
"You keep clenching like that," he grits out, "I'm not gonna last long."
His hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back as he thrusts into you harder, meaner.
"Bet you think about this every night now," he snarls. "Bet you go back to his bed with my cum dripping down your thighs and pretend you're still a good girl."
You scream into the leather, your body unraveling under his, fire licking up your spine.
"Come for me," he orders, voice raw. "Do it. Let go. Fuckingsay my name."
"Dean," you gasp. "Oh—god, Dean—"
You shatter.
And he doesn't stop.
You're sobbing into the chair now, blabbering incoherent pleas between the aftershocks, your thighs shaking violently as Dean keeps moving inside you—slower now, deeper, like he's savouring the feel of your body spasming around him.
"Fuck," he breathes, sweat beading at his temple, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "Look at you. Wrecked. Can't even talk right, can you?"
You let out a broken noise—somewhere between a whine and a sob.
He chuckles darkly. "Didn't think I'd fuck you stupid this fast."
His hand slides up, reaching into the pocket of his shirt—your panties, still warm from being tucked against his skin. He pulls them out, dangles them in front of your tear-soaked face like a prize.
"As much as I love these pretty little sounds," he murmurs, mocking sweetness dripping from every word, "I ain't ready for Sammy to come wanderin' in here asking why his girlfriend's whining like she's never had cock in her life."
He stuffs the panties into your mouth, slow and deliberate, pressing them past your lips with two fingers.
"There we go," he coos. "That's better. Nice and quiet."
You gag around the fabric, drooling, tears still leaking from the corners of your eyes—and Dean groans, hips stuttering at the sight.
"Jesus Christ, you look so good like this. Stuffed full'a me, mouth full of your own shame. Fuckin' perfect."
Then—he slows. Just a beat. Just enough to lean down and really ruin you.
One hand snakes between your cheeks, thumb pressing just under your tailbone, circling—until—
You jerk, whimpering around the fabric, eyes wide.
Dean laughs, low and cruel and utterly delighted.
"Sensitive, huh?" He murmurs, pressing the pad of his thumb just inside your ass, keeping you right where he wants you. "Don't squirm, sweetheart. Gotta keep you nice and still while I fill you up."
His thrusts pick up again—harder now. Meaner. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, echoing off the walls like a fucking dirge.
"Been waitin' years for this," he pants, voice going ragged. "Years of watching you play house with my fucking brother—dressed up like his little good girl, never lookin' twice at me."
Another thrust. Your whole body jolts.
"But I knew. I knew what was underneath. Knew you'd fall apart the second I touched you. And now look at you—soaked, stuffed, fucked out, cryin' into a goddamn chair while Sammy dreams down the hall."
He's getting close. You can feel it. His rhythm falters, hips jerking.
"You're mine now," he growls, biting out the words like a vow. "Don't care how many years you've been with him. Don't care what he means to you. You let me in, baby. That's all I needed."
One more thrust. Two. And then—he groans, low and brutal and satisfied, hips grinding as he comes deep inside you.
He holds you there—panting, trembling, pulsing around him—thumb still snug between your cheeks, panties stuffed in your mouth, Sam's flannel hanging off your shoulders like a scarlet fucking letter.
"Goddamn," he breathes, resting his forehead against your spine for a beat, voice low and reverent now. "Better than I ever fucking dreamed."
He presses a kiss to your shoulder.
"You're not walkin' straight tomorrow," he adds, smug. "But don't worry—I'll be right here to remind you why."
He doesn't pull out right away. Just stays there—buried deep, still twitching inside you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other slipping up under the flannel to palm your breast with lazy ownership.
The silence is thick. The kind that rings. Your heartbeat is all you can hear—fast, frantic, shame-soaked.
Dean breathes deep, then exhales slow. "...Shit." It's almost fond.
He slides out with a wet sound, groaning under his breath, watching the mess drip from between your thighs with open satisfaction.
"Fucking hell, baby," he murmurs, dragging a finger through it, spreading it with no shame at all. "Can't believe you let me do that. In his shirt."
You whimper, still gagged, still shaking. Your knees nearly give as you try to straighten up.
He catches you by the waist, steadying you effortlessly. Then, softly—mockingly:
"You done crying?"
You don't answer. Can't. Not around the panties in your mouth. But your eyes say everything.
Dean leans in, mouth brushing your ear.
"I want you in my bed next time," he murmurs, voice like velvet and poison. "Naked. On your knees. Beggin' me to do it all over again."
You let out a broken sob—quiet, shameful.
He grins. Stands tall. Tucks himself back into his jeans without taking his eyes off you.
Then—
"But if you're just gonna go crawl back into Sammy's bed and cry yourself to sleep..." He shrugs, flicks his belt shut with one hand. "Might as well run along."
His eyes flick to the door.
"It's still open."
You turn—barely able to walk, face flushed and soaked with tears, the flannel falling off one shoulder. Every step away from him is a scar.
And as you reach the threshold, he calls after you—softly, smugly:
"Don't forget what you just gave up, sweetheart."
Your legs are barely working. You're half-naked, wearing Sam's flannel, marked inside and out by his brother's mouth, his cock, his voice.
The silence chokes you now.
Behind you, Dean drops into his desk chair like a king after war—chest rising and falling, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you go. He doesn't say anything else. Doesn't call you back. Just... waits. Because he knows what he's done. He knows what you are now.
You stop in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Look down the hall—toward the room that's supposed to be yours. The bed you share. The man you love.
Then you glance back. At Dean's bed. Unmade. Open. Waiting.
You stay there a second longer—undecided. A trembling silhouette caught between sin and salvation. And the door never shuts.
A/N: Okay, I am well aware of how goddamn cruel this was... but I lowkey don't really care (sorry Sammy bby) because how fucking hot? Ew. Gross levels of hot.
Let me know what y'alls think pleaseeee.
All the love.
Summary: You're on your period but that doesn't stop Dean from taking what he wants.
Warnings: Mdni. Smut. Period Sex. Oral (F Receiving). Blood play kinda. Pet Names. Demon!Dean (he's a warning). No use of Y/N.
A/N: Got an ask for this a while ago from anon. Slowly catching up on fic requests lol. Not edited well.
masterlist — taglist
The door opens with a heavy creak.
You don’t move. You’re sprawled across the bed in nothing but Dean’s flannel, your bare legs tangled in the cheap motel sheets, heating pad long since gone cold. You’re cramping, tired, and aching in that low, pulsing way you hate.
But none of that matters the moment you hear his boots hit the floor.
He’s back from wherever he went. You gave up asking. You've been with him since he became a demon. Since the Mark made him a demon.
“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft, not turning to look. “Didn’t think you’d be back this early."
Dean doesn’t respond.
You feel it before you see him, that weight in the air, thick with something dark. Something that wasn’t there when he left.
You turn your head and he's just inside the doorway. Silent. Watching you.
And then he breathes in. Long. Deep. Slow. He goes still.
“What is that,” he says, quiet. But it’s not a question. His voice is a low, rough rasp.
His eyes drop to your bare thighs. The flannel shirt bunched around your hips. The tiny smear of red on the inside of your leg.
Then his eyes meet yours, and they flick to that empty, dark, black.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, a slow, wicked smile curling across his lips. “You’re bleeding.”
You sit up quickly. “Dean, wait—”
He pushes you back down, hand going over your mouth to shut you up.
“I can smell it,” he growls, voice going low and gravelly. “The second I walked in. That sweet little tang in the air. Copper and heat and wet.”
He stands back up.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t think you’d—”
“Would what? Say no?” His grin turns sharp. His eyes flick back to his normal green, but still dark with desire. “Fuck no. You think this turns me off?” He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at you like you’re a feast. “You think I don’t want you like this?”
He’s already pulling off his jacket. Dropping it to the floor.
“I want you more.”
You shift, breath catching, and that’s all it takes. He’s on you in a blink, grabbing your ankles and dragging you down the bed to the edge.
“Dean—"
“You’re ripe,” he growls, kneeling between your legs, shoving the shirt up to your waist. “You’re dripping for me, bleeding for me. Fuck, baby, this pussy’s begging to be fed.”
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t wait.
His mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, licking the blood and slick like it’s the first real meal he's had in days. He groans like it hurts, fingers digging into your thighs as he spreads you wider.
You gasp, your hips jerking, but he pins them down.
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” he growls against your skin. “You’re gonna let me devour this pretty little pussy. Let me taste what your body’s giving me.”
He eats you like a starving man.
Your hands clutch the sheets, back arching, thighs shaking as he moans into your cunt, tongue fucking you deeper and rougher. The sound of it is obscene. The sounds of slurping, panting, low growls vibrating through your core.
“You taste like sin,” he groans. “Like blood and want and mine.”
You’re falling apart, legs trembling, your breath is ragged as he pushes you over the edge. You cry out, clenching around his tongue, and he doesn’t stop. Just keeps licking, like he’s trying to drink every last drop.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth is soaked. Chin slick with a faint red. He looks dangerous.
You're trying to catch your breath.
Then he’s already unzipping his jeans.
He flips you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips into the air.
“You wrecked already, baby?” he mutters, lining himself up. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
He sinks in slow, stretching you open, blood and slick easing the way. You whimper, gripping the sheets as an anchor.
Dean groans in your ear.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Feel that? That’s me claiming you.”
He fucks you deep, steady, skin slapping with every thrust.
"You take me so fuckin' well, my bloody little slut," He growls, hips meeting yours roughly.
He continues moving rough and fast until you're at the edge again, trembling beneath him as you cry out his name. He fucks you through your orgasm.
His orgasm follows as he grinds into you, filling you with his cum.
His cock is still buried inside you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, ragged breaths. His hands are on your hips, holding you wide open, and the sheets beneath you are ruined, streaked in blood and slick and sweat.
Dean pulls out slowly, and the mess between your legs makes him groan.
He stares at your cunt clenching around nothing, dripping his cum, your blood, everything.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a finger through it. Watching the mixture coat his skin. He lifts it to his mouth and licks it clean with a low growl.
He lays down beside you, leaning over to kiss your neck.
“You ever hide this from me again,” he murmurs, voice still dark but quieter now, “I’ll tie you to this bed and make sure you never hide it from me again.”
A/N: We did not get a long enough time with Demon Dean.
ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴠᴏʟ. ᴠɪɪ. october 7th, 2025. feat. demon!dean winchester. bondage. established relationship. edging. pleading. spitting. cream pie. degradation. this author thinks moc!dean and demon!dean were hot as fuck and deserved more screen time.
You know Sam would be so disappointed if he knew. Betrayed even. He’s been searching for Dean desperately, and you’ve been running into him on the road, lying to Sam about your cases, pretending you don’t know where Dean went.
The first time was an accident. His move. He showed up in your motel room naked and had you bent over the radiator in five minutes, his fingerprints kissed in spots on your throat. The second time was on purpose. He called. You told him where to meet.
He makes no promises. Just cums inside of you, on you, staining you with his corrupted soul. Your Dean, a demon. Your Dean, who tears you apart and puts you back together with his cock. Dean, who is not the man you knew, but looks enough like him.
You don’t think he can be saved. You don’t think he can be killed. So you’ll take what you can get, like a beaten dog crawling back to eat crumbs.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming, sweetheart.” You hear his voice before you see him, two onyx eyes glowing under a streetlight, the Impala a hearse against his back. He leans languidly, lips curled into a sneer and a smirk of amusement all at once.
“Traffic,” you lie. Like you didn’t agonize a block over before you finally decided to show.
“Sam’s closing in, I hear. You think he’ll be happy to find out you’ve been keeping my bed warm? Lying to him and handing him tissues while he plays Where’s Dean-o? He’ll be so upset to find you know all the answers. But you don’t care, do you? You like being used like a needy little slut.”
“Are you finished?” You bite out.
He whistles. “Kitten’s got claws now, doesn’t she?”
“And what if I tell him where you are?”
“You won’t.”
“Try me.”
He’s got you pinned against the car in a heartbeat. The metal echoes through your teeth at the impact. You’re shaking, but not from fear. From anger. From lust.
And he knows it.
His black eyes flash again, obscuring the green you’ve come to love. “Don’t forget what I am, sweetheart. Don’t want to outweigh your usefulness. I’ll cut your pretty little throat.”
And you know he means it. It terrifies you and arouses you all at once.
"One day, you're never gonna see me again," you say, chin high, even if the words have no bite.
Dean snickers. "Sure. If that were true, you'd have called Sammy a long time ago."
He holds up the keys to a motel room, the chain swinging back and forth tauntingly. "Shall we?"
The second you're inside the room, he slams you into the door and locks it, deadbolting it in place. You gasp at the impact, slight pain radiating from your back as he pins you with one arm. With the other, he dips his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, scoffing.
"Really?" He shoves the Enochian handcuffs in your face, making you take a long look at them. "I'm hurt, sweetheart.''
You struggle against his hold. "You had to know I wouldn't give up on you."
He shakes his head. "Now, what am I going to do with you?"
For the first time, genuine terror seizes you. He smirks, hauling you over to the bed. He tosses you onto the mattress, like you weigh nothing, and then handcuffs your wrists to the bed frame. You thrash for only a moment, but realize there's no point.
He yanks the First Blade out of the back of his jeans, pointing it at you. "Maybe I should gut you like a fish and leave you for Sammy to find. Just because you planned to betray me."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't make me gag you, baby. I like your mouth just fine," he warns. "Lucky for you, you have the tightest, sweetest little cunt I've ever fucked, and it would be a damn shame to kill you."
He weilds the blade across the thin fabric of your flannel, ripping out the buttons. Your shirt falls to the side, bearing your stomach, your breasts cupped in cotton, to him. He grins at the way you flinch as he holds the knife over you.
"You scared?" he asks.
Your chin wobbles.
"Answer me!" he roars.
You nod.
"I won't hurt you, baby. Not too bad," he cooes, kissing your neck. His hands find the front clasp of your bra, and he smirks. Easy access is his favorite, even as a demon. Your breasts spill free, and he nips at both nipples, turning them into hard peaks. Your jeans go next. When he has you down to your panties, he slaps your pussy through the lace, groaning at the way you yelp.
"So fuckin wet," he remarks. "God-damn! It's fuckin hot how riled up I make you. Such a needy little whore, you'll take whatever I give you. I say what I want, do what I want, and you're at my mercy. Isn't that right?"
You nod, squirming as the cuffs rattle over your wrists. He laughs, placing mean hickeys on your chest as he starts to play with your clut, teasing your cunt just enough to make you miserable. You're aching with need, and he knows just what to do, what spots to press, which shapes to draw on that bundle of nerves. He teases and strokes and taunts you the whole time, never giving you too much, or enough. You're delirious, exhausted from him drawing you right up to the edge and catching you at the last second. Relentlessly pushing you to overstimulation.
By the time there's sweat beading on your brows and your panties are soaked through, you're on the verge of tears. You're shaking, an ache inside you that can only be fucked out.
"Go ahead, baby," he cooes. "Ask."
"Let me go," you plead. At least to take care of yourself.
"No," he says. "Try again."
He unbuckles his belt. You shiver.
"Ask," he says, pinching your clit and rolling.
Your hips shoot off the bed. "Please, Dean. Please fuck me. Please!"
"Such a needly little whore," he says, tearing off your panties and pocketing them. He undoes his zipper, just enough to free his cock, and you can feel the teeth of it on the inside of your thigh as the blunt head of his cock smacks against your clit, then notches inside your entrance. "Pathetic, what you'll let me do to you." He runs his thumb across your lower lip, then shoves it deep into your mouth. You gag, tears in your eyes, as you dutifully suck. When he pulls his finger out with a wet pop, you're still just barely taking him inside.
"Open your mouth," he barks.
You do. He pulls back and spits as hard as he can.
"Swallow."
You obey, and he rewards you by slamming into you so hard your teeth rattle. His entire cock is stuffed inside of you, abusing your cervix, filling out every spot in your velvety hole. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he fucks you punishingly, like it's a race to get to the finish line. But he doesn't neglect you, even like this, even black-eyed. No, he strokes your clit with that thumb you sucked and fucks you so hard you see god.
At some point, you cum, but you barely notice it. Your body is a live wire set to explode, and you're just taking it in, one thrust at a time. Tears are rolling down your cheeks as pain and pleasure bleed into one singular sensation, and you just let it happen. Just feel it.
When he cums, he spills inside of you, leaving a mess between your legs. Then he uses the first blade's handle to break the chain on the handcuffs, freeing you.
There are bruises on your arms from the metal. Bruises from his cruel kisses on your body. Soreness radiates from your cunt and then wider.
"Next time," he says, without looking at you. "If you bring any traps or tricks, I'll break your pretty neck."
"There won't be a next time," you croak.
The devil has nothing on Demon Dean's smirk. "We'll see about that."
Tags/Warnings: Smut, DUBCON, coercion, light choking, dacryphilia, PiV, face fucking, incorrect use of Dean's 1911 (orally and vaginally), oral (m. rec), degradation, dirty talk, spit, angst in the beginning, brief mention of the reader's mom having cancer
Summary: You have managed to avoid making good on your crossroads deal for 3 months after it's expiration date. You started to think maybe you counted the years wrong, until a handsome black-eyed man shows up at your door and proves you wrong and offers you a different deal.
Word Count: 5.6k
Author's Note: Title from the song One Way or Another by Blondie
This fulfills my Fugitive!Reader square for @anyfandomgoesbingo
I cannot understate how dark this is so PLEASE read at your own risk
Bonus points to anyone who can leave a comment saying which book I have the reader quote!
Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89
Tag List: @copperboom82
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
Main Masterlist
You had known exactly what you were doing when you buried that box in the center of the crossroads and kissed that darkly dressed man. You knew you were kissing your life, your soul, away.
The deal wasn’t for vanity, it wasn’t for greed. Your mom was dying, cancer, and you couldn’t bear to see her go through another round of chemo. She was your best friend, raising you alone from the time she was eighteen. Thicker than thieves, the two of you.
Maybe it was selfish.
You knew the risks, knew that in just shy of ten years you would have to disappear. You would be presumed dead, and your mom would have to bury an empty casket. At least you wouldn’t be alive to see her have to grieve you.
Maybe it made you weak, taking the easy way out, avoiding the pain and the discomfort. But you saw the light return to her. The doctors tried to explain it, but couldn’t. You knew they wouldn’t be able to.
The only problem was, as it grew closer and closer to that 10 year expiration date, the less you were okay with leaving your mom all alone. She was just starting to get her spark back, getting back into all the hobbies she abandoned when she first got sick.
So, around the 9 year mark, you started to do research.
Late nights spent scouring the internet, mythology books from the library, even visiting a store that sold rare and out of print books for anything you could find that would break the deal or extend it somehow.
You even returned to the original crossroads, falling to your hands and knees to try and dig up the box you had buried there, but it was gone. The dirt hadn’t even been disturbed, like it never happened in the first place.
The next thing was to try and summon the demon again. No dice
You tried a different crossroads. Same result. No one would answer your summons, and you just knew that the lot of them were having a good laugh at your expense. Poor human girl. Shoulda read the fine print.
Frustration and determination sent you to the deepest depths of the internet, looking for something, anything, that would help you even the tiniest bit. Chants, herbs, even mojo bags. Everything you came across you took note of.
But the one thing that came up in every single article, every book, you could find on hell hounds and crossroad demon deals, was Viburnum alnifolium, also known as Devils Shoestring. It was a bitch to find because it, apparently, used most commonly in Hoodoo practices. But, after a lot of string pulling and pleading, you were able to find some.
It was beautiful. Vibrant green leaves, flowers pure and white as fresh fallen snow. How ironic that so much darkness led you here to need it. The root itself, though, was unremarkable. It looked like it could belong to any plant or tree. You bought more than you probably needed, but you’d rather not have to go out of your way just to get more.
The woman you bought it from stated that you could keep it on you, in your pockets or in a sachet, but the most effective way to use it was to hang it above the doorways wherever you resided. Easy enough. You moved out after your mom got better, no longer needing a full time caretaker. The apartment you picked was the city over, a nice little place that was perfect for just you.
After you got the Devil’s Shoelace, you placed it above every doorway and also above every window just to be safe. She also gave you a bag of something she referred to as Goofer Dust. It had cost you nearly 3 times what you paid for the Devils Shoelace, but you coughed up the money anyway.
Once everything was set up, you still had a month to spare. That was the worst part.
The anxiety got so much worse. You barely slept, flinching at every little thing, terrified that the protections you put into place would fail.
Then, you started to hear them. First it was just at night. The barking and growling and howling started faintly, like they were far away. You tried everything from earplugs to sleeping with earbuds in blasting heavy metal. Nothing helped. It was almost like the sound was coming from inside your own head.
Gradually, it never stopped. The vicious growling followed you into the waking hours. By this point you had learned to sleep through it, albeit not very well. Day by day as it came closer to the 10 year anniversary, it got louder and louder until it was like they were right outside. Which, as you learned, was because they were.
As the clock ticked over to midnight, ending the 10 year deal, you sat curled up in the corner of your apartment just waiting to hear your door bust down in splinters of wood, or hear the glass shatter into a million pieces. But it never came.
Surely you were in the clear right? What you didn’t know, and couldn’t find anything about, in your research before and after the deal, was what happened if you could ward off the hell hounds. It didn’t seem like anyone who had tried, lived to tell the tale. So, you went about your life.
Instacart groceries and an online customer service job that paid enough for you to make rent and utilities meant you could live like an agoraphobic. Delivery drivers brought you groceries every week, and your mother was more than happy to meet you at your apartment.
The week after, you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it you saw the delivery driver, a boy no older than 18 holding your bags of groceries. But what had you going so pale so fast that the boy asked if you were okay, was the hip-high hound that could be described as nothing less than demonic. It shimmered, like a hologram does, and for a second you thought you might just be hallucinating from all the stress you had been under the last two weeks, hell the last year.
But then it came closer, and to avoid looking like you belonged in a mental institution, you stood ramrod still, taking the bags from the boy. And then it lunged, and you flinched. But the hound was stopped by an invisible wall right where your door was. It slammed into it with a whine, but then immediately went back to growling and snarling at you.
You took the rest of the groceries from the boy, giving him a large tip hoping that he wouldn’t report you for drug use or something. Now you knew why they sounded so close. It terrified you. And odds were that Fido wasn’t alone, especially from the different tones you heard.
After that encounter, that revelation, you stopped inviting your mom around as much. You placated her concerned phone calls with excuses such as illness or busy times at work. She still thought that you worked at the law firm you had been at when she first got sick. You didn’t think the hounds would harm her. As far as you knew from your research they shouldn’t. You were their primary target.
You made the deal.
It was your soul they were tasked with dragging to Hell to be tortured for all of eternity. Not hers.
Three months came and went, and you were starting to go a little stir crazy.
You had never really been the type to go out and party every weekend or anything, but this much time alone within the same few walls of your apartment was starting to drive you crazy. Especially with the wolf pack outside yowling at all hours.
If you ever got out of this, you’d never be able to look at another dog the same way. Which was a shame, because you loved dogs. But you didn’t think you could ever not hear the snarls, or see the murderous intent on that hell hounds face in any dog you came across.
Any of them could turn into Cujo in a second and all you could imagine was a little yippy rat dog being possessed by one of those hounds and scratching your face off. It was a terrifying thought.
You had just put into place the last piece of the puzzle you were working on, a 1,500 piece one that depicted Van Gogh’s Starry Night, when a knock sounded at your door. Glancing up at the clock on your wall, you saw it was later than anyone should be at your door.
Maybe your neighbor had gotten locked out of his apartment again. Or, rather, maybe his girlfriend locked him out of their apartment again after he pissed her off one too many times by playing COD and screaming obscenities so loud you could hear him clear as day from two units down.
Unfolding yourself from your position on the floor, the puzzle spread over your low-seated coffee table, you winced as your knees and ankles ached in protest from the way you had been sitting. Being housebound due to being hunted by murderous hell hounds meant you weren’t able to walk around as much, and you were feeling the effects of it.
You slid the cover to your peephole to the side, peering through it. Brows furrowing, you were confused when you saw a man who was definitely not your neighbor standing in front of your door.
Your neighbor was a short and portly man a little bit older than you were. This man was a far cry from that, tall and trim with smartly styled hair. He also wasn’t a tenant you recognized. Maybe he was new?
Unsurprisingly, two hounds also hovered around your door. They looked up at the peephole and growled. You bared your teeth back before realizing that they probably couldn’t see you.
“Who is it?” You called out, not about to open your door to a random man standing outside your door at night.
“Someone who can make your little pest problem go away.” He smiled as he looked into the peephole.
Pest problem? The mom upstairs must have called an exterminator. Her kids always had lice. But he wasn’t dressed like an exterminator in a dark red button up layered over a black t-shirt, jeans and boots.
“I don’t have a pest problem. Must have the wrong unit. If you are looking for Theresa, shes one floor up.”
He cleared his throat, an amused grin tugging at his lips. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t see Juliet and Mary here?”
Your heart plummeted into an icy lake as the man put his hands on the heads of both hounds. And that lake froze over when he blinked and all of a sudden the green irises that had been trained on you through the door were replaced by solid onyx.
A demon.
“Now unless you want me to send these ladies up to, what was it, ah yeah, Theresa and her two kids, you’re gonna open the door and let me in.” The hounds snarled as if saying they would do it.
He has to be bluffing. The same way they shouldn’t go after mom. Even you had a hard time believing yourself with that thought.
Reluctantly, you unlocked the deadbolt, then the door knob, then the flimsy chain that seemed so ineffective given what you were wanting to keep out. Once the door was open you stood face to face with the man, staring down the two hounds.
You weren’t sure who was more intimidating.
Both looked at you like you wanted to eat you. And you weren’t just referring to the hounds.
The grin he shot you as he strode forward was wholly lupine. He didn’t give you much choice other than to let him in and get out of the way. You stepped aside, allowing him to step over the line of Goofer Dust you had on the floor.
It wasn’t something he missed, clearly looking at it followed by a searching gaze for the Devil’s Shoelace, which he found tied to a piece of butcher's twine and hung on a nail above your door.
“So you’re the one who’s avoiding fulfilling her end of the deal.” He drawled as he shifted his emerald gaze from the root above your door to consider you.
“If you can’t beat the odds, change the game.” You said, chin up, shutting the door behind you, leaving the hounds in the hall.
“Except you really didn’t change the game, now did you?” He dragged his eyes from your body to your face. “You’re just avoiding losing.”
The action should not have made you wet. But your traitorous body had decided that ‘hot man’ equaled ‘get fucked’
“But.” He cut you off, leaving your mouth half open with an excuse. “I have been sent here to offer you an, addendum, of sorts.
Again, your brows furrowed. You worked in a legal office, you knew what an addendum meant. Certainly this was some sick joke this demon was playing on you before he kicked the Goofer Dust away and cut down the Devils Shoelace, letting the hounds rip you to shreds.
“Go on.” You replied slowly.
“Ah.” He said like he was pleased with himself. “That got your attention, didn’t it.”
You didn’t realize you were walking backwards, or that you were doing so to keep a distance from him until your back hit the corner of the wall that made up the doorway to the hallway that led to your bedroom.
“My handler, my boss, doesn’t like that you have gone three months past your expected expiration date unpunished and uncaught.” He explained. “Gives him a bad rap, and he's already feeling the heat, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”
You blinked, and a muscle in his face twitched.
“Say you understand.” That came out darker than how he had been speaking.
The words couldn’t leave your lips fast enough. “I understand.”
“Good. Now, I could kill you.” He shrugged, reaching behind him to pull a beautiful pistol. “But my boss has granted me a bit of leeway with you. So here’s your options. Listen close because I will only say them once. Say yes if you understand.”
“Yes.” You were shaking now. From nerves, or from the way the commanding presence he demanded was making you feel, you didn’t know.
“Good.” He held up the gun and you flinched at the click of hammer cocking back much to his clear amusement. “Option one. I blow your brains out the back of your pretty little skull and your soul ends up in Hell where it belongs.”
You shuddered, blinking back the tears that started to gather in the corners of your eyes.
“Or, option two.” He eased the hammer back into place, lifting it up and placing you out of range. “We come up with some kind of arrangement.”
Relief flooded you. Okay, well, anything is better than being dead.
“How about, once a month I come back here on the full moon and we get nasty, and I convince my boss to call off his dogs.” He shrugged, brandishing the pistol. “Your choice. You get 10 seconds.”
“Option two!” You blurted out, putting your hands up as if that would stop a bullet. “I pick option two.”
As soon as the words left your lips, the incessant growling that had been nonstop for the last 4 months ceased. You weren’t sure you had heard a more beautiful sound. A sigh of relief came after, a weight lifting off your chest.
“Good.” He stated, dropping the pistol to his side. “I really didn’t feel like playing crime scene cleaner tonight.”
“So,” You trailed off. “This starts next full moon?”
He cocked his head, the movement wholly animalistic. “Nope. Gotta seal the deal first.”
The man—demon—moved fast. A blur and then he was on you. You gasped through parted lips.
“I do things a little differently then those assholes at the crossroads.” The hand that wasn’t holding the gun gripped hard onto your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Besides, since you skipped out on the last deal, I gotta make sure this one sticks.”
The grip on your chin bordered on painful as he kept your face in place. His lips were rough but warm as they slotted over yours. It was a world of difference from the demon who had made the initial deal with you. That one had been slow and dark. All shadow and star dust. But this one, he was red fucking hot and it burned its way through your body like wildfire, scorching away most of the fear still strumming through your veins.
Primal need and lust fueled this kiss, not the greed of the deal.
He caged you fully against the wall, his body pressing flush with yours. Your fingers itched to reach up and touch him, but the residual fear still lingered, perpetuated by the shiny pistol still clutched in his other hand. The barrel of the gun dragged up your bare thigh, the surprisingly cold metal biting into your skin. It skimmed over the soft material of your sleep shorts, up over your hip and under the baggy and threadbare t-shirt you wore to bed. You flinched as he pressed the muzzle into the softness of your belly.
The pressure on your jaw lessened, followed by the absence of his mouth and his preternatural warmth as he took a half step back. As you ran your tongue over your kiss-swollen lips, the taste of him sent your head spinning.
“Knees. Now.” He commanded, pulling the pistol away from your stomach to gesture with it.
He hadn’t left much room for you to move, so the descent was a little awkward and your knees ended up slamming into the pergo floor a little harder than you would have liked, sending zings of pain through your legs.
“Good.” He nodded. “Now open that slut mouth. Stick your tongue out.”
For a half a second, you knelt there frozen, but as the pistol moved into your peripheral, you instantly opened your mouth.
“Good choice.” He commented, but didn’t pull the gun away.
You expected him to pull it away, keep it back at his side or put it back into the waistband of his jeans, but no. He brought it up to your mouth.
“Now, suck.”
Blinking your surprise, you glanced from his face down to the pistol. The metal was cold and heavy on your tongue. It tasted bitter from the gunpowder residue, making your nose scrunch up a tiny bit. A disturbingly pleased grin spread across the demon's face as your tongue curled under the pistol’s barrel, lips suctioning around it.
You began to bob your head on the gun despite your minute trembling. It wasn’t lost on you just how dangerous this was. You had no idea if the gun was loaded or not, but if you had to guess it most likely was. He didn’t strike you as the type to keep an unloaded gun just to handle it like he did. The trigger guard bumped up against your lower lip, signalling how far it needed to slip into your mouth before you could pull back.
Your eyes wandered over his body, landing on a noticeable bulge in the front of his jeans. Despite the circumstances, you were very aware of the way your underwear was now sticking to your pussy with your arousal the longer you moved on his gun.
“Does the slut see something she likes?” He smirked, pulling the gun from your mouth.
A trail of saliva connected your spit-glossy lips to the muzzle. As he took it away, wiping it on his jeans, the line snapped back, hitting your chin. You resisted the urge to lick it away or swipe your hand across it. Something in the way he was staring down at you, eyes fixated on the glistening on your chin and lips.
He held up the pistol. “You did good with this. Let's see if you can handle something bigger.”
First you were impressed by how he freed the buckle of his belt so easily with one hand, then your eyes went wide at the size of him when he shoved his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs to tug his cock free. It hung heavy, half hard in front of your face, and you were so fixated on it you missed his hand reaching down to your mouth.
You let out a surprised sound as the tips of his fingers slipped inside your mouth, pressing down against the back of your tongue. The unexpected intrusion coupled with the depth of his fingers into your mouth caused you to gag harshly. Viscous saliva filled your mouth, coating his fingers thickly. They glistened with your spit as he pulled them out, using it as lube as he gave his cock a few tugs.
This time you didn't wait for him to tell you, opening your mouth wide. He tilted his head to the side, predatory satisfaction painting his features.
“She's learning.” He snarked, gripping his cock at the base and guiding it into your mouth.
The taste of precum hit your tongue as he tapped the head of him against it a few times before sliding in further. Your lips closed around the shaft, hollowing your cheeks to create suction. The demon groaned, his free hand gathering your hair away from your face as his hips began to thrust his cock forward into your mouth.
You did your best to keep from gagging, but with each forward shift of his hips it sent the tip of his cock against the back of your throat. Bracing one hand on his thigh, your nails dug into the denim. To stabilize or ease his motions, you didn’t know. The other hand you balled at your side, thumb tucked into the fist—A trick you saw on the internet a few years back to help suppress your gag reflex.
It helped. A little.
But with the pace he was thrusting into your mouth, anything short of numbing your throat with those gimmicky flavored numbing sprays wasn't going to help much. Aching began in your knees, having knelt so long on the hard floors. It was a dull ache that radiated from the parts that held contact with the laminate flooring to the surrounding joint. Then your jaw started to throb, nearly in time with the throbbing between your thighs.
Thus far you had managed to keep your eyes on him, his face, watching the expressions change. But then you felt it. The solidity of the muzzle against your head. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried not to flinch.
“Nuh uh.” He admonished, slapping your cheek with the gun. “Keep those eyes on me.”
So you did. It was a monumental effort to pry them back open. But when you did, he nodded, and the gun retreated, the hand hanging down by his side.
He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening as he pushed your head further onto his cock. Your hand gripped faster to his thigh, groaning onto him. Coughing you tried to pull back but the hand on your head meant you could only pull back enough to breathe through your nose.
“Almost there, sweetheart.” He grunted, rocking his hips shallowly into your mouth. “You can take it.”
The words, the ragged and deep, sent your clit throbbing harder than it already was. A moan traveled from your throat down the length of his cock, causing him to curl inwards slightly on himself, shoving your head all the way down until your nose brushed the neatly trimmed patch of hair at the base. With a choked sound, you felt him twitch and jump in your mouth as he spilled down your throat. Considering how deep he was, you didn't taste the saltiness of his spend.
Your throat felt raw when he pulled out of your mouth, strings of thick spit dripping from your mouth and his cock. Coughing, you tried to pull oxygen back into your lungs. Working your jaw open and shut, working out the ache.
“Oh fu-huh-uck.” He moaned, tucking himself back into his pants but leaving his jeans unbuttoned, tucking the pistol in his jeans. “If your mouth feels that good, I can't wait until I feel what that pussy feels like around me.”
You were already halfway to standing when his hand gripped your arm, hauling you to your feet. “Bedroom?”
“Down the hall, doorway at the end.” You panted. “Wait, wait. What do I call you?”
He paused, briefly, in his pursuits to half drag you down the hall to your bedroom. “What do you call me?”
“Yeah.” You answered. “Your name.”
He shot you another panty dropping smile. “Dean. And I can imagine you are gonna be doing more than calling me by it soon.”
Goddamn. “Dean.” You tested it out, his name rolling on your tongue.
He groaned your name in response. Then his hands were pawing at your waist. He was strong. Incredibly so. He lifted you up like it was nothing, tossing you on the bed. The air was rocked from your lungs as your back hit the mattress, then it was being kissed from your mouth as he crawled over you.
His lips moved with a fervor against yours, a need. They traveled from your lips across your sticky jaw. You ground your hips upwards against his, the thin material of your shorts and underwear not providing enough friction against your needy clit. Then, you were on your stomach with a face full of your pillow, the demon—Dean—clicking his tongue.
“Greedy, greedy.” He said, tone full of teasing admonishment. “So eager to have something in this needy pussy, huh?”
His fingers curled into the waistband of your sleep shorts all the way between your underwear and your skin. Cursing, you were pulled down the bed as he yanked the clothes down your lower half before he tossed them somewhere in your bedroom. Then his hands were groping your ass cheeks, each fingertip digging into the plush, causing your string of curses to turn into a wanton moan. The air from your bedroom was cool against the wetness gathered along your core.
“Fuck, you're soaked.” Dean groaned from behind you, his thumbs swiping through the slick. “This is gonna slide right in.”
What? You then gasped into the pillow as the familiar metallic coolness replaced his thumbs, running through your folds. His hand pressed against your lower back just as you felt the muzzle of his pistol press against your entrance.
“Dean.” You breathed, half in warning, half in plea.
“Good start.” He spoke lowly. “I'll have you screaming it before we’re done here.”
Your eyes went wide, your pulse thrumming loudly in your ears. You didn't like this, not one bit. But that panic was laced with a molten heat that had you pressing your thighs together. It didn't last long, his incredibly strong grip prying them back open. The steel nudged against your entrance again, making your breath catch in your throat.
Slowly, Dean slid the gun inside you. You can feel the edges and ridges of the barrel inside your pussy as he worked it in and out. From what you can tell after having it in your mouth, it feels like he’s only working half of it in. Your chest seizes, mouth falling into a gasp as he thrusts the rest of the pistol barrel into your pussy with a sharp thrust. You cry out his name, fisting your hands in the sheets. Pleasure pulsed through you as he sped up the tempo, the ridges rubbing up against the sensitive spot within you.
The climax sits low in your stomach as his movements quickened further. It feels so foreign, unlike any cock or toy you’ve had inside you. That unique sensation quickly building up that pressure in your belly, the tightness between your legs. Grinding your hips down, you couldn't help the moans that fell freely from your mouth, most of them muffled by your pillow. You could feel your pussy grip around the gun every time Dean dragged it out of you, like despite your repulsion that there was a literal gun in your pussy, your body still wanted it inside of you. Panting hard, each breath half moan, you felt the climax growing and growing, your legs shaking under his touch.
“D-Dean!” You cried out, back arching towards him.
“Thats right, slut.” Dean growled, his hand briefly leaving your lower back to come down hard on your ass with a loud smack. “So greedy for somethin’ inside ‘a you that you're gonna cum on a gun.”
So fucking dirty. You felt the rush, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.
A harsh sound ripped from you, hips shooting off the bed completely as your orgasm sent shocks through you. You rocked your hips back against the gun as he worked you through the endorphin rush. It just kept going and going, your eyes rolling back in your head as he pulled the gun from you with an obscene sound.
“That’s right.” He grunted, and you heard the clatter as the gun hit the floor of your bedroom.
Fabric rustling followed soon behind and then your hips were being dragged up. His bare lower half pressed against yours, his knee knocking your legs wider apart. You had barely stopped twitching from the aftershocks when you felt the head of his cock slide past your entrance. Another ragged moan dragged from your parted lips as he split you open.
Dean gave you no time to ease into it, sliding all the way home until his hips lay flush to yours. Mouth open in a silent gasp you couldn’t think, couldn't move as he gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back to meet his punishing pace. The skin slapping filled the room alongside your moans and his grunts as he fucked into you harshly. You shivered on his cock as he slid his hand up your spine to tangle in your hair. His fingers gripped the hair close to your skull, using the grip to pull you back against his chest.
“Oh fuck.” He groaned against your neck, teeth grazing at your racing pulse. “This pussy feels so good ‘round me, slut.”
You moaned his name in response, fucking yourself back on his cock. One hand slipped between your legs to strum circles on your clit, causing you to tighten down hard on his length, the other cupped your breast.
“That's right, slut.” He slammed into you harder. “Fuck yourself on this cock. Rub that pretty little clit. Wanna feel you cum on me.”
Panting hard now, you met his hips with each thrust. Perspiration had started to bead on your hairline, leaving little streaks at your temples as they dripped down. Every bit of you felt alive, standing at attention as his hand gripped your hip to hold you in place, the other exploring the expanse of your body.
That floaty, mindnumbing feeling started to grow behind your eyes the faster his hips snapped up into yours. Near incoherent things were whispered into the junction of your neck and shoulder, but you were sure they were dark as sin if his behavior tracked. You were sure you couldn't form a coherent thought if your life depended on it, too drunk on the way his thick cock was pounding into you. The circles you were rubbing on your clit faltered as you felt your walls flutter around him.
He groaned, the sound resonating into you, his teeth digging into your skin. His hips stuttered, the pace faltering. A loud groan echoed through you as Dean came hard, filling you with the warmth of his spend. But he didn’t stop, fucking into you harder until that pressure low in your belly snapped and you came with him, screaming his name.
Both of you shuddered as all the sensations wracked your bodies, leaving you feeling like a raw live wire. Dean released his grip on you, letting you ease yourself back onto your stomach. You hissed as he pulled himself out of you, the space between your thighs sore as hell. Settling into the bed, you finally could catch your breath
The mattress dipped beneath his shifting weight and you looked over your shoulder to see him pulling his boxers-briefs and jeans back on. He was still shirtless, and now you could get a decent look at him. Cut, with just the right amount of softness. Your eyes were drawn to the odd shaped tattoo on his pectoral, but his shirt soon covered it. He bent down to snatch his discarded pistol from the ground, sliding it back into the waistband of his jeans.
“The hell hounds,” You said shakily. “They're gone now?”
“So long as you honor our little arrangement." He answered, doing up the blood red button-up
“Once a month.” You clarified, continuing as he nodded his head, turning to exit your bedroom. “Do you need a key or whatever? In case I'm sleeping or something?”
The look he shot you over his shoulder instantly stirred you back awake. “I'll find my way in.”
And somehow, you believed him.
Please like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
A/N: Another one I've been sitting on for a while. Inspired by Scream by Avenged Sevenfold. Feedback is appreciated. : )
My Masterlist
Y/N sighed as she put away the latest series of books she had been reading, trying to help find a cure for the Mark of Cain. Sam had his demonic brother held in the dungeon, intending to cure him of demonhood with the ritual they had seen in the Men of Letters archives.
She and Sam had spent months chasing down leads in an attempt to find Dean after he magically rose from the dead and disappeared in the dead of night, leaving nothing more than a hastily scrawled note to 'Let me go'. He should have known that Sam and Y/N would do anything to save him, even from himself, and that there was no way either of them could ever let him go. Sam, the little brother needing his big brother Dean around as he always did, and Y/N, the woman in love with Dean, despite his many faults, and who stuck around even after his rejection of her confessions.
As she was putting away the last of the books, she heard loud bangs from the hallways, followed by the lights in the Bunker shutting off, and an eerie red emergency lighting taking their place. She didn’t know what the lights meant, but she knew it couldn’t be good. She rushed to the control room, hoping to figure out how to reset the system, when she heard Dean’s familiar voice boom through the halls.
“Smart, Sam! Locking the place down. Doors won’t open. I get it. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to leave! Not ‘til I find you!”
Fuck. So that’s what the lights were. Sam locked down the Bunker? How the hell did Dean escape to begin with? She took slow steps toward the control room, intensely aware that she was growing closer to the sound of Dean as well, and prayed she didn’t cross his path. The demon he’d become terrified her, and she was scared to face him on her own.
“Sammy! You’re just making this worse for yourself, man! Oh, by the way, you can, uh…blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human…well. The less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that Devil’s Trap? Well, I just walked right across it. It smarted, but still.”
That meant the cure was working, at least to some degree. She had to reach Sam and help him get Dean back into the dungeon somehow. She leaned her back against the wall as she peered around the corner, just as Dean went into the control room and Sam appeared to pull the door shut. But Dean stopped him just before he could get it closed.
The demon growled, forcing the door open and grabbing Sam, choking him until he fell unconscious. Y/N screamed, holding Dean’s attention before he could harm Sam further. Dean’s eyes landed on her, and a sinister grin spread across his face.
“Y/N!”
Dean stepped out of the control room, pulling the door shut and locking it as Sam had intended to do. Now, his pain in the ass little brother couldn’t interrupt his playtime. Y/N ran, moving as fast as her feet could carry her, hearing Dean’s booted feet rushing after her, calling out her name as he took chase.
She found herself in the War Room, staring at the illuminated map table in the center of the room as she contemplated where she could go that he couldn’t get to her. She was terrified that he would kill her if he got hold of her, or worse. But she had hesitated too long as Dean appeared in the doorway behind her. She jumped and turned, moving to put the large table between them, at least for some distance.
Dean grinned at the gesture as he leaned casually against the frame, before moving and taking slow, casual steps to stand opposite her. “You look good enough to eat.”
“Dean, please don’t do this. Sam can cure you.”
“I don’t want to be cured, Y/N. All I want right now,” he said as he eyed her up and down hungrily, “Is you.”
“You don’t, Dean. Not really. You told me that, remember?” she reminded him with an aching heart. She tried to take a step to the side, closer to an escape, but Dean matched every move she made, keeping her cornered.
It was true. She had been brave enough to admit it, to make a move. Dean had always wanted her, but kept her at arm’s length, not wanting to taint her with his poison. When she confessed to him that she liked him and was hoping he, too, wanted something more than friends, his heart soared. It was everything he had wanted, to be honest.
Instead, he lied and told her he wasn’t interested, didn’t like her like that, and that they should be friends. He hated himself as he watched her heart break and her walls go back up, but he’d convinced himself it was for the best, better for her. Now, as a demon, he didn’t give a damn if he was poison. He was ready to ruin her. He’d denied himself so long, and he didn’t have a reason not to anymore.
“I lied,” he said as he slowly licked his lower lip, biting down on the pillowy flesh.
His eyes shamelessly devoured her from head to toe with hunger, releasing his lip with a soft ‘pop’ as he met her worried gaze. Y/N had been a hunter most of her adult life, and never had she ever felt more like prey than in that moment, that one heated look from Dean. Her panties dampened with her arousal as her heart raced in terror. It was a confusing combination.
With the large table between them, she decided to take a chance, turned and ran, hoping to barricade herself somewhere, and praying her short head start was enough, despite his longer legs and more powerful physique.
Dean’s eyes flashed black for only a second, the excitement of the chase and catch thrumming through him. He smirked before jumping onto the table’s surface, landing in a crouch, then sliding off the other end in one swift move. He’d caught her in less than thirty seconds and pressed her face-first into the wall of the hallway.
She tried to strike him, but he gathered her hands and pinned them above her head with one hand. She tried to push him away while trying to move her leg to kick or stomp him, but he crowded his body against hers and kicked her legs apart to press tightly between them. She was trapped between a rock and a hard place - the stone wall and the hard planes of Dean.
Dean was incredibly turned on. He could smell her fear and arousal, hear her heart racing in panic and excitement. She was wearing those tight jeans that fit her ass perfectly, but had foregone an overshirt, simply wearing a thin-strapped tank top. He groaned, rutting his hips and his hardening cock firmly against her as he started nipping harshly at her neck, grateful for the bare skin available to him.
It always drove him crazy when she wore only a tank, her skin and assets on display. In the same way, she joked that he, in a t-shirt and jeans, was ‘practically naked for a Winchester’, and she, in just a tank, felt the same to him. He nipped at her neck again, harder than before. She whimpered, then moaned, and Dean ate it up. He spun her around, pressing her back into the wall and resecuring his hold on her hands above her head.
“Not gonna kill you,” he tried to reassure her. Killing or hurting her was the farthest thing from his mind. “Just wanna make you scream for me.”
He leaned in, licking a stripe up her neck and nipping at the hinge of her jaw, making her curse under her breath, her knees weak and wobbly. She’d always wanted Dean and his attentions. Even as a demon, he was still handsome, and the danger about him only enhanced it. But she knew he didn’t really want her - he’d said so - and he’d hate her when Sam finally cured him.
But in that moment, what he was offering was all she’d ever wanted.
She pressed forward, kissing him harshly and desperately, and Dean eagerly responded. He released her hands and smirked against her lips as she clutched at his shoulders, pulling him tighter against her. He leaned down into her neck, kissing her skin before biting into her flesh, breaking the skin and tasting her coppery blood on his tongue.
She screamed.
“That’s what I want,” he praised, ripping open her pants and shoving them down her legs. He cupped her pussy, pleased to find her wet for him already.
Without warning, he sank two fingers inside of her, and she moaned and squirmed. He pressed her tighter into the wall and worked her open, before dropping to his knees and spreading her thighs enough to get his tongue in there too. Her orgasm caught her by surprise as Dean milked her for every drop, licking deep into her core to lap up her tangy flavor. She would have been embarrassed about how quick it was if it hadn’t left her feeling so incredibly blissful.
Before she had come down, he dragged her down to the cool floor, not bothering with removing her shoes or pants, now situated around her ankles. He quickly tugged down his jeans and boxers enough to free his achingly hard cock, and lifted her ankles to one shoulder as he slammed himself inside of her with one brutal thrust. He didn’t want to hurt her, truly, but he wasn’t about to be gentle.
“DEAN!” She screamed, her cries echoing around in the halls of the underground Bunker. Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto as he fucked her hard and deep. She slid slightly across the smooth floor with each thrust, but Dean held her legs tight to his shoulder, the other hand holding her hip.
“Yeah, you need it bad, don’t you, Baby?”
Fuck, did she ever. She’d needed Dean to fuck her senseless since she’d first laid eyes on him. Despite the slight bit of pain, her pleasure overrode all else, including sense.
“Yes, Dean. Please!”
“That’s right, scream for me, Baby. Let everyone know you’re gettin’ fucked nice and good.”
She whimpered and tried to bite her lip to keep quiet, not wanting Sam to hear her screaming for his demon brother. Dean growled and shifted his hips, leaning over her and fucking into her harder. The move forced her knees into her chest, his weight above her pressing down, the new angle letting him slide deeper than before on each thrust.
He pulled her lip down and mouth open, and she couldn’t fight the constant screams that ravaged her throat as he mercilessly pounded into her until she was coming a second time.
“You sound so good, feel even better,” he growled into her ear, pulling out and flipping her over, ass in the air and chest pressed to the ground. He thrust within her again, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulders, as he held her down to take everything he was giving her.
Her cheek was pressed hard into the floor, her back arched painfully, Dean’s grip bordering on too much. But it was somehow perfect, his thick cock rubbing against her in all the right places, as if they were designed to fit together. He was ruining her completely; no one else would ever take his place, and she was perfectly fine with it, despite the consequences.
“Fuck, DEAN!” she screamed involuntarily as she came again, harder than before, clenching so hard Dean could barely thrust in and out of her as he chased his completion.
Just as she was coming down, Dean growled and lifted her into his lap. He bit down on her neck opposite the bitten shoulder and moaned at her taste as he spilled deep within her. He slowly pulled out, released her to the floor, and tucked himself back into his pants. Once on his feet, he looked down at her with a sinful smirk, admiring how utterly wrecked she looked.
She was worried for a minute, as she looked up at him from the floor, that he’d kill her anyway now that he’d had what he wanted. Instead, he offered out a hand, helping Y/N to her feet. She quickly righted her clothes and felt Dean’s warm seed seeping into her underwear. He looked her over, admiring her flushed cheeks, messy hair, and lustful gleam in her eyes. He grinned and cupped her face as he kissed her hard.
“There’s more where that came from.”
Suddenly, Castiel appeared behind Dean, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him away, and holding him securely. Dean’s eyes went black as Castiel’s shone with blue light. She gasped and jumped back away from them, Dean’s inhuman roar reminding Y/N of the demon that he still was. She suddenly felt sick over letting him have his way with her, but she clenched her thighs to stem her arousal over it all the same.
Sam rushed around the corner, Ruby’s blade in hand, as he slid to a stop. He glanced at Cas as he dragged Dean back towards the dungeon, cursing and threatening them all if they didn’t let him go. He was grateful that their Angel friend had managed to make it and help just when they needed it the most.
Once Cas and Dean were out of sight, Sam looked over Y/N. When he woke in the control room, he had heard her shouts and Dean’s taunts. He busted his way through the wooden door, only to listen to her screams, and he had assumed Dean was torturing her. He rushed towards the sound of their voices, his mind painting terrible images of an altercation underway.
Expecting to see blood and Y/N in a state that would haunt his nightmares, he instead was met with her disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks. However, he took note of the two bloody bite marks on her neck and shoulder. It took him a few seconds to realize the sounds he’d heard were screams of pleasure, not pain. He was surprised and worried, but there would be time for questions after Dean was cured.
He blushed and cleared his throat. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied, her heart slowly breaking for herself and for the future cured Dean, who would probably never look at her the same way again. They might ask her to leave. She wouldn’t blame them. She dreaded the thought of having to pack up her small room in the Bunker that she’d come to think of as home. “Let’s finish this.”
-
“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam said with a smile after splashing his brother with holy water.
The water dripped down Dean’s face, and he blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what was going on. He realized he was strapped to a chair in the dungeon, Sam and Cas looking at him with worried and relieved expressions. Then it all came rushing back to him - being a demon, the things he did and said, how he chased down and hurt his brother. How he chased down…
Oh God!
Sam untied him, and he rose from the chair, stretching out his limbs and forcing a small smile of gratitude for his little brother and best friend. Mostly, he felt sick and wondered if he’d finally done something horrible enough to make Y/N hate him. Leave him. Forget about him.
Several hours later, after Castiel had left and Sam had gone to sleep, Dean sat at the table in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of water. He desperately wanted alcohol, but after being a demon, he decided maybe he needed to be more careful and try his best to control the Mark and its urges.
Despite being cured of demonhood, the Mark remained. Its dark influence still swam through his veins, burning on his forearm with the familiar bloodlust. But now it also itched for something new, something more. It wanted Y/N. To be near her, with her.
He had tried so hard, for so long, denying himself so that he could keep her safe. Safe from him, from his enemies, from everything. Now, having been with her, knowing what she felt like, he didn’t think he could push her away anymore. The Mark certainly wasn’t going to make it any easier on him.
He was utterly surprised when he watched her walk into the kitchen in the middle of the night. He was so into his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approaching. He had assumed, having not seen her since being cured, that she was hiding from him or, worse, was packing her bags to sneak out and disappear from their lives entirely.
“Dean.”
She seemed just as surprised to see him, sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen in the middle of the night. She had put on a flannel shirt, the buttons buttoned up, the collar hiding where he had bitten. He wasn’t sure if Cas had healed her or if the flannel just covered the shameful marks he had left. They held each other’s gaze for a second before they both quickly looked away.
“How are you feeling?” Y/N asked as she slowly approached to stand closer to the table, but not close enough to make Dean feel trapped.
“Not a demon anymore,” he grumbled and shrugged. “Still have the Mark, though.”
He rubbed at his forearm and looked up at her when she sighed and sat at the table across from him.
“How much do you remember?”
“All of it,” he sighed, letting her see the hurt and worry in his eyes. “I remember all of it.”
She dropped her head and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. As she shifted, he could see the one bite mark on her neck, cleaned but red and raw. He didn’t know whether to be sad or glad that Cas hadn’t healed them away. Dean was sure she was going to tell him off or explain why she had to leave. He braced himself for the worst.
“I just…I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she spoke, staring at the wooden grain of the table, therefore missing his utterly confused expression. “I shouldn’t have let what happened…happen. And I get it if you hate me-”
“Whoa, what?” she looked up at him in bewilderment, and he swallowed hard. “That…I…” he groaned and wiped a hand down his face. “It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have chased you down and forced you-”
“Whoa, okay, hold up,” Y/N threw up her hands as if she could physically stop the words. “You didn’t force anything, Dean. I wanted it.”
“No,” he shook his head, “No, you didn’t. I-”
“You told me before you weren’t interested. But when the demon was there, I couldn’t resist. I wanted you so much, even if it was just once, so I let it happen. And I’m sorry.”
It took a couple of beats for his mind to catch up with her words. She wasn’t mad at him. He didn’t force her. She wanted it. But now she was blaming herself because she thought she had taken advantage of him. He couldn’t stop the laugh that burst forth.
“You didn’t force me either,” Dean clarified with a small smile. “I lied to you before, about not wanting that with you. Because I do, I always have. I can’t remember not wanting you.”
“But, you said-”
“I know,” he groaned. “I was trying to keep you safe.”
After several drawn-out moments of silence, she finally spoke. “So what now? Where does that leave us? Do you want me to leave?”
“What?” his heart leaped into his throat in panic at the thought of her leaving. He forced himself from his seat, moving around the table to take the seat beside her. “No, I don’t want you to leave.” He sighed and took her hands in his own before meeting her eyes. “I don’t know if I can stay away from you anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
He followed the call of his racing heart, leaning in slowly to let her back away. But she met him in the middle. When their lips touched, it was like literal fireworks going off in his mind, her touch so sweet and sure.
“I forgive you,” she whispered against his lips when they pulled apart. “For pushing me away, for the demon, for all of it. I forgive you.”
Dean didn’t feel he deserved her forgiveness, or her love, but he needed it anyway. He tangled his fingers in her hair as he gave her a hungry, passionate kiss, filled with all the things he’d been holding back for so long. She moaned into his mouth, and he rested his forehead against hers, smiling at how easily he could get her worked up, though he wasn’t faring much better himself.
“So does that mean you’ll give me a chance? To do it right? To prove to you I really do want you and this?”
She grinned, “I knew you’d come around,” she teased, and he barked a laugh. Suddenly, his doom and gloom seemed to lighten, sprinkled with a hint of hope.
cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ hunter x prey kink.ᐟ hide & seek.ᐟ mask kink.ᐟ hair pulling.ᐟ rough man handling.ᐟ kinda eiffel tower position.ᐟ cum on face.ᐟ threesome [if you don’t like the idea of them both doing you don’t read].ᐟ mild knife play.ᐟ humiliation.ᐟ lots of degrading and name calling.ᐟ unprotected p n v [don’t be silly guys].ᐟ creampie.ᐟ
word count: 3.4k
“three, two, one… run.” the lights went out, leaving only the dim red emergency lighting and sam’s low voice bouncing off the bunker walls.
you ran, like your life depended on it.
the rules were simple – you hide, they seek.
but once they do find you, they get to do whatever they please with you. you weren’t going to make it easy for them, just like they asked. and they definitely weren’t going to be soft on you.
this was a thrilling game that had only one ending, you getting your holes stuffed with the winchesters.
oh and let’s not forget the fact that both sam and dean have a knife at their disposal while wearing a ghostface mask and cloak during this twisted little game of hide and seek.
you managed to find a decently good hiding spot before they finished counting. under your bed – classic yet painful obvious.
you were honestly hoping that they weren’t gonna start with the obvious hiding spots, you know, the whole reverse psychology thing.
you laid flat on your stomach under your bed, hand over your mouth so that your breathing wasn’t the thing that gave you away, although you fear that wasn’t what’s the give away, your heart rang in your ears, feeling like it was away to jump out your chest.
was it because of running? sure. but fear and arousal had a play in it too.
“come out come out wherever you are” you heard sam’s taunting voice echo through the hallway, he was close. of course he was, you wouldn’t be surprised if he cheated.
the question now is, did they split up or team up? guess it’s for you to find out.
your bedroom door swung open with a big thud as sam’s biker boots kicked it open, you let out an involuntary gasp from the sudden scare.
unluckily for you – sammy heard. a smirk grew behind his mask.
you heard his footsteps, heavy and deliberately slow, making your heart beat increase even more. you seriously thought it was that loud that everyone could hear it.
the knife he was holding, scrapped against the concrete wall of your room, making you aware of it’s presence.
you watched as the pair of boots stepped closer to the bed, you knew you were fucked, but still, you had the fight in you.
like sam and dean wanted, don’t make it easy for them to catch you.
and you weren’t planning on it.
the big black boots stopped at the foot of the bed, a sudden silence falling in the room. you covered your mouth to mute yourself, but sam could already smell the strong feminine perfume that gave you away.
“thought we all agreed to make this game interesting, but you’re just making it too damn easy for us” sam chuckled in a sinister way before you suddenly felt both your ankles being grabbed by big strong hands, then got pulled out from under the bed, you couldn’t help but let out a scream trying to grab onto the bed leg but sam was too fast.
you thrashed around before turning onto your back to face him, the ghostface mask looking much more scarier in the dull red light than you expected.
your instincts kicked in and so did your legs, landing a couple of shots to his abdomen, which made sam stumble back into your desk, pens and papers falling to the floor, you gave yourself just enough time to get up and bolt out the door.
as you ran through one of the long hallways of the bunker, you noticed just how loud of a noise your shoes were making, which gave you a disadvantage.
so you stopped for a second, throwing them off your feet, along with your socks, leaving you completely barefoot. the cold concrete floor waking up a new sensation in you.
you heard sam’s heavy footsteps getting closer, very quickly. he was running, which meant you had a better chance at hiding than outrunning him. without much thought you started running the opposite direction from where your room was.
as you were away to turn left on the corner, you bumped into dean’s tall and broad figure, ghostface mask, black cloak and a knife in his hand. it’s shouldn’t be turning you on, but by god it did.
it didn’t take even a second for him to grab a hold of you, his deep chuckle vibrating against your back.
“come on now little one. we don’t wanna hurt you” dean cooed into your ear.
you squirmed around in his tight grasp, grunting softly when he tightened his grip. your brain told you to bite – so you did.
after all you weren’t supposed to make it easy for them, remember?
you sank your teeth into his arm, which made him drop his knife and shout in pain. “auh you bitch!” dean growled, his grip loosening for a split second which you used to your advantage.
slipping yourself loose and sprinting down the hallway as he was too occupied cussing under his breath.
sam caught up to dean, “what happened?”
“the little brat bit me” dean massaged his arm.
sam chuckled out. “clever little minx”
“shut up and get her” dean barked, then both the predators started chasing you, the prey, down the hallway.
your footsteps were much quieter now without shoes but sadly it didn’t help with running any faster. you could feel them both catching up to you and you panicked.
running into the kitchen which didn’t exactly have any good hiding spots, only an entrance and an exit door.
you were out of breath, your heart felt like it was away to stop any minute and to your misfortune, sam stood at the entrance door and dean blocked the exit door.
leaving you completely cornered, like a little bunny that’s hunted by big hungry wolves. both of them wearing masks that covered their faces, but you could feel their smirks radiating from beneath.
“give it up sweetheart, you’re cornered. you have nowhere to run-“ sam spoke, satisfaction in his low voice.
“-nowhere to hide.” dean added.
your legs went weak, cotton like.
you leaned against the sink, trying to keep them both at the same distance. your brain was going through all the possibilities of running away, fighting even.
you looked around to notice a clean pan that was on the drying rack, you had a lightbulb moment.
you grabbed the pan and planned on using it against them as a weapon, will it work? you didn’t know, but you had to try.
“and what are you gonna do with that? fry some eggs?” dean mocked, stepping closer to you, with that slow predatory step.
sam followed his older brother’s actions, doing the same.
you felt as if like the walls were closing in on you, your eyes jumping from one winchester to another. “get back!” you warned, swinging the pan back and forth.
fortunately for you, you landed a good hit on sam. the pan making a massive bang sound. sam let out a groan and curled up a bit, holding his abdomen. “i’ve had it up to here with you, you little-!”
you threw the pan at dean and took the gamble, pushing past sam’s broad body, aiming for the entrance door that he was blocking literally a second ago.
“not so fast, little mouse” dean growled from behind you, gripping you by your hair and pulling you back.
you let out a yelp, falling onto your ass. “n-no!!” your body tried to fight him, tried to crawl away but the grip on your hair was harsh, his fingers deep in your curls, he wasn’t afraid to yank them.
dean chuckled lowly, waiting for sam to straighten out and join his side, while you were struggling like a mouse caught in a glue trap.
dean gave sam a quick head tilt, a silent signal to follow him.
dean walked out the kitchen first, his fingers never leaving your hair, he dragged you by your hair, manhandling you like a goddamn savage.
you let out soft whines, trying to hold onto his wrist so it wouldn’t hurt so much. sam followed behind, keeping an eye on you, giving you unlikely chances of getting away now.
the three of you eventually reached your bedroom door, but once the three of you stepped afoot inside, you were fucked.
literally and figuratively.
“it’s game over sweetheart, no more running” dean explained.
“or you will have extra consequences” sam added.
and with that, dean dragged you inside and sam locked the door behind.
you were locked in one room with these two scary and heartless hunters. with sam having no soul and dean being a demon, their level of empathy was basically the same – which was zero. nil. nada. absolutely none whatsoever.
you crawled backwards as both of them stood above you, your back hitting the foot of the bed. you breathing uneven, you did not know what to expect from them now, and that made you feel very uneasy.
both sam and dean looked down at you with their masks still on, knives still in their hands. you didn’t know whether to get wet or pee yourself right there on the spot.
“what do you think we should do with her first sammy?” dean asked his younger brother.
sam chuckled at the idea that popped into his head, “i think her face needs a bit of color, don’t you? thinking.. white” dean smirked at his brothers answer, you on the other hand did not understand the cryptic tone.
“that’s a perfect idea, little brother” dean commented, already starting to unbuckle his belt.
your puppy eyes went wide in shock, seeing both of them unbuckling their leather belts. something deep inside you was screaming, butterflies erupting in your tummy.
the sound of the metal clinking was enough to make you wet.
“on your knees” sam ordered, but you were heavily hesitating. a little scared even.
“he said, on your knees. slut” dean barked as he noticed you not listening to his brother.
you weren’t going to lie, his tone made you jump, lowkey afraid. you got on your knees, not wanting them to get mad or anything, punishment from them would be diabolical, to say the least.
“there we go, that wasn’t so hard to do now was it? or is our little cum guzzler simply deaf?” dean cooed, taking out his already hard cock out his black cargo pants and pumping himself a couple times in front of your face, a juicy vein decorating his shaft.
you looked sam’s way, noticing him pulling out his cock too, his cock longer but not as thick as his brother’s.
both equally pretty and yummy looking though.
“from what i recall you’re a big fan of double cream and all that, so let’s see how well you can handle this type” sam spoke cockily, stroking himself off in front of your face.
both men stood inches away from you, you knelt in front of them, your face at their crotch level so you got to see all the details. from their flushed tips and the pulsing veins to their pearly precum dripping down their piss slits.
you felt nothing short of a whore, a sex toy of theirs to play with as they wish. it felt demeaning, embarrassing, degrading, humiliating – but at the same time you could not help but get turned on by watching those two huge guys jerking off in front of you like that.
both sam and dean’s breathing got heavier, your eyes blown out as you switched your stare from one cock to another, and all you could do is just kneel there on your knees with puppy eyes.
“open your mouth” dean hissed through gritted teeth.
your eyes looked up at him, that ghostface mask staring back at you. you didn’t dare to disobey dean, his short temper scared you and you wouldn’t want him to throat fuck you just to prove a point, so you opened your mouth nice and wide.
and just like that he stuck the tip of his cock in your mouth, “suck.” he ordered, leaving no space for ‘but’s.
you flicked your tongue over his tip before taking more of him in your mouth, humming a soft moan that sent vibrations down his spine.
you looked up at him, with your mouth full of his cock, dean couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the sultry view in front of him.
his hand went into your hair, guiding your head up and down his cock before forcefully pulling you away, your mouth making a pop sound, a string of saliva joining at the corner of your mouth and his cock.
you looked at him with lustful puppy eyes, slightly embarrassed at how much this was turning you on.
sam tapped your cheek with his cock, “my turn, open up.”
your gaze shifted to the younger winchester, opening your mouth to let his cock slide into your mouth. “so fuckin eager” he chuckled lowly.
meanwhile dean continued jerking himself off watching his brother make you take his inches. “i know right? told you she’s a cumslut” dean grunted, feeling himself getting closer, but his hand kept a steady pace.
sam’s hand held the back of your head, pushing your head down making you gag on his cock, tears welled up in your eyes and drool dripped down your chin.
“she may be a cumslut but she definitely gags like a fucking beginner” sam laughed, mockery in his voice as his hips moved forwards, you tried to breathe through your nose but couldn’t help letting out a choked whimper.
sam suddenly pulled out, feeling himself on the edge.
both the brothers pumped themselves quicker, their cocks practically touching your face.
“tongue out.” dean ordered, you could hear both of them softly panting under their masks.
you stuck your tongue out, your eyes dark and blown out, darting from one cock to the other, ready to taste them.
one after another, their cocks shot out hot sticky semen, covering your pretty little face. sam and dean pumped themselves dry onto your face, admiring the filthy view in front of them – your lips, tongue, cheeks and even your forehead covered with their dna.
you managed to lick the cum off your lips before the rest dripped down your face and neck.
“bet that was better than those oreos you eat” dean chuckled, his cock still hard in his hand.
so was sam’s.
of course this wasn’t the end of it – you would be stupid to think that.
both of them took their masks off, having enough of wearing it. both their hair messy in their own unique ways. dean pushed a hand through his hair.
“aww look at those tear stains, such a poor little thing~ drooling, covered in cum” sam gently petted your head, smiling softly with his signature puppy stare.
you were gullible enough to believe he was gonna be gentle now, but to your surprise he grabbed you by your hair and lifted you up like you were just a toy.
“up up up.” his voice filled with faux friendliness, you had no choice but to get up from your knees with the way he was pulling on your hair.
“on the bed, all fours. we are not finished with you yet” sam commanded, basically throwing you onto your own bed, and standing in front of you with his cock still up right, in front of your face.
dean walked over to the back of you, his hands already on your ass, strong fingers tearing your fishnets open at the crotch and ripping your panties with it. you gasped at dean’s strength, or more like that fact he didn’t even need to use much of it.
your pussy now fully exposed, glistening and dripping from how aroused you were. dean let out a low wolf whistle, “well i’ll be damned, you’re fuckin dripping wet… pathetic little thing is clearly enjoying herself” he let out a gravelly chuckle, his thumb sliding up and down your slick slit, making you squirm under his touch.
“so wet” dean chuckled, amused at just how wet you actually were already.
your mouth agape, a soft moan haunting your lips. your back arched slightly, seeking more of the feeling, but dean pulled away in an instant when he noticed you doing so, i mean what do you expect from a mean fucker like him?
you looked up at sam, your eyes meeting his dark, empathy lacking ones. his stiff cock at your eye level, “open up.” sam commanded, tapping the tip of his cock on your lips.
dean wasted no time whatsoever and pushed his cock inside you, inch by inch. his thick cock sliding in with ease and stretching you out, making you open your mouth and let out a strangled moan.
sam took that opportunity and shoved his cock half way down your throat, making you choke on him as he without a second thought started thrusting in and out your mouth, holding you by your hair, his grip harsh. “that’s a girl~“ he faux praised, the mocking tone never leaving him.
dean’s big calloused hands gripped your asscheeks and started thrusting his length in and out, in and out. your pussy making squelching sounds every time he pushed his cock deep inside you, filling you up to the brim.
“so full of cock, but i can feel just how much you’re into it you little freak, clenching that pussy tightly around my cock- you can’t fool us sweetheart” dean chuckled, increasing the speed of his hips, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming back in, balls deep, impaling you on both the cocks.
your pussy did indeed clench around him, subliminally wanting to milk him dry, for him to empty himself inside you. “jesus fuckin christ, what a tight little thing you are, gotta start stretching you out more often.” dean grunted in between thrusts.
both the winchester’s worked on you from both ends, it was almost overwhelming so you let them use you the way they wanted. you let out muffled moans as the two of them sped up their movements, chasing their highs.
a creamy ring formed around the base of dean’s cock, all thanks to you shamefully being into this, into being used and stuffed by them both.
both sam and dean let out grunts and strangled growls as they got close, unconsciously competing with each other to see who gets to fill you up with their seed first.
the way your throat clenched as you gagged continuously on sam’s big cock, stimulated his tip. sam threw his head back, letting out a moan as his cock spewed out thick ropes of white.
your mouth flooded with drool and his cum, tears and cum dripping down your face as he pulled out his cock.
“swallow.” sam growled, his fingers still deep in your hair, you wouldn’t dare to do other wise, swallowing his seed right in front of him and sticking your tongue out for proof.
“very good.” his other hand tapped your cheek harshly in a degrading manner.
dean on the other hand was hanging on by a thread, your pussy eagerly swallowing his cock each time he pushed deep inside you, his tip kissing your cervix.
he gave you a couple sudden spanks on the ass before finally giving you his seed, shooting his hot cum deep in your womb.
as he pulled out slowly, his pearly white cum dripped out your hole, down your thighs and onto your bedsheets.
“now that’s what i call double-stuffed, ain’t that right sammy?” dean laughed, collecting some of his cum onto his finger and pushing it back inside you, making you cry out a moan.
“just how she likes it.” sam added, smirking down at you, brushing his thumb against your plump bottom lip.
for a long second, the three of you try to catch your breaths.
until sam lifted his head up, looking at his older brother. “switch?” sam asked casually.
“now that’s what i’m talkin ‘bout” dean chuckled, rubbing his hands together before getting off the bed and switching sides with sam.
this was going to be a very long and messy night.
but a deal is a deal – you fought well during the twisted kids game of hide and seek, but in the end you lost.
and losers take their punishment like champs.
thank you so much for reading it literally means the world to me! believe it or not, this piece of writing took me a couple months to finalise so i am so happy yall can finally see it, i am defo proud of this baby!
Summary: Dean is affected by a curse, one that forces him to unleash all his desires, leaving him animalistic and monstrous.
Warnings: SEX! Minors STAY AWAY, P in V, angst, dubcon, Dean is a little cruel, but she likes it. Use of yn.
" What happened?! Yn's voice echoed through the bunker, cutting through the silence like a knife. Her eyes widened as she saw Sam descending the stairs carrying Dean over his shoulders, his older brother hanging like a sack of bones, his body completely surrendered.
She had stayed behind in that hunt; witches were never easy, but this time, her own body prevented her from doing some things. In the last hunt, she was thrown against a pillar, causing some ribs to break.
The ribs still throbbed with pain, reminding her with every breath why she shouldn't be moving. But seeing Dean in that state, the pain vanished. Everything vanished.
Dean was drenched in sweat, his skin flushed as if burning from the inside. The veins in his neck throbbed in taut cords, pulsing at an abnormal rhythm. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, and his torso contorted in spasms, as if something inside him was trying to escape.
Yn didn't think twice. He stepped forward, slipping his arm under Dean's ribs to help Sam carry him to the infirmary.
That's when Dean growled.
It wasn't a groan of pain, it was something primal, guttural, almost animalistic. A sound that made Yn shudder, his fingers freezing in mid-air for a second before tightening even more in his side.
"The witch got him," Sam replied, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. He ignored his brother's growl and continued dragging him forward, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway.
In the infirmary, Dean fought like a caged demon. He refused to lie down, his muscles tense like the strings of a bow about to snap. There was no choice; Sam pushed him against the mattress while Yn tied his wrists and ankles to the bed rails.
And every time she approached, he growled again.
Teeth clenched, a muffled roar escaping his throat. His eyes, once green and familiar, now seemed… different. Darker. Hungrier.
It was as if, at that moment, Dean Winchester was no longer there.
And whatever was in his place…
Wanted to devour her.
"What did the witch do to him?! " Yn's voice came out louder than it should have, a mixture of fear and despair. She looked at Sam, waiting for an answer he clearly didn't have. Dean continued to struggle against the restraints, his dark eyes fixed on her like a predator stalking its prey.
"I think it was some kind of curse. I didn't find any spell bags… " Sam rubbed his face in exhaustion, but didn't dare sit down to rest. Instead, he ran to the nearest book on the Men of Letters shelf, a book that contained some healing spells that the brothers had used before.
"How long has he been like this? " she asked, picking up another book and frantically flipping through it like Sam, also searching for some help.
"A few hours… It started right after she attacked him. A high fever, then delirium… He kept calling you… " Sam murmured, his eyes fixed on the book, ignoring his friend's gaze on him.
"Calling me? What do you mean?!" A chill ran down yn's spine. She looked at Dean, or whatever he had become. His dark eyes now followed her every little movement, his dilated nostrils sniffing the air.
"Then he started acting strangely, like an animal… I can't find anything that fits his symptoms. You?" He seemed to ignore Yn's words, too focused on his brother to do anything else.
"Oh… Me neither," she said, looking at the book in her hands and seeing nothing that matched his symptoms. Dean continued to look at her, continued to struggle and try to escape. That hoarse, deep sound echoed all around, reaching her ears almost like a warning.
"We need a cure." Sam slammed the book shut, turning to grab another.
"Castiel?"
"He doesn't answer. I already called him," he retorted, handing Yn another book.
She looked at Dean again, seeing and feeling that hungry look he had. His skin was a little redder, his body contorted a little more. She knew it would be a matter of hours before the fever became deadly for Dean, that is, if nothing worse happened first.
Yn bit her lip, feeling the weight of the situation.
More and more books were thrown off the shelf, none of them containing a possible cure, or an explanation for what was happening. It was as if what Dean was experiencing was a new form of torture, a new spell or curse. Something they couldn't stop or cure, and that was terrifying.
"Sam, where was Dean when the witch cursed him?" she asked, looking up from her book to see the younger man.
"She locked him in the basement of her house," Sam replied without taking his eyes off the book.
"Did you look for anything there? If she cast that curse, she must have written it down somewhere… A grimoire perhaps?" Sam slowly raised his gaze, as if processing the question through a fog of exhaustion. His fingers trembled slightly as he turned another page of the old book.
"I… didn't look properly." he admitted, his voice hoarse. "When I saw Dean in that state, I just thought about getting him out of there… " His eyes returned to his brother, now calmer, but still with that predatory gaze fixed on Yn. " But you're right. If there are answers, they're in that house."
A metallic creak made them both turn around. Dean was testing his restraints again, his wrists bloody from struggling so much. When his dark eyes met Yn's, he smiled, a gesture that was anything but human.
"Go, I'll take care of him. " Yn said without taking her eyes off Dean.
"What? And leave you here with him?! " Sam's eyes widened, looking both at Dean and at Yn. Her brother didn't have a human look; his eyes, once green, were black, not like a demon's, just his pupils dilated to an abnormal level.
"He's tied up, Sam…" she looked at her brother tied to the stretcher. He let out that growl again, followed by a smile, a strange and unnatural smile. Sam picked up the Impala's key, hesitating for a second before looking at his brother.
"If he gets worse…"
"I'll take care of it," Yn lied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
Sam left, leaving the bunker plunged into a heavy silence. The only sound was the grinding of Dean's teeth and the creaking of the ropes as he tested the restraints.
Yn took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. Seeing him like this was like being punched in the gut. Her ribs ached every time she tried to take a deep breath to calm herself; that deep sound the man made resonated directly through her body, her heart racing, her hands sweating, and her legs trembling.
Even knowing that the book in front of her wasn't helping at all, she decided to refocus on it. All to try and distract her mind from the man tied up a few meters away.
"Yn…" Her body froze in place when she heard Dean call her. His voice wasn't normal; it was deeper and hoarser, his tone not a plea for help but a provocation. "I can smell you, Yn." That definitely wasn't Dean. "Your sweet and delicious scent… You think you can hide it… But I can smell it." Her fists fought against the restraints again, the sound of the stretcher echoing through the bunker with the force that man possessed. "How bad you must feel… With your panties wet from a tied-up man…" She felt her heart stop.
Of course, she'd been feeling her sex throb for a while, but she judged it to be just adrenaline. Her legs were trembling, as were her hands; adrenaline caused that… Just like lust.
Was this the effect of those vibrations on her body? Each growl from Dean echoed in her bones like something new and exciting. Was he doing it on purpose?
"I can hear your heart racing… smell your fear mixed with… lust." Dean's voice slid across her skin like warm honey, each syllable making her stomach clench. Yn felt her nails digging into the pages of the book, her trembling fingers crumpling the aged paper. She heard the loud creaking of the metal stretcher wanting to give way under Dean's strength. "Want me to describe it? Want me to tell you exactly what you're feeling down there while you pretend you don't?"
"Shut up!" yn slammed the book on the table hard enough to make the old wooden table tremble. Her breath came in short bursts, her ribs throbbing.
Dean laughed.
A deep, lascivious sound that echoed through the bunker walls.
"That's it. That's right. Get angry. It's more honest." He tilted his head, his dark eyes drinking in every micro-expression of hers. "Do you know why the witch chose me for this? Because she saw what you two are hiding."
Yn felt a cold sweat trickle down her back. She should get out of there. She should lock the door and wait for Sam to come back. But her feet felt rooted to the ground.
"She saw how you look at him when you think no one's watching," Dean continued, his voice now a hypnotic whisper. "How you tremble when he walks past you. How you daydream about…"
"SHUT UP!" she yelled, grabbing a nearby bottle of holy water and pouring it over him. She knew he wasn't possessed, but she had to do something to stop hearing him.
He screamed. But not in pain. A scream that turned into a malicious laugh.
Yn recoiled until she felt the wall behind her. She should hide, should lock the nurse in and hide in the bunker. But she didn't. She couldn't. Maybe it was because Dean was telling the truth. Maybe it was because part of her, a wrong part, was liking his words.
Dean sniffed the air again. Smiling as if it were a drug.
"Sam will never want you like this, you know. He's too… pure." A contraction ran through his body, the muscles tensing beneath his skin. "But I… I can give you exactly what you need."
When he pulled the restraints this time, one of her wrists came loose.
She acted immediately, grabbing her knife and holding it in her hands.
"Don't you dare. Stay there or I swear to God that…"
"You what, Yn?" He sat on the bed, his shirt clinging to his sweaty skin, his cheeks flushed and his veins more visible. His heart pounded fast. "You wouldn't hurt me. Not even now. " His gaze traveled down her body, slow, calculating. " Because deep down, you're wondering… what it would be like."
"Shut up! "she yelled again, but he just laughed.
"I can give you a preview. First, I'll let you run, just a little so you can feel the glimmer of hope that you'll manage to escape… But you and I both know you don't want that. Then I'll find you… Your lust is my drug… " he sniffed, letting out a pleasurable sigh. - And it's delicious.
"Dean, if you're still there…"
"I'm here, darling. It's me talking… It's me who's going to tear your clothes off your body, mark you with my teeth, and eat you until you can't walk anymore! It's me, Yn. And nobody else." Before she could react, the remaining restraints snapped with the abrupt movement he made.
"This is the part where I hunt you down." Dean stood up in a fluid, almost supernatural movement. He moved his neck and shoulders; somehow he seemed larger, as if his muscles had doubled in size. She saw his nostrils twitching, a smile appearing, and his pupils pulsing. In one swift movement, his shirt tore to shreds, forcing her to see his sweaty torso moving rapidly with his breath. "Now you should run."
She did.
She ran as fast as she could, hearing Dean's growl echoing off the walls until it reached her, like a bizarre echolocation.
She ran as if hell were on her heels. Each step made her ribs scream in pain, but the fear was greater. The echo of Dean's footsteps behind her, slow, calculated, like a predator playing with its prey, made her run faster.
"You know you can't run, darling," Dean's voice reverberated off the concrete walls, distorted and deep. "The bunker is my territory. I know every inch of it."
She turned left, entering the file room. The metal shelves full of old books formed a tempting labyrinth. Behind the shelves she would find the dungeon, as he himself called it. She could hide there.
A violent thud made the whole room tremble. Yn swallowed hard.
"Where are you, my scared little bunny? The big bad wolf is hungry…" The heavy footsteps approached. She could hear him sniffing the air. "Your scent is getting stronger… Sweeter…"
yn crouched behind a bookcase, covering her mouth to stifle her breath. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared he could hear it. Her legs still trembled, from fear or from that perverse excitement that insisted on persisting, she no longer knew.
Another thud. Closer this time.
"You like this game, don't you? " Dean's voice was closer, almost a whisper. " Adrenaline and desire, all mixed together… That's why you didn't lock the infirmary door. You wanted me to come after you."
She closed her eyes tightly.
A metallic creak. He was in the room.
Yn looked between the shelves and saw Dean moving like a shadow among the bookcases. His bare torso glistened with sweat in the bunker's yellowish lights. His muscles seemed even larger, the veins bulging like ropes beneath his skin. When he turned his face toward her, his eyes gleamed in the darkness like those of a nocturnal animal.
She recoiled, accidentally bumping into a stack of books. The noise was minimal, but enough.
Dean smiled.
"I found you."
She didn't think that if she were found, she would be cornered. She took small steps back until she reached the concrete wall of the dungeon, trapped watching Dean pass between the shelves to reach her.
He approached like a wolf approaches its prey, without moving his eyes. She could feel the heat of his skin emanating like a bonfire, his scent was stronger, not in a bad way. Dean took the last step forward; she tried to raise her hand with the knife toward him, but as if it were childish, Dean caught both her hands and pinned them against the wall.
"You're trembling…" Dean whispered against her neck. He sniffed her skin, letting out a low groan. "But it's not just fear, is it?"
Yn hadn't considered that if she were found, she would be cornered. She took small steps backward until she reached the concrete wall of the dungeon, trapped, letting Dean squeeze through the shelves to reach her.
He approached like a wolf approaches its prey, without moving his eyes. She could feel the heat of his skin emanating like a bonfire; his scent was stronger, not in a bad way. Dean took the last step forward; she tried to raise her hand with the knife towards him, but as if it were childish, Dean caught both her hands and pinned them against the wall.
"You're trembling…" Dean whispered against her neck. He smelled her skin, letting out a low groan. "But it's not just fear, is it?"
Yn tried to break free, but his hands tightened slightly, forcing the knife she carried to fall to the floor with a metallic clink.
"Shhh…" he soothed, lightly nibbling her shoulder. "I promised a preview, remember?" One of his hands slid down her body, finding the waistband of her pants and slipping inside without further ado. "And look…" he said in a feigned surprised tone. "I was right after all."
She tried to push him away, but it was useless. He was too strong. Her ribs ached from the position she was in, but there was no way to escape.
Dean lifted his face from her neck, his dark pupils looking directly at her, his nose pulling in deep air. His mouth curved into an animalistic smile.
"Dean…"
"Are you going to tell me to stop? Is that it?" he questioned provocatively. His fingers didn't move, they were just inside her panties, feeling her heart pounding with lust against his palm. "Go on… Say it. Tell me to stop. We both know you can get out of this position. We both know that if you didn't want this, you would have already knocked me down and tied me up with these chains. So go on. Say it. Do it. React." She knew what Dean said was true. As strong as he was, Yn had already fought monsters twice her size. And won. She could get out of there.
But did she want to?
"Or… Just admit once and for all that this lust isn't from adrenaline, but… From a perverse fantasy you have that I can easily fulfill. Say yes and I'll make you forget how to walk. Say yes and everyone will know what happened here. Say yes and I'll fuck you so hard you'll never find another. Say yes and you'll be mine."
"Yes. " The word came out as if automatically. A whisper that could never be heard by anyone else, but Dean heard it perfectly.
Good girl. - His dark eyes widened even more, the veins in his neck throbbing violently. A deep growl echoed in his chest before he grabbed her tightly, crushing his lips against hers in a wild kiss.
It was anything but human.
Yn groaned against his mouth, feeling his sharp teeth bite her lower lip until it bled. The taste of iron dripped onto her tongue, and Dean devoured it as if it were nectar. His hands released her wrists only to grip her hips and lift her against the wall, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist.
Dean's lips fell to the woman's neck, where he licked and sucked her skin so hard that Yn wondered if he wasn't a vampire. It took her a while to understand what he was doing; he was marking her, exactly as he said he would. His teeth began to nibble at her skin, teasing as he listened to the small moans she let out.
He made sure to leave his teeth imprinted on Yn's flesh, making sure everyone who looked at her knew who she was.
The air escaped Yn's lungs as Dean lifted her like a toy, her body spinning with his until he placed her on the table in the corner of the dungeon. Her fractured ribs protested with sharp pain, but it was quickly silenced by the growl Dean let out.
"Mine," he growled against her mouth, his teeth scratching her lips until they bled.
Dean's mouth moved down her body again, but this time, his teeth were used as tools to tear the fabric of Yn's clothes. Dean's hands felt like claws, shredding her clothes as if they were paper.
The cold air of the bunker chilled her exposed skin, but Dean was a living furnace, burning her inside and out.
He sniffed the air again, letting out a growl so loud that Yn felt the metal table vibrate to the sound. Dean knelt on the floor, pulling Yn's hips off the table in a single, forceful movement. Her legs immediately threw themselves over his shoulders, an attempt to hold him so he wouldn't fall to the ground. Her hands gripped the table as her head lifted to see Dean between her legs.
Yn's breath caught in her throat as Dean buried his face between her legs. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her thighs, leaving red marks that would soon turn into bruises.
"Dean…!"
"Shut up," he growled, his hands gripping her hips with brutal force.
And then he devoured her.
It wasn't an act of pleasure. It was a marking. Each lick was calculated to draw hoarse moans from her throat, each bite a promise of pain and ecstasy. She gripped the table so tightly her fingers turned white, the metal creaking under her weight.
Her eyes filled with tears from the pleasure he was causing her. Her mind turned to jelly with each stroke of Dean's tongue. Her body vibrated each time he growled against her skin. She could hear his saliva mingling with her orgasms, dripping onto the floor at the foot of the table. She felt the pain of each heavy breath thanks to her broken ribs, but she couldn't care less.
His hands were firm on her thighs, so firm that the tips of his fingers were white, and her skin purple beneath them. She took one of her hands in his, not rationally, but instinctively, needing to hold onto something to ensure she was still alive. Dean responded immediately, intertwining his fingers with hers.
Yn didn't know how many times she had already come on his tongue. How many times she had screamed his name, or how many times she had seen the edge of the universe and returned. She only knew that Dean was hungry, and she was his meal.
Dean's hand gripped hers with almost enough force to crush bones, while his tongue worked with brutal precision. Yn gasped, her free fingers tangling in his short hair, pulling with a force that would make any normal man scream in pain.
Dean only growled louder, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin.
"You like this," he stated, pulling away for a moment, his chin wet from her. "You like being devoured."
Before she could answer, he lifted her from the table as if she weighed nothing, turning her onto her stomach on the cold metal surface. His immense hands encircled her waist, lifting her hips until she was arched for him. She felt the mixture of sage and her own arousal trickling down her thighs, felt the shiver of the bunker's cold air hitting her hot, throbbing sex.
"I'll make sure you remember this night every time you sit down," he promised, growling against her buttock before sinking his teeth into it. She gripped the table tightly, letting out a mixture of a scream and a moan. Dean dared to spit on her sex before giving a sharp slap to the buttock that he didn't bite.
She felt him rise from the floor, his hands sliding up her back, touching every inch of skin almost delicately. The calluses on his hands sent shivers down her spine, just as his breath, following the line of her spine, did. Dean left a shy, almost oblivious kiss on her shoulder before penetrating her in a single movement.
Her sex was so soaked, so lubricated with her own lust that it welcomed Winchester as if it belonged there. She could feel the way he pulsed, perhaps as excited as she was, the rhythm of their hearts beating together in their sex. It would be romantic if it weren't so utterly obscene.
Dean began six movements without giving her time to breathe. The sound of his hips meeting hers, the way his balls repeatedly slammed against her swollen, throbbing clitoris echoed through the bunker.
Her body arched against the table with each brutal thrust from Dean. Her fingers gripped the metal edges with desperate force, their knuckles white from the pressure. Her world had shrunk to the searing heat between her legs, the wonderful pain of the bites he left on her shoulders, the way his hands slapped her buttocks.
Dean suddenly changed the angle, hitting a spot inside her that made her legs tremble violently. She could feel every vein, every fold of skin touching her tight walls, she could feel his head touching the crest of her cervix, giving the delicious sensation of intense and undeniable pleasure.
He ran one hand along her neck, pulling her body up while the other hand gripped her breast tightly enough for him to feel her heart in his palm. She felt his tongue clean the saliva that dripped from her mouth before joining in a delicious, wet, and depraved kiss.
He moved his hand from her neck down her body, the calloused tips of his fingers teasing her skin. She rolled her eyes in pleasure when Dean touched her nerves; her legs no longer seemed to work, and if it weren't for him, she would have collapsed to the floor, and with that stimulation, her muscles would have ceased to function altogether. Tremors ran through her body like a shock touching every nerve. Dean smiled in the middle of the kiss, his own body reaching an exhaustion from which there was no escape.
She felt the man's body vibrate once more, not a growl, a strong, deep groan. She could feel his orgasm filling her body with each pulse of their racing hearts.
Dean pulled her in for one last kiss, this time less wild and deeper. She saw his gaze pulse one last time before that darkness was overtaken again by the intense green.
She wished she could say she saw beyond that, but her body felt like it had been pulled from the socket. Every muscle giving way to imminent exhaustion.
The first thing she felt was a weight. Something hindering her breathing as if she were trapped. Her eyes opened in confusion; the weight was none other than Dean Winchester. His skin was colder than before, not to a worrying degree, but rather indicating that the fever had gone. His breathing was calmer and more rhythmic, as was his heart beating slower and more serenely.
"Dean…" she whispered, trying to wake the weight off of her, needing to breathe. He murmured something in response, but she didn't understand what. "Dean, I can't breathe here!" he shouted this time, patting his shoulder a few times, like a WWE wrestler would to give up a fight.
He woke up, and with a sudden movement he was sitting on the other side of the bed with the gun in his hand, but the sights were off.
Pointing at the wall, as if defending herself from a shadow.
"What are you doing?" she asked, suppressing a laugh, adjusting herself on the bed to cover her body with the blanket, although she wasn't naked, but rather wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that Dean had.
"What?!" he lowered the gun, rubbing his eyes as if trying to manually shake off the sleepiness.
"I asked you to get off me…" she explained, the confusion in his eyes. Dean looked around before lying down again. This time, placing the gun on the bedside table and burying his head in his pillow.
The silence in the bunker was thick, broken only by Dean's panting breath and the distant hum of the fluorescent lights. Yn looked at the ceiling, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled the blanket higher, as if she could hide under the fabric.
Dean turned his head to her, his green eyes now clear, but filled with something she couldn't name.
"You are… " his voice came out hoarse, as if he had swallowed embers. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat before trying again. "Are you okay?" a simple question, but behind it lay dozens. Did I hurt you? Do you want me to leave? Do you regret it? Do you want to punch me? Did I cross the line? I'm sorry?
"I… I'm alive." she answered, avoiding his gaze. " Are you okay? " again that simple question, but it carried more hidden between its lines. Do you remember anything? Was it good for you? Do you regret it? Was it even you?
"I'm alive. " he answered just like her.
Yn bit her lower lip, still sore from his bites. Dean closed his eyes for a second, as if fighting against a memory. When he opened them again, there was a shadow of guilt in the depths of them.
"I shouldn't have"
"It was the curse." she interrupted immediately, as if trying to escape that conversation. " I should go… " she threw the covers aside, sitting up and trying not to let him notice her grimace as she felt her insides filled with memories of him. Dean wasn't lying, she would feel him for a while.
"No! " he sat up quickly, grabbing her hand so she couldn't stand up. "You won't… "he spoke more calmly now. She saw him take a deep breath, not like before, not like a hunting animal, but someone searching for words. " Yn, I'm so sorry. "his tone was heavy and sincere. "I shouldn't have done what I did, and I know there's no excuse for what happened… You have every right to hate me and nothing I do will ever change that, but I want you to know it wasn't the curse. Even if it makes you hate me more, hiding behind a curse would be easier, but it's not fair to you." she felt her eyebrows meeting in confusion at his words." I never meant to take advantage of you. I never meant to hurt you like this… I…" he closed his eyes, trying to find the words to say. Dean always hated how he couldn't express himself the way he wanted. "The curse made me this way because of you because… Because there was already a part of me that was this way because of you."
"What?" she understood perfectly, but she couldn't believe what he said.
"I know it doesn't change anything. I know you'll still hate me, but if this is our last conversation, I need you to know that I always… I always loved you." he opened his eyes wanting to say it, looking deep into hers, so she could feel the truth of his words.
"You…"
"I know." he closed his eyes again, as if expecting a punch.
"You need to stop interrupting me, I'm getting annoyed." she said, covering his mouth with her hand and forcing him to look at her. "You said the curse only made you this way because you love me? Weren't you forced to do what you did? Don't you regret it?" Dean immediately shook his head. "Do you love me?" He nodded immediately. "Oh… We're both idiots then." She removed her hand from his mouth, replacing it with her lips.
Dean was surprised, but didn't refuse the kiss.
"Just to clarify, you…"
"I love you too, Winchester," she said, seeing the most beautiful smile appear on the man's rosy lips.
This time, he pulled her into a kiss.
"Sam!" she shouted in the middle of the kiss, separating their lips in a subtle reminder of the other man.
"You can't say you love me and then shout my brother's name in my mouth." Dean seemed annoyed, but he wasn't really, his smile still clearly visible.
"That's not it…" she laughed. "We have to tell him you're okay."
"Oh, he knows," Dean assured her, giving her a not-so-subtle wink.
"Did we traumatize him?" she asked, feeling the guilt growing in her chest.
"What's one more trauma for him?" Dean replied with kisses on the woman's lips, who smiled at his words.
This is probably the most vile thing I've written thus far... That said-
THIS IS A DEAD DOVE WITH UPSETTING / TRIGGERING THEMES. DO NOT READ IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE IT.
CW: Knife play, dub-con treading into non-con, reader is very sick, violence, biting, demon dean, unprotected PiV (WRAP IT UP), throat fucking, breeding kink (if you squint), rough sex, abuse, mentions of past drinking, near death experience, blood play
A/N: I understand I put reader under A LOT of stress and that realistically, she should be in a hospital. Keep in mind that this is fictional, and I do NOT endorse any type of violence / abuse of this kind.
>> READ ON AO3
>> PART 2
WC: 4,084
Her body aches and it's hard to breathe. The sheets are soaked in sweat and her skin is pallid. She has been like this for a week and her symptoms haven't let up. She felt useless to Sam in helping Dean turn human again.
Dean…
The thought of the man she so desperately loves does little to soothe her sickly state. Her brows knit tightly together as she coughs, chest tightening as she does so. It takes her a moment to catch her breath; whatever breath she can catch. The gasps she manages to wheeze out are pitiful, pathetic, even. This is the sickest she has ever been and the closest to death she has felt. No creature, demon, angel or human has made her feel so close to the final breath.
As she opens her eyes, she notices that her room is illuminated by red emergency lights. Odd. Sam had everything under control, didn't he? Her eyes flutter shut, unable to fight the fatigue.
–
“Come on, Sammy! Let's play!” Dean grins, eyes flitting to black for a brief moment as he remembers that someone else lives here, too. Her.
His heavy footsteps echo throughout the halls of the bunker as he makes his way to her room. Before Dean enters, he presses his ear to the door and hears soft whimpers. His sick grin from earlier cracks across his face. The elder Winchester always found her whimpers pathetically cute. They made his cock stiff and mind shoot into the gutter, but he never told her that. Not at least when he was human.
Dean had rejected her softly a couple times before. It wasn't because he wasn't interested, but because he didn't think he deserved someone so caring. A hunter's life was meant to be full of misery and not knowing what was next. Oh, if he could, he would accept her love and be the most selfish bastard alive. She was beautiful, strong, smart, and a firecracker. She had matched his snark and seemed to understand him better than his past lovers. Yeah, she was 10 years younger than him, but that didn't change a damn thing about how he felt.
As a human, he hid his feelings and shunned them to the back of his mind. He saved those disgusting thoughts for late at night in his room where he jerked himself off like it was his last day alive. Now? He was a demon. He didn't give a shit. He would have her, human and demon feelings alike.
–
The door to her room opens with a slight creak, but she is unable to lift her head to see who entered. She can barely open her eyes as the fatigue is too much to bear.
Dean's eyes scan her body on the bed; she's sick, dressed only in panties and a loose tank top. It's hot in there and smells a little funny. “Hey sweetheart.” He takes a step closer, licking his lips at her form laying there in a heap.
Hearing his voice sends a shiver down her spine, a welcome chill to fight her feverish state. There was no way he was back up here, Sam had to still administer a few more doses of human blood. She must be hallucinating. “Dean..” her voice is barely above a whisper.
The bed dips as Dean sits on the edge, a wicked grin that she is unable to see spread across his handsome face. He reaches over, putting a hand on her damp forehead. “You're burning up.” He moves his hand away to drag his fingers on her bare shoulder. “Can hardly breathe, too, by the looks of it.” His touch is delicate.
She makes a small noise of discomfort before her body jerks into a coughing jag. She gasps for air between coughs, fingers weakly grabbing at her sheets. After around a minute, her fit ceases and leaves her more exhausted. “Shouldn't be here. Don't want you to get sick.” It took most of her energy to say that. This had to be a hallucination because she feels the bed become light again…
“You poor, poor thing. Pathetic little girl.” Dean grabs her by the arm, yanking her from the confines of her sweat laden sheets and onto the cold hard floor. “You're so stupid. So fucking stupid. Always have been. Letting me in and your guard down.” He climbs on top of her, one of his large hands wrapping around her throat. Dean knows she can't fight back and while it's less fun that way, the fact that she's struggling to breathe makes up for it. His green eyes flick to black for a moment and he chuckles at how her tired eyes widen.
Her body trembles beneath him and hands weakly claw at his arm. This was no hallucination and alarm bells rang in her head. Where was Sam? Was he alright? Did Dean hurt him? How many doses did Dean have left? How did he get loose? Calling for Castiel was out of the question because her airflow was completely cut off. Her lips part in a silent plea and pretty eyes are watery from oncoming tears.
“Look at you. Can barely even beg me.” Dean glances down at her chest, the loose tank top doing nothing to help cover her. He grabs the front of it, still holding her throat with his other hand, and rips it clean off. “Damn, baby! You've really been hiding these on me.” He smacks one of her breasts before grabbing at it. His cock twitches in his pants as he feels her squirm beneath him. “Knock it off or I'll snap your fucking neck!” Both hands are now wrapped around her neck, squeezing it and bringing some color back to her pale face. He watches in sick delight as her eyes roll back and her fingers attempt to grasp at his arms. “You want this. You want me. Always have. Maybe I wanted you, too but was too much of a pussy to say so. Now? You’re just a piece of fuck meat. Depending on if you survive, maybe I'll keep you around and use you as my personal toy.” Dean smirks, finally releasing her neck.
Air rushes back into her fluid filled lungs as Dean lets up. She practically chokes on her own phlegm and spit before she's able to get a proper breath in. “No.” She cries, reaching up to touch Dean’s face. That face she has loved for so long. “Don't do this. Let Sam help.” Her eyes roll back again as she feels Dean cut her air off again.
“I don't want to be helped!” He barks, eyes turning black. “I already told him that I don't want to be saved!” Dean squeezes her neck hard again before letting go and smacking her across the face. “This is who I am now, sweetheart. Don't like it? Too bad. Until I decide what I'm gonna do with you, I'm going to have my fun.” He raises his hand in the air, punching her a few times across the face this time. Her cries of pain only rile him up further and he almost comes in his pants once he hears a sickening crack.
“Stop!” She shrieks, nose bleeding heavily as Dean had broken it. A dizzy spell hits her from using so much energy just from shouting. She can hardly look at him straight and the room spins. The next thing she knows is her hair being pulled and body flung into the hall outside of her room. The back of her head hits the wall with a thud and wrist twists awkwardly as she lands on it. She wheezes in pain, trying to push herself up to go find Sam despite her sickly state.
Dean's heavy footsteps catch up to the crumpled heap of a woman. He grabs her by her jaw, lifting her effortlessly off the floor like a rag doll. “Are you gonna let me have my fun? Or are you gonna be a fucking spoil sport?” He whispers in her ear, body pinning hers against the wall. His hips grind into hers, his erection rubbing against her clammy thighs. “You always gotta ruin everything; stop drinking, Dean, stop tearing yourself apart, stop running ahead, Dean, love me! Love me! Love me!” He mocks, pulling her back before slamming her head against the wall again. “You want me to love you? This is the best you're gonna fucking get, bitch.” Dean throws her to the floor again and stands over her.
Her vision is blurred by tears as she looks up at Dean. These words were supposed to hurt, and they were, but this wasn't him. This wasn't her Dean. With a difficult swallow, she nods and tugs at her panties. It was a signal to let him know he had won.
“Oh, now you're behaving? Little miss sick girl decides something smart for once? Nah. I know what you're doing. Buying time for Sammy so he can come shoot me up with more of that human blood crap. It's how I got out in the first place. The trap doesn't exactly work when you're pumped full of human blood and still a demon.” Dean steps back, grabbing one of her ankles and lifting her leg up. “We're gonna go have fun in front of my little brother. But just in case you get anymore stupid ideas-”
CRACK!!
Her jaw falls slack and pain races up her left leg as Dean breaks her ankle. Something between a strangled cry, scream, and yelp manages to escape her lips. When she goes to gasp, another coughing fit hits her and she struggles to breathe again. There is absolutely no way she can fight back and the thought of hurting Dean made her stomach churn. Sure, she may have smacked him or socked him across the face a few times before, but actually hurting him? She couldn't. Even if he said all these hurtful things and was a demon, she still loved him… Even if he didn't feel the same.
“Why!? Why won't you let me in, Dean!?” She had cried out, standing in front of the elder Winchester in the bunker kitchen. All she wanted was to show him that he was worthy of love; her love. Why did he have to be so god damn stubborn? If only she could just show him how much he meant to her-
Dean takes another hefty gulp of whiskey, glossy eyes flicking to hers. “I don't just let people in, okay? When I do that, they die.” The chair drags across the floor as he stands up, too drunk and having no yield for this conversation.
She places a hand on his chest and snatches the bottle from him. Not just anyone besides herself, Castiel or Sam could do that. “I care about you. I want to help you! I know I can't fix you, but I want to at least ease some of the hurt you go through. Dean,” she takes a moment, lip quivering and heart racing, “I love-”
“Don't you dare finish that sentence!!” He backs away, acting like a wounded animal. “You don't know what the hell you're saying and you don't get to manipulate me like that!”
“I'm not manipulating you! Why would you even think that!? Please, Dean-” Hurt is evident in her shimmering eyes and she takes a step forward.
“NO!!” He roars
“Stop!” Sam finally steps between them, mediating. “Both of you, just stop.” He turns to her, hazel eyes shimmering with frustration. “Just.. Don't, okay? Now is not a good time. Please. Neither of you are in your right minds.” He turns to his brother with a pleading look.
Dean mutters something under his breath, dragging his feet and leaving the kitchen. Once inside of his room, he smacks his own head and battles against the razor wire feeling wrapping around his throat. The hot tears streaming down his face signal the razor wire won. It's better this way. She won't get hurt and she doesn't know what she's saying… But he wants her so bad. Wants her comfort. He is desperate to be held and loved. She will be dead because of him. Hunters don’t get a happy ending.
Dean drags her down the halls by her busted ankle until he reaches an unconscious Sam. He drops her leg carelessly and picks up the demon blade, twiddling it between his fingers. “I could just kill you both and sever whatever ties I have left. But what fun would that be?”
She doesn't even wince as Dean cuts into her skin with the blade. Cool air hits between her legs as he had effectively cut her panties in the process. The horrific throbbing of her ankle, the fatigue, the sickness, the struggle to breathe, her broken nose… This was a god damn nightmare.
“Sam.” Her tired eyes examine the younger Winchester's unconscious large body. Thankfully, he seemed mostly unharmed.
“Why are you moaning his name? I thought you loved me, hm? Whore.” Dean smacks her across the face, chuckling at the small noise he is able to pull out of her. His eyes gaze upon her naked, broken body and a sigh escapes his nose. “I can see why I stayed away.” He kneels down, crawling on top of her and biting her throat, sucking a dark bruise into her skin. One of his hands snakes down between her legs, dragging two fingers along her folds. The soft whimper he hears makes him smile. “I would ravage you every day. With a pussy this sweet? And how you look at me? Tsk.” He sucks another mark into her neck, fingers still rubbing along the seam of her pussy. “To think that you're choosing my baby brother now because I don't do love.”
“Dean-” she cries his name and tries to take in a breath of air. A slew of sensations assaulted her mind from everything that was happening all at once. It was hard to focus on one thing beforehand because she felt like she was drowning.
“Moaning my name now? Which one of us is it?” His fingers stop and he lifts his head to look at her. “Which one!?”
“You!” She wheezes, trying to keep her eyes open. “You. I love you, Dean. Please.. Please stop.” She takes another struggled breath, wishing that this was all just a bad dream. “Please.” While she loved Sam in her own way, it wasn't the type of love that she had felt for Dean.
He tilts his head, lips close to hers and thick fingers pushing into her cunt. Dean hums in satisfaction at the feeling of her gummy walls tightening around his fingers and the look of discomfort on her face. “Good girl. See? Just let me have my fun.” He disregards her begging. “That's it.” He begins to pump his fingers in and out, watching as she can't decide what it is she is feeling. “You always wanted this. All those times I was outside of your door when you weren't aware? I heard it, those sweet moans and the way you said my name. Your fingers deep in your pussy but not quite reaching like mine?” Dean moves his hand faster, making sure to hit the sensitive spots. “I was jacking off at how you sounded. Imagining the things I would do to you.”
Strangled moans and soft puffs of air meet Dean’s lips from her own. He was right, his fingers were hitting every spot she dreamt of him hitting. Her hips buck in tandem with his thrusts and she feels herself growing wetter from the filth that spewed from his mouth. It was like she had forgotten everything that had just happened within the past 20 minutes. Like he was breathing life into her to keep her from passing out. She tilts her head back as Dean’s fingers continue to hit that one spot, eyes rolling.
“Look at me!” Dean grabs her jaw, forcing her gaze on his as the pace of his hand becomes brutal. He can feel the wetness of her cunt splashing on his hand and the sloppy noises echoing in the halls. “For someone so sick, your pussy is fucking drenched.” Dean presses his forehead against hers, lips inches apart again. “You don't really need to breathe, do you baby?” His fingers pull out as soon as he feels her walls tighten around them. Releasing her head for a moment, Dean sits up and unbuckles his belt, tying it around her neck and pulling her up. “Like a fucking rag doll.” He mutters at how limp she is.
She watches as Dean pulls his pants and boxers down. If she wasn't boiling hot with fever already, her cheeks would be flushed from the sight of Dean's cock. It hits his clothed stomach, the tip leaking precum. Just like the rest of him, it's pretty; thick, long, and throbbing. Again, this was no position for her to be lusting after him. Dean was hurting her-
“Open.” He growls.
A tear rolls down her sweaty cheek as she obeys, letting her jaw fall. Without warning, her nose is buried in Dean’s pubic hair and cock lodged deep in her throat. Her eyes rolled up, unable to breathe as it was already difficult to do so. She makes pitiful noises around his length as he uses her throat like a toy. The problem was, she was getting wet from this. Letting her beloved Dean Winchester use her as he pleased was her ultimate pleasure, no matter what state she was in.
Dean licks his lips, grabbing a fistful of her hair while pulling her head back and forth on his cock. His eyes are glazed over at the utter submission of the woman that he continues to use as a fleshlight. “You realize this is all you’re good for. Dumping my load in where ever I fucking please.” He grits his teeth, thrusting into her mouth. Releasing her hair, he swipes his fingers through the viscous substance of drool, tears, sweat and snot. “Disgusting.” Dean spreads the concoction across her face and chuckles as she has no reaction.
She coughs around his cock, gagging on his length. Veins in her neck bulge a little, her head becoming more and more muddy. Black spots begin to dot her vision, but there is no way that Dean is going to let up until he comes. She chokes again as she feels her makeshift leash tugged. He’s close. His thrusts are becoming sloppy and the grunts become louder. Her broken nose is once again pushed against his coarse hair as hard as it will allow. Pain shoots in her face from how hard Dean is holding her face against him. Her stomach just about lurches as she feels his hot seed shoot down her throat, making her eyes roll.
He feels her throat tighten around his cock, making him cry out as he comes hard. “Swallow it all, slut.” He pants, pulling her off of him and watching her sputter and attempt to greedily gulp down what air she can in delight. A thick, opaque strand of her spit and his semen connects her lips to the head of his length. “Open that pretty mouth. Lemme see.”
Her eyes shut for a moment, body exhausted. There wasn’t a whole lot more that she could take as she had been so resilient this entire time. It was a miracle she wasn’t dead. A sharp smack across her face has her open her eyes and mouth. Her tongue hangs out a little, showing that she had swallowed everything. “Please… I can’t. No more.” She whispers, pain radiating everywhere.
“Yes you can and you will.”
The cool floor is a welcome sensation on her sticky back but that meager relief is short lived as Dean is straddling her, pushing his still very erect member between her breasts.
“I’ve dreamt about this. Fucking your tits like this. You’ve got the rack, why not use it?” He smacks one of her tender mounds. “Hold them together.”
Her arms feebly push her generous bust together and as a reward, Dean’s large hands are around her neck again. The precious air that she had been given was taken away once more. All she can do is look up at Dean as he squeezes her throat, digging his nails into her flesh and humping between her breasts. A splash of warm, slightly pungent liquid hits her chin, face and tits. He had come quickly again just by the sight of her destitute state. Luscious air fills what it can in her lungs as her bruised neck is released. For one second she glances over at the unconscious man-
Sam was out cold. It didn’t seem that he would wake up any time soon. At least he wouldn’t have to witness the awful things that his demonic older brother was doing to someone he considered a dear friend.
Time blurs as she is subjected to being cut, having the handle of the demon blade shoved into her cunt and fucked by it. Dean had licked the cuts he made on her, his saliva stinging the open wounds. By the end of his disturbing flaying session, she is trembling. Deep bruises are littered across her flesh with an assortment of cuts and bites. She stares blankly up at the ceiling, breaths labored and shallow. During this time, she had also been subjected to several orgasms. Many of which were ripped from her consecutively.
“So, so pretty… Red is your color.” Dean laughs cruelly, finally slotting himself between her legs. “It’s a shame that this will more than likely kill you. I would have loved to keep you as a pet and fill you over and over…” One of his fingers traces a cut on her stomach and he raises his brows. “Who knows? Maybe it might have stuck.” Reaching down, Dean lines himself up with her pussy and shoves inside of her. A loud groan spills from his lips as her walls hug his cock so nicely. The blunt tip hits spots that cause her to see black spots and stars alike. She feels like heaven… If he could imagine what that was like.
“Dean, Dean-” His name falls softly from her lips. It’s half a plea for him to stop and half pleasure. She is completely numb and holding on by a thread, this is her limit. The wet sounds of their bodily unification bounce off the walls. She can feel his fingers digging into the fat of her hips as he rams himself inside of her. This was everything she had ever wanted, right? Her breath is stolen by the taste of his lips against her own and she can hardly keep her eyes open. Their tongues meet in a passionate entanglement with Dean’s being the lead.
“Keep moaning my name. It sounds so pretty from you.” Dean’s hips snap faster, his head lowering to suck at her nipples. He releases one with a pop and his lips hover over her own. “You still love me? Even after all of this?”
An electrifying pulse spreads in her stomach as she feels Dean’s fingers rub at her overly sensitive clit. His voice is muddled and everything sounds like she’s underwater. Everything is becoming dark and she’s cold. She blinks once and he is coming inside of her. She blinks again and he’s standing above her, pissing on her body. The next time she blinks, the demon blade is in her abdomen and she can feel her blood rushing out. Faint screaming falls upon her ears as the world becomes black.
–
“Where is she?” Dean asks, his green gaze full of worry and clasped hands trembling. “Is she alright? What happened to her? Damn it, Cas, tell me!!” He stands up, knuckles white as he grips the table in the war room.”
The angel looks grimly at Dean and then down at the Mark of Cain scarred into his arm. “You hurt her. She is safe and recovering, but you did some horrific things to her.”
“No. No, no, no, no.” His hands grasp his hair as he stares blankly at the floor. Tears sting his eyes and fall freely down his sharp cheeks. Dean knew he would end up hurting her. In one way or another…
tw. obsessive dean! stalking. dead dove do not eat. masturbation (m). threats. panty kink. panty sniffing. sex. p in v. pussy slapping. ass slapping. tit slapping. oral receiving (f). CNC. dom dean. overstimulation. title from ethel cain.
Dean knows he’s a bad man.. but he just cant stay away from you.
He tells himself its for your protection, installing that GPS tracker into your phone and car. He knows when you're at the grocery store, when you stop for gas and when you take a detour to visit a ‘friend’.. but the truth is darker. he sits in the Impala outside your motel room at 2 AM, watching the light under your door with his knuckles white on the steering wheel imagining you sleeping. Imagining what your wearing…. panties and a tshirt? his tshirt?
would you be dreaming about him? do you call out for him in your sleep? are you wet? All the thoughts rush to his brain, then to his cock. His jeans becoming so tight and uncomfortable he just has to jerk off…
anytime you mention a new friend, within a week they’re gone. Dean makes sure of that. He'll leave subtle threats, show up unannounced and spread rumors that you're "taken" by someone dangerous. He never admits it but the satisfaction he feels when you're isolated- when you have no one but him, keeps him up at night with a sick kind of joy.
There’s a duffel bag hidden under his bed in the bunker. his own private collection of you. a hair tie you left on the sink, a napkin you wrote your number on and a pair of your panties. the lacy ones you’ve been looking for. sometimes he presses them to his face and inhales, your sweet scent still engraved in the cotton. sometimes he wraps them around his aching cock, jerking off until his hot jizz leaves stains inside.
when he finally finally gets inside of you, you have to say his name. He needs to hear it. “Dean." Over and over until your voice is hoarse. He fucks you from behind with one hand in your hair, the other wrapped around your throat. a reminder that he owns every breath you take. That he owns you. When you cum he makes sure you're saying his name. If you don't he’s slapping your pussy, your ass- tits and anything he can get his hands on until you do.
His favourite is when he gets to go down on you for hours. The feeling of your hands tangling in his hair trying to latch him off your sensitive clit but he just wont- instead he shakes his head to get deeper, tongue licking your pussy messily until your covered in his spit and so overstimulated your pleading him to stop.
Theres rot beneath his green eyes and smile but in deans eyes, its love. the only kind he knows how to give- suffocating and so consuming you practically move as one. Even if you dont want to.
pairing: new avenger!dark!bucky barnes x fem!reader (non-con)
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con sex, forced oral (f and m rec), forced deepthroating, orgasm during assault, creampie without consent, size kink, physical restraint, verbal degradation, coercion, emotional manipulation, fear responses, delusional obsession, absolutely no consent throughout (please read all the warnings)
summary: you have a boyfriend, but bucky could care less. he waited, watched, let the fantasy of you rot until all that was left was his need and obsession.
word count: 4.1k
author's note: hi my loves! i took a break from writing dark fics, and i'm finally back with them! this fic consists of non-consensual sex, everything's in the warnings, please read them first! thank you for stopping by, love you guys and stay safe out there! 💌
It always started with you.
Always.
Your face. Your laugh. The scent of your shampoo drifting down the hallway when you passed him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that it lingered, stuck to his lungs like smoke.
And it always ended the same way, him alone in the dark, jaw clenched, cock in hand, your name bitten into the curve of his tongue like a sin he wasn’t ready to repent for.
You didn’t know what you did to him. Maybe that was the worst part. The sweet, casual devastation of it.
The way you flitted around the compound like a fucking angel, smiling at everyone, throwing out kindness like it cost absolutely nothing. You moved with the easy, blameless confidence of someone who had no idea they were being watched.
Worshipped.
Studied.
Every time you called him “Bucky,” you were wrapping a noose around his neck and pulling it tighter—and hell, you didn’t even realise.
He could handle the smiles, fuck, he could even stomach the soft laughs, the way you bumped his arm in the hallway like you were allowed to touch him, like you didn’t understand what that touch did to him.
What he couldn’t handle… was the other guy.
The one you dressed up for.
Tonight you wore black. A silky little thing that looked painted on, hugging your curves like it had been tailored just for him to rip off. The neckline dipped low, too low, and the hem barely reached your thighs. It moved when you walked, swaying like it knew exactly what it was doing to him.
And the heels—fuck—the heels clicked against the floor with every step, each sound a god damn warning bell in his skull.
Danger, danger, danger.
He would’ve dropped to his fucking knees and kissed them if you let him.
But you didn’t let him.
Instead, you let him.
That boyfriend, that placeholder.
That soft, safe, civilian little fuck who didn’t know the first thing about what you needed. Didn’t know what it meant when your hands trembled, didn’t see how your pupils dilated just a fraction every time Bucky entered the room. Didn’t notice that your body responded to him.
Not your boyfriend. Him.
Bucky knew what to do with you, he’d dreamed it a hundred times.
A thousand.
No—he’d planned it. Every scenario. Every sound. Every twitch of your hips as he forced them apart. Fingers buried in your hair, tears on your cheeks, thighs shaking around his face. His cock, thick, heavy, yours, slamming into you from behind while you sobbed his name into the pillow like a prayer turned sacrilege.
You’d fight. Of course you would. You’d cry. Say no.
But your body would betray you.
He knew it would.
That was the part he thought about the most.
The moment where your “no” would melt into a “please.” The way your voice would break. The moment you realised—no one would ever fuck you the way he could.
You would beg for it, not with words. Never with words. You wore temptation like a crown and never even noticed who you were ruling.
He tried to be good. Fuck, he tried.
He left gifts. Dropped as many hints as he could. Brought you coffee when you looked tired, memorised the way your eyes lit up at stupid little things like that advertisement about adopting abandoned puppies. He laughed at your jokes and waited for you to look at him the way he looked at you.
But you didn’t.
You were blind. Blind and soft and so goddamn ignorant of the way you made him ache.
Until tonight.
Because tonight… Bucky wasn’t waiting anymore.
He was going to show you.
Bucky let himself into your room exactly forty minutes after you left. Picked the lock with practiced ease and entered without hesitation. Sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there.
The shadows welcomed him. The silence swallowed the sound of his breath. He stared at your pillow like it was something sacred. Inhaled your scent. Let his fingers curl around your blanket like they were already touching you.
And then he waited.
He waited for the sound of heels on the floor. For the delicate click of your key sliding into the lock of your room. And when the door opened, when you pushed into the room with a breathless little sigh, humming under your breath, drunk on cheap wine and a forgettable man—he felt it.
That hunger. That rage. That need.
You didn’t scream when you saw him.
You should have.
You just smiled, sleepy, unbothered. That same stupid sweet smile that used to make his chest burn before it made his cock twitch.
“Hey, Buck,” you said, your voice warm and airy. “What’s up?”
Still glowing. Lipstick smeared at the corners of your mouth. Perfume clinging to your throat like a lover’s kiss. Hair mussed from hands that didn’t belong to him.
His vision tinted red.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you reach for your earrings, humming like he wasn’t in the room, like he wasn’t staring at you like prey.
Your back was turned.
Your neck was bared.
He wondered if your boyfriend had marked you. He hoped not.
Because that was his job.
You turned to face him then. And something in your expression shifted.
“…Is everything okay?”
“No,” Bucky said, standing. “Not really.”
He moved slowly. Controlled. Like something that had waited years to pounce.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. His voice was soft. Careful.
You blinked. “Bucky—”
“I mean really thinking, sweetheart, every night. For weeks.”
You stepped back. Just one step. Subtle. But he noticed.
“We’ve talked about this,” you said carefully. “You know I—”
“Have a boyfriend,” he finished.
He chuckled. A hollow, bitter sound.
“Yeah. I know.”
He crossed the distance between you in two long strides. His shadow swallowed yours.
“You think he makes you happy?” he asked, voice quiet. Dangerous. “You think he even knows how to touch you?”
Your lips parted. “Please don’t—”
“Does he know how wet you get when someone puts their hand on your throat?”
The air stopped moving.
“Does he know how you clench your thighs together when I walk past you in the gym?”
You inhaled sharply.
And something inside him snapped.
“You wore that little black dress for him?” he whispered, his fingers brushing your bare thigh. “Or was it for me?”
“Stop it,” you breathed, shrinking back.
But it was too late.
He grabbed you—fast, brutal. Vibranium hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you forward, slamming you against the wall.
You gasped, the impact jarring.
He loomed over you, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. You could smell him—leather and sweat and heat.
“Let me ask you something,” he said, his voice low and rough, almost amused. “Has your boyfriend ever filled this little pussy up ‘til you cried?”
“Bucky, stop—”
“Ever made you come with his mouth while you begged him to stop and keep going all at once?”
Tears welled in your eyes, but he wasn’t done.
“Ever pinned you down,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, “and fucked you so good you couldn’t walk the next day?”
You shook your head.
Not no.
Just fear, shock, and disbelief.
“Thought so,” he muttered. His hand tightened on your wrist. “You’ve been walking around here like you don’t belong to someone. Like this body isn’t mine.”
Your breath hitched.
“I tried being patient,” he said, almost to himself. “I really did. But you keep wearing things like that. Keep smiling at me like you don’t know. You keep fucking pretending.”
He smiled then.
Sharp. Crooked. Hungry.
“Tonight, I’m going to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”
Your lips parted.
To beg. To scream. To say no.
But he kissed you first.
And it didn’t matter anymore.
You didn’t make it to the door.
Bucky dragged you backward, one hand still locked around your wrist while the other slid up your thigh—rough, possessive, not fumbling but practiced. Confident. Like he’d touched you a thousand times in his head and knew exactly how and where to hurt you best.
You struggled and he laughed.
“You’re so soft when you squirm,” he muttered, spinning you in his grip and slamming you back into the wall.
The picture frame above your bed rattled. Your hands clawed at him, trying to shove him back, but he just grabbed both wrists and pinned them above your head with his vibranium hand. The other curled beneath your jaw, thumb dragging over your lips.
“You think that little boyfriend of yours would fight for you like this?” he whispered, tongue flicking against his teeth. “Think he’d bleed for you? Kill for you? You know I would.”
His mouth found your neck. You gasped as he bit down—not gentle. No. Hard. Bruising. Like he wanted to leave proof behind, like he wanted your skin to remember him.
“Bucky—please,” you breathed, trembling.
“Shh,” he said, grinning. “We’re past talking now, princess.”
And then he dropped to his knees.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t worship. It was hunger. Obsession. Something primal he’d been starving down for too long. You kicked at him—once, twice—until he grabbed your thighs and threw you backward onto the bed.
The world spun, the mattress dipped. And before you could scream, he was between your legs like a man possessed.
“Don’t fight me,” he said softly. “You’ll love this part.”
He yanked your dress up to your hips. Cold air kissed the tops of your thighs. And then—
“Fuck,” Bucky rasped, voice dark with lust. “Look at you.”
Your panties were soaked through. A fragile wisp of black lace that did nothing to hide the heat between your legs.
Bucky’s pupils blew wide.
“You wore these for him?” he asked, voice mocking. “These cheap little things?”
He hooked a finger through the fabric and ripped. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the room. Torn lace fluttered to the floor.
You sobbed, curling away from him, but his arms caged you in. Knees pinning your thighs open. Shoulders wedged between them. His face so close you could feel the heat of his breath fan over your exposed cunt.
“Look at this pretty pussy,” he whispered. “So wet for me already.”
“It’s not—Bucky, don’t—”
“Liar,” he growled, and then—
He devoured you.
Tongue hot, thick, rough as it dragged up the full length of your slit. His nose pressed deep into your folds, inhaling like your scent was a drug he needed to stay alive.
He moaned into your cunt, mouth working in wet, messy circles that made your hips jerk against your will.
Your fists beat weakly at his shoulders. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop.
He ate you like a man starved, tongue stroking deep, wide, purposeful. His lips closed over your clit and sucked, pulling the sound right out of your throat.
A loud, shattering gasp you didn’t mean to make.
“Oh, baby…” he laughed darkly. “You didn’t know you needed this, did you?”
“Please—” you sobbed. “Stop—don’t—”
But your body betrayed you, your hips rocked into his face. Your thighs trembled. And when his vibranium hand pinned your stomach flat to the bed, holding you still, you whimpered.
That was all the permission he needed.
“Yeah,” he growled. “That’s it. Let me hear it. Let me hear what he’s never earned.”
He fucked you with his tongue, fingers digging into your thighs so tight you knew they’d bruise. Your vision blurred, your spine arched. You were crying and gasping and wet in a way you couldn’t stop, couldn’t control, and he knew it.
“Practically begging me to fuck you,” he rasped, voice soaked in triumph.
And then it hit.
The orgasm slammed through you like a fucking car crash. Your body convulsed, mouth open in a soundless cry as wave after wave shattered through your core, your clit throbbing against his lips as he sucked every last tremor out of you with vicious, greedy delight.
You didn’t mean to cum.
You didn’t want to.
But you did.
Hard.
Your thighs shook violently, your eyes flooded. And Bucky moaned into you like your pleasure was his oxygen.
When he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening.
“I knew you’d taste good,” he said, licking your slick from his lips. “Fucking knew it.”
You curled into yourself, shaking, broken. Eyes wide and wet and ruined.
He didn’t care.
Because now, he was standing. Unbuckling his belt. And pulling out the one thing you were never meant to see.
His cock.
It was thick. Heavy. Veined. Leaking at the tip. Too big to be real. The kind of size you only ever joked about. The kind that hurt.
You stared.
He smiled.
“You gonna cry about it?” he asked, stroking the length slowly, watching your expression twist. “Or are you gonna open that pretty little mouth and say thank you?”
You tried to crawl away, he grabbed your hair and dragged you forward.
You didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to see the way his hand curled around that monstrous length—slow, possessive strokes like he was showing off, like he knew the size alone would scare you.
And it did. It fucking did.
Thick. Hard. Veins raised and pulsing under flushed skin, the tip angry and red, already leaking for you. Too big, too much and your heart sank when you realised he was stroking it with practiced ease, already imagining how deep he’d stuff it down your throat.
“Bucky…” Your voice was barely a whisper.
He grabbed your hair and forced your eyes back up to his. “Open your mouth.”
You shook your head, trembling. “Please, don’t make me—”
His grip tightened. “You came for me. I tasted it. Don’t play innocent now, baby.”
You whimpered as he pushed your face down, his cock dragging across your cheek, smearing precum across your flushed skin like a mark of ownership.
“You’re mine,” he said softly. “All those nights I lay in bed thinking about this pretty little mouth… All those fucking times you laughed at my jokes like I couldn’t see through it. Like I wasn’t good enough.”
He pressed the swollen head of his cock to your lips. “I am good enough princess, I’m the only one who deserves you.”
You tried to turn away. He didn’t let you. He forced your mouth open, sliding the tip past your lips.
Salty. Warm. Violent.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Don’t be shy.”
You gagged immediately as the thick weight of him pushed deeper. Your throat clenched, but he didn’t stop.
His hips rolled forward slowly, deliberately, dragging his cock deeper inch by inch like he wanted to feel every tear slipping from your eyes as your mouth stretched around him.
His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you in place as your jaw ached, your throat spasmed, and saliva spilled from the corners of your lips.
“There you go,” he groaned, head falling back. “Just like that, princess. This mouth was fucking made for me.”
You choked, pulling at his wrist, but he was unmovable.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze dropping back to yours. “Crying so pretty for my cock.”
He rocked his hips again. Deeper. Rougher. You gagged, coughed, nose pressing into the base of him as your throat convulsed helplessly around the intrusion.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed. “That tight throat. You feel that? Feel how deep you’re taking me?”
You could barely breathe. Your lungs screamed.
He pulled back—just enough to let you gasp—and then shoved back in with a grunt that made your whole body flinch. Your lips were slick with spit and precum, chin dripping, hair tangled in his fist like reins.
“I could fuck your throat for hours,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Could keep you down there all night if I wanted. You’ll take it and you’ll learn. Your little boyfriend won't recognise you when I’m done.”
He gave one last brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and you let out a broken, strangled sob.
He held you there. Trembling, gagging.
Then finally—finally—he pulled out.
You collapsed onto your hands, coughing and choking, spit dripping from your mouth to the sheets.
But it wasn’t over.
It was never going to be over.
Because now he was grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach like a ragdoll, dragging you to the edge of the bed.
“Bucky—please, I can’t—”
“You will.”
He yanked your hips up, spread your legs.
You weren’t even sure when he’d fully undressed you—but now your ass was bare, your thighs trembling, your cunt wet and swollen and exposed to the cold air. You tried to twist away. His hand came down hard on your ass.
SMACK.
You cried out.
“I said,” he gritted, lining the thick head of his cock up to your entrance, “you’re mine.”
He pushed.
Your breath caught. You felt the pressure first—terrifying, splitting pressure—then the pain. Stretching.
Too much.
“It’s not gonna fit,” you sobbed, voice high, panicked. “Bucky—it’s too big—”
He grabbed your jaw, forcing your head back toward him.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes burning. “I’ll make it fit just fine.”
And then he slammed into you.
You screamed.
The force of it knocked the air from your lungs. The burn was unbearable, your walls stretched to accommodate him and failed. Every inch of him was violent, forcing you wider, deeper than you’d ever been taken before.
“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, hips grinding against your ass. “So tight. So fucking tight.”
You were crying again, face pressed into the sheets, hands clutching the blanket like it might save you, stop the way your body was being pulled apart from the inside.
But he didn’t slow down.
He fucked you with brutal thrusts, each one harder than the last. You sobbed into the pillow. Your thighs shook. But his grip only tightened. One hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, pinning you down like prey.
“You like this,” he hissed. “Your cunt’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”
You hated him, fuck, you hated him.
Most of all, you hated the way your body betrayed you.
Because somewhere in the pain, the burning, the shame—you started to moan.
And he heard it.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “I knew you could take it. Knew you’d fucking love it once I broke you in.”
His pace turned punishing, skin slapping skin. Sweat beading down his temple as he fucked into you with mindless need.
You felt it—your climax, that horrible, traitorous heat building between your legs again. You tried to resist it, bite it back, choke it down.
But it came anyway.
You clenched around him, spasming, crying out as your body convulsed on his cock, the pleasure so sharp it almost felt like pain.
“Oh, baby,” Bucky moaned, voice raw. “You wanna cum for me again?”
You were sobbing. “Please, no more—”
But then he bent low, lips against your ear, and whispered,
“I’m gonna cum inside you.”
You stiffened.
“No—Bucky—don’t—please—”
“I’m gonna fill this perfect little pussy up,” he gritted, driving into you even harder. “Stuff you full. You want it, don’t you?”
“No—”
“Say it.”
You shook your head.
“Fucking say it.”
His hand gripped your throat.
And in the weakest, most broken voice you’d ever heard from yourself, you whispered,
“…fill me up. Please.”
He groaned, deep and ragged, and came with a violent thrust that made your legs buckle. Hot, pulsing ropes filled you as his body trembled over yours, cock twitching, breath ragged, forehead pressed to your back.
“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice low and content. “Every inch of you. Every hole. Every fucking drop.”
You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
He stayed inside you. Stayed buried deep. And when he finally pulled out, thick warmth spilled down your thighs and soaked the sheets.
You didn’t move for a long time. You couldn’t.
Your body was frozen in the wreckage—legs parted, cunt throbbing, slick dripping down your inner thighs and soaking into the sheets beneath you. The air clung to your skin like sweat and salt, thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
Your limbs shook, your spine refused to obey. Nerves shot and frayed, lungs still working to remember how to breathe. Everything ached, your jaw, your throat, your pussy. Even your ribs, stretched from sobbing, from screaming.
Because it wasn’t over. You knew that even before you heard it. Before the mattress dipped under his weight. Before you felt his fingers brush your cheek with that awful, twisted tenderness that made your stomach roll like bile.
Not rough this time. Not greedy. Just… soft. Gentle.
That was worse.
“Shh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, voice low again. Quiet. Almost sweet. Almost like he cared. Like he hadn’t just ripped you in half and made you beg for it.
“You did so good for me.”
You flinched.
He only hummed, casual and pleased, and leaned closer—mouth warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, like he had the right. Like it was his. Like he hadn’t just stolen it from you.
You jerked your head away. Disgust pulsed through you like electricity. But it didn’t matter.
His hand followed.
Fingers curled around your jaw, firm but not cruel. Not now. He guided your face back to his with the ease of a man who’d done it before—who planned to do it again.
His thumb dragged across your tear-streaked cheek, slow and soothing, like he was calming a frightened pet.
“I know you’re scared,” he whispered, lips ghosting against your temple now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be. Not anymore.”
You tried to speak. You didn’t even know what you would’ve said..
“I’ve got you now.” Another kiss, this time to your hairline. Gentle. Sickening. “No one’s ever gonna touch you again. Not him. Not anyone.”
He laid down behind you, chest pressing to your spine, his arm draping possessively over your middle.
You felt his cock, still half-hard, still sticky from the mess he left inside you, settle against your ass. His breathing slowed as he sank into the warmth of your body like he was slipping into a dream.
Like this was home.
Like this was what he’d earned.
“I should’ve done this sooner,” he murmured, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name. “All that time I wasted… trying to be gentle. Trying to wait.”
His hand slid lower, fingers brushing over the curve of your stomach, dipping toward where your thighs were still wet.
You tensed instinctively.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continued, far too calm for someone who had just broken you. “Didn’t want to hurt you.”
His fingers moved slower now, tracing the edge of your hip like he was thinking. Calculating.
“But you like it, don’t you, baby?”
You sobbed softly, silently. Pillow soaked. Every breath a betrayal, every second a reminder that you were still here. Still under him. Still his.
“That little pussy of yours didn’t lie,” he chuckled darkly, “Gripped my cock like you fucking needed it.”
You turned your face away again.
He followed.
Kissed the slope of your shoulder. Your neck. Breathed you in like you were something sacred, something his, something he owned now.
“Your boyfriend would’ve never given you that,” he murmured. “Would’ve never taken care of you the way I will.”
He rolled your limp body further into his. One leg slung over yours, pinning you completely. Caged. Trapped.
His hand twisted into your hair and tugged gently, like he wanted you to listen, like you hadn’t already heard too much.
“You don’t need to ask permission anymore,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “You don’t have to say no. You’re mine now and I take what’s mine.”
You shook your head. Weakly. Broken. “Please… don’t…”
He smiled.
You felt it against your skin, warm and cruel.
“I’m going to keep you, you know.”
Your stomach turned.
“You won’t have to pretend anymore. No more dates. No more makeup. No more tight little dresses for other men.” His voice dropped, words curling into your ear like a threat. “You only dress like that for me now.”
You cried harder.
He didn’t care.
His fingers drifted lower again, between your thighs. Slid through the slick mess still leaking from you. The mess he put there. The mess he made.
“God,” he groaned, almost reverent. “You’re so full, look at this. Look what I did to you.”
You tried to close your legs. He didn’t let you.
“I’ll fuck it into you again in the morning,” he whispered, voice already thick with sleep. “Until you can’t remember his name.”
You froze.
He kissed your shoulder one last time.
Lingering. Possessive.
And then he closed his eyes.
Like this was love.
Like this was normal.
Like this was only the beginning.
And he had no intention of ever letting you go.
a/n: this fic was a blast to write, it probably includes everything from my wildest imagination. i hope you enjoyed it and if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog, it helps motivate me! 🥰
Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Thor Odinson x Reader
Summary: Another year, another Purge spent at Bucky's cabin has you questioning your sanity when you think your best friends want to kill you.
Warnings: NON-CON, g*ngbang, The Purge AU
🕸 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🕸
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
ྐ❤︎
You stumbled over a tree root you'd manage to miss in the darkness, but it didn't deter your determination to get as far away as you could. In the back of your mind you knew that there was no realistic way to get out of your predicament, but the desperation and self preservation inside of you wouldn't let you admit defeat.
You had to try.
Sweat coated your skin, evidence of just how much you'd pushed yourself the moment you realized the danger you found yourself in. It was insane to think that only some five hours ago you were relaxed and surrounded by who you thought were friends, feeling comfortable and protected with people you'd known for years. Now, you were running for your life from those same people.
You should have known that something was wrong from the moment you'd stepped inside of the cabin.
“What time is Nat getting here?”
That was one of the first questions out of your mouth as you'd sat your things down. Steve was the one to answer you, and looking back, you should've paid more attention to the slight pause before he gave you a response.
“She's not,” he'd said, turning to you with a sheepish look and a shrug. “Said she was going to wait it out at home this year”.
You recalled the way you'd frowned, finding it odd that Nat wasn't coming. Since the first year it was put into place, all of you always holed up during the Purge together in some fancy backwoods cabin Bucky owned. Your disappointment must have been obvious because Steve had reached out, playfully flicking your chin.
“Hey, you still have us,” he'd told you with a small smirk. “It'll still be fun.”
“Yeah, I know.”
You'd fought to keep your tone even, but you had been disappointed, and it wasn't just because of Nat. The day before Bucky had told you that Wanda wasn't coming either and a few days before that Tony made the sudden decision to stay in one of his many expensive buildings with Pepper. It wasn't like you hated that it was just going to be you and the guys, but naturally you loved being around your girlfriends.
“Cheer up, Lady Y/N,” Thor had said when he got a good look at your face. “I have brought you your favorite movies at your request, and we will watch them as many times as you'd like.”
The blonde's infectious demeanor and determination to make you smile had relaxed you, forcing you to brush off any reservations you'd started to have. Looking back, you wondered if that was planned too—for Thor to be the one to lessen your unease because naturally he would. He was Thor, and you didn't think he had one sadistic bone in his body.
When your shirt got caught on a branch, it took everything in you not to cry out as the sharp piece of wood broke skin. The saltiness of your sweat hit your tongue as you pulled your lip between your teeth, blinking back tears as you renewed your hurried steps. Your vision was starting to sway a bit, and you knew that you were pushing yourself too much but the alternative end to this night wouldn't allow you to stop.
You could both feel your heartbeat in your throat and hear it in your ears. That observation only served to remind you that they no doubt could as well even from far away, and you fought the urge to cry again as the trajectory of this night once again felt inevitable. How were you supposed to keep out of reach of two super soldiers and a literal god in the middle of the Purge? Where would you go? Who would even help you if you happened to stumble upon someone else out here? What would you tell them? That the friends you'd had for years and who you'd holed yourself up in a cabin with were chasing you down to do God knows what?
You didn't even know what they wanted with you.
In fact, for hours you'd been none the wiser to the danger you were in, oblivious as ever as you and Thor attempted to make Wanda's signature dish. You both were very bad at it, laughing at the mess you were making while Bucky and Steve were getting fire wood. Finally admitting defeat, you'd decided to go ahead and hop in the shower, opting to just go and get ready to call it a night.
You could hear Bucky downstairs talking with Thor when you got out, glancing at the clock in the hallway and noting you had about 4 more hours until the Purge commenced. Any other year and you would've been glued to Nat’s hip, but seeing as you found yourself a tad more alone this year, you instead decided to lay down for a bit. The drive up to the cabin was no joke and as much as you'd always been encouraged to every year, you never could relax enough to just sleep through it.
“You're in a house full of a couple of assassins and some of the most dangerous people on the planet,” Nat would say to you. “What would we possibly let happen to you?”
She was right of course, but even still your body would never just let you sleep through it, and this year was even more nerve wracking without her by your side. You found yourself in and out of sleep for what felt like ages but in reality it was only about two hours. Occasionally you'd wake up to the sound of Thor’s voice asking you if you wanted or needed anything but you'd continuously give him a grumbled ‘no’ before going back to sleep.
It was in those throes of sleep that you heard it.
Steve’s voice was so recognizable and clear, but his words were so off putting that you immediately thought you must be dreaming. You were convinced that you were dreaming because your body still felt too heavy to be awake.
“No, she's asleep,” you heard him say, his voice carrying ever so softly from the hallway. “Why would we be? We only have a couple of more hours.”
There were a few beats of silence before his voice carried again.
“Well, you can just never be too safe. Anything done during the Purge is legal,” he softly laughed to himself. “Why chance it?”
His words created a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you weren't able to place why until a few moments later.
“Bucky took care of her starter,” he said, making your heart sink. “She won't be going anywhere.”
His words were so vivid in your mind even when you did eventually wake up, and while you were sure your mind had conjured them up, something deep down in your gut wouldn't let you be convinced. You had sat in your room for a while just playing it over in your head and repeatedly telling yourself it was just a dream no matter how much something said otherwise.
Your jumbled thoughts must have been evident because Bucky asked you if you were alright when you eventually made it downstairs.
“Yeah,” you'd told him after a while, shaking your head. “Just slept weird, I think.”
The dark-haired man had looked at you for what felt like too long before humming to himself.
“You want something to eat? I know you and Thor’s attempt at dinner didn't turn out too well,” he'd chuckled.
His light demeanor made your shoulders relax a bit, and you knew he noticed by the way those blue eyes of his shifted.
“Yeah I might as well,” you'd sighed, moving to sit on the couch. “I won't be able to do much else for a while.”
The brunette only threw you a smile before getting up, and you’d flipped through the DVDs Thor brought. As nice as the cabin was, at the end of the day it was still just a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and while the lack of internet never bothered you before, it was glaringly obvious this year without Nat or Wanda to keep you busy.
Among other reasons.
You’d found your thoughts drifting as you stared at the DVD in your hand, eventually convincing yourself that you were losing it. Of course, it had been a dream. Even if it wasn’t a dream, what could you possibly think it meant? Bucky had broken your car and Steve was talking to someone about their plot to what? Kill you? It was almost laughable, and you’d shaken your head.
You’d finally chosen a movie to put on just as Bucky finished up in the kitchen, the sound of the opening door reaching your ears as Thor and Steve brought in more firewood.
The smell of said firewood still clung to your clothes and hair as your gaze roamed along the dark trees in front of you. You needed to make sure you weren’t just mindlessly running in circles, but you also didn’t have the luxury of stopping and assessing where you were. You held your hand to your bleeding shoulder as leaves crunched beneath your feet. You were out of breath and so tired and so…confused, but most of all you were scared.
The thought that that phone call you heard was real was one that almost paralyzed you with fear. It seemed too insane—too sick—to be true, and yet you found yourself running in the middle of nowhere during the height of the Purge in the hopes that you would last the night. You hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the short phone call from Nat that managed to get through still made your head spin.
“I’m surprised I even managed to get a signal,” you’d told her hours earlier with a smile, stepping out onto the back patio. “The service out here is almost the same as the lack of wifi.”
“Out where? The cabin?” she’d asked, and her genuine confusion had made you frown.
“Uh, yeah,” you mockingly told her. “You know, the one you decided not to come to this year.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Bucky said he didn’t think they were going up there this year.”
The redhead’s words only made your frown deepen, that sinking feeling returning to your chest.
“The asshole didn’t tell me he’d changed his mind,” and you could almost see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “It’s so boring waiting this out without my partner in crime.”
She was chuckling to herself, but you had fallen quiet. You’d stared at the woods behind the cabin, going over both her words and what Steve had told you. You gently shook your head, telling yourself that there must have been some miscommunication. In fact, you were just about to bring up Steve’s contradicting words when you turned around…and froze.
The man in question was just on the other side of the sliding glass door, an unreadable expression on his face and two mugs in his hands. There was a brief moment where you both just stared at each other, and then suddenly a small smile graced Steve’s lips as he held the mugs up, brows lifting.
“Yeah, I guess he did,” you slowly replied, distracted. “I’ll call you back later once we’re locked in and settled.”
You and Nat said goodbye, and you swallowed as you reached out to open the door.
“What did Nat want?”
The blond didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t hear who was on the phone, and so you knew that he heard exactly what was said.
“Just checking in,” you told him, grabbing a mug of hot chocolate. “She misses me.”
You looked at him as you said that, and Steve only shrugged.
“Well, no one told her to stay home this year,” he said to you, bumping his arm against yours as you walked inside.
You only smiled at him, desperately trying to get your thoughts together.
Was it possible there was just some innocent miscommunication? Maybe Bucky hadn’t relayed it to Nat that he’d decided to come back up here, after all and maybe Steve thought her absence was because she just wanted to stay home this year, not knowing she was under the impression no one was coming to the cabin. It was plausible, and the simplest answers were often the truth, but…
That phone call.
It had to have been a dream because the alternative was too terrifying to think about. Steve was your friend. Bucky was your friend. Thor was your friend. They were friends that you’d known and worked with for years, and the idea that you were alone with them up here for less than genuine reasons was making your stomach twist into knots. You knew that you were scaring yourself, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath.
You forced yourself to ask yourself a few questions, wondering what the reason would even be? They weren’t homicidal violent men or anything like that, and you’d never once felt unsafe with them. In fact, it was always the opposite, so what would the reason even be? Why would they orchestrate this whole thing that left you alone up here with them…during the Purge?
You’d told yourself that you were losing it, and after some time you’d offered to take everyone’s empty mugs to the sink. You could hear them having some debate about some game a month back as you did, placing the empty dishes into the sink. Your hands found the counter, and your eyes met your reflection in the kitchen window. You acknowledged that you were making yourself paranoid, but you couldn’t stop.
You were normally such a rational person, and everything about your train of thought was irrational, but yet you could not let it go. It made zero sense because they weren’t even sort of like the kind of guys who would hurt you—or any woman—but something kept nagging at you in the back of your mind. Something inside of you refused to let you relax.
As Thor’s loud laugh reached your ears, your gaze drifted to Steve’s phone on the counter. The blond—still refusing to grasp technology to the fullest degree—never kept a passcode on it, and your hand was moving without a second thought. They were still talking as you looked at Steve’s call history, searching for something that would ease your worries, but you only got the opposite.
Tony was the last person Steve talked to, and while that wasn’t cause for any kind of suspicion, you did notice that the call was taken when you were asleep—or at least in and out of sleep. You placed it back on the counter as if it were on fire, staring at it with wide eyes and telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything.
A coincidence.
You told yourself it was a coincidence, but you didn’t feel convinced.
“Hey, I’m kind of cold,” you loudly said, making your way to the key hook. “I’m grabbing my scarf from the car.”
It wasn’t a lie. You were indeed still a little nippy, and your scarf was still in your car, but your brain wouldn’t let this go. You kept coming up with more scenarios to prove yourself wrong and ease your worries, and you didn’t know why. You were outside before any of them replied, and you did just as you said, unlocking the vehicle and grabbing your scarf.
However, before you could talk yourself out of it, you were sitting in the driver’s seat and your key was in your ignition and you were turning it. You turned it twice. Then a third time, and a fourth time, and each time…it wouldn’t start.
It was quiet outside aside from the odd sound of an owl or two as you just stared at your dashboard. You could see your breath as you exhaled, telling yourself all kinds of excuses for what you were experiencing. It was cold and maybe it just needed a minute, but even after trying it again after a few minutes, there was no such luck. You swallowed, turning the key again, and you felt like you were having an out of body experience as it just wouldn’t start.
“What are you doing, doll?”
The scream you let out scared you more than Bucky’s sudden presence, and you dropped your keys to the floor of the car. You pressed your hand to your chest as you turned to look at him, unsure of how long he’d been standing there. You blinked a few times as you stared at him, heart threatening to beat out of your chest and lips parted.
Bucky was standing in the gap between your door and your car, one hand on the top of the door frame, the other at his side. The cold breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the moonlight glinted off of his blue eyes as he stared at you. It took you too long to remember he’d asked you a question, and you quickly came up with an answer.
“I wanted to see how much gas I have left in my car, but… It won’t start,” you softly said, still fighting to catch your breath. “I thought…I thought maybe the cold had something to do with the engine, but it’s just not starting.”
Bucky didn’t respond right away, and when he hummed, a shiver crawled up your spine.
“I’ll look at it in the morning. Me or Steve one,” he said, offering his hand to you.
Nodding, you quickly grabbed your scarf and your keys, placing your free hand in his flesh one. Bucky closed your car door for you, and you thanked him when he took your scarf and put it around your neck.
“Just trying to keep you warm,” he said to you, rubbing your shoulders. “We don’t want you to freeze to death.”
You forced a chuckle at that, and Bucky joined you as you both stepped inside. Steve was just inside the door when you stepped through, and you watched him look between you two.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah, her car won’t start,” Bucky answered for you.
The blond eyed you, a slight frown forming.
“Why were you trying to start your car?”
You told yourself that you were imagining his tone.
“I wanted to see how much gas I have left to get back home tomorrow…”
You shrugged at him, and Steve only nodded.
“Bucky or I will check it out in the morning,” he said, basically repeating Bucky’s words as he guided you back to the living room.
You sat on the couch as another conversation started up around you, and you chimed in here and there, but your mind was miles away.
You told yourself that the car was a coincidence, but how many coincidences were allowed before you started putting pieces together that painted a sick picture?
Steve said that Nat chose not to come this year, but Nat said Bucky told her they weren’t coming up to the cabin for the Purge this year. You were so sure that phone call was a dream, but Steve’s call history showed he’d absolutely been on the phone with someone and that someone was Tony…who also chose to sit at home with Pepper this year. It was that same phone call where Steve said Bucky had messed with your car…
Your car that wouldn’t start.
“Y/N, are you alright?”
Thor’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and when you looked around you saw all three of them looking at you in concern. You only just realized that your heart was going crazy in your chest, and they could no doubt hear it. Their worried expressions were almost enough to have you rethinking this entire night, and you blinked back tears.
Bucky was the first to move.
“Hey, hey,” he gently said to you, placing a hand on your back. “What’s wrong, doll?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, placing a hand on your forehead.
“I think, um, I think…” you struggled to speak. “I don’t feel good. My head is all…”
You flailed your hands around your face.
“I don’t know, I just don’t feel good.”
“You want to take something?” Steve asked you, and you shook your head.
“No, I…” you heavily exhaled. “I just feel like I might be sick.”
Your voice cracked, and Bucky helped you stand.
“I just need some air.”
All of you were standing now, and Thor offered to go with you.
“No, I’ll just be a minute,” you hurried to tell him, placing your fingers to your temple. “I just need some air.”
You were stumbling towards the door before you were finished speaking, and you took deep breaths as soon as you were on the other side of it. The cold fresh air was definitely helping you clear your head, and you leaned back against it with your eyes closed. You thought that this would help you think more rationally, now…but it wasn’t working.
Everything you’d added up was going through your head over and over again.
They wouldn’t. You told yourself that they wouldn’t, but what if they would?
You recalled that one Christmas party that involved some Asgardian meade and a bold move from Thor that resulted in you having to let him down easily. The next morning he claimed to not have remembered a thing, but what if he did? What if something you’d written off as a drunken blunder was actually much more than that?
Like the time you and Bucky were undercover, and you swore he was getting a little too lost in the role but he assured you of otherwise? When you thought about the aggressive way he kissed you even now, it still sent chills down your spine, but he’d convinced you that it was nothing, that he was just trying to be convincing, and you’d believed him.
…and it was only a few months ago that Steve—under no influence of anything and under no false pretenses of a cover for some mission—had asked you out, and you’d told him no. It wasn’t because he wasn't a great guy or because he wasn’t handsome enough, but the two of you had been friends for so long that the thought of ruining that was something you couldn’t bear, and that was what you’d told him.
He seemed to believe you, but sometimes you still thought about that hint of something you swore you saw in his gaze. It had come and gone so quickly, and even now you still didn’t know if you imagined it or not, but it had scared you for a split second…and then it was gone and he was smiling, and you were just happy you hadn’t lost a friend.
Every single incident was at the forefront of your mind, now, and it was too many coincidences to keep you calm. You repeatedly told yourself that they wouldn’t hurt you—especially not over something as trivial as that—but you weren’t able to convince yourself. Every single nerve in your body was telling you something wasn’t right, and your internal conflict was driving you crazy. You told yourself they would never hurt you, and you wanted to be right. You wanted to be right so bad.
…but what if you were wrong?
You were unable to sit with your thoughts, and you didn’t know what part of you to listen to.
So…
You ran.
You hadn’t even been running for long when you heard your name being screamed through the trees, and it only made you run faster. There was some small part of you that told you you were being paranoid. After all, you were terrified and running based off of assumptions you came up with on your own, but a much larger part of you was telling you to run faster. A louder voice was in your head telling you that you were in danger.
Every time you faintly heard your voice traveling through the trees it only scared you more, making more tears fall at the predicament you were in. It didn’t seem real, and you wanted to believe it wasn’t happening, but nothing else made sense. The Purge had already commenced, even out here in the middle of the trees you knew that, and you were terrified of what would happen to you if you failed to make it through the night on your own.
But what if it was all in your head? What if you’d driven yourself crazy and took off in the middle of nowhere over nothing? What would you say to them tomorrow? How would you explain yourself? What if they were chasing after you because you took off like a crazy person and they were worried?
A sob caught in your chest because you didn’t know what to believe, and you genuinely felt like you were losing your mind. Your tears were blurring your vision, and you felt like you couldn’t suck in air fast enough. When your foot caught on a rock, it sent you falling to the ground, and your forehead bounced off of the hard earth. Your already questionable vision was now slanted as you fought to push yourself to your feet, and you looked around, relieved that you were still alone.
You felt like you were on the verge of passing out when you stumbled into familiar arms.
The scream that escaped you echoed throughout the woods, bouncing off of trees and making you flinch. Thor’s hands were firm on your arms as you fought to get away from him, pushing at him and hitting his chest as he tried to calm you down. You were inconsolable as your back met a tree, and you struggled to speak.
“Please, don’t kill me,” you choked out. “Please…”
The blond frowned at you, and you shook your head.
“I don’t… I didn’t…” you couldn’t breathe. “I’m sorry.”
Thor only frowned at you as he looked over your face, one of his hands reaching up to gently touch your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you breathlessly repeated. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings or made you think…”
Your words died in the air again as you struggled to catch your breath, and the gentle touch of Thor’s hand on your face and the way he was looking at you was a lot more calming than you wanted to admit. The blond seemed genuinely confused by your words and your demeanor, pressing his lips together as he ran his eyes over you.
“Is that what you think?” he gently asked you, and you swallowed. “Is that why you ran?”
Your silence was answer enough, and you watched him gently laugh to himself.
“You thought we were going to kill you?”
His question accompanied by his expression made you feel stupid all of a sudden, and you looked away just as Thor laughed again. He was careful in pulling you away from the tree, holding you next to him as he started to walk back in the direction of the cabin. He guided your head to lean against him, and you briefly closed your eyes, taking deep even breaths and feeling…insane.
“Why did you think we were going to kill you?” he softly wondered, and you couldn’t ignore that he was talking to you like some wounded animal.
“It’s…stupid,” you managed to whisper, not even wanting to say it all out loud now that Thor had managed to ease your fears. “I feel like an idiot.”
Thor rubbed your shoulder, and the sound of footsteps other than both of yours reached your ears.
“Is she okay?” you heard Steve ask, the blond closer to you than Bucky, a deep frown on his features.
“I’m fine,” you said the same time Thor told him you were fine. “I got too in my own head and...I don’t know, I just drove myself crazy.”
“She thought we were going to kill her.”
You felt even more embarrassed when Thor said it aloud again to them, and you started to frown at him when you were all too aware of his grip on the hair at the nape of your neck. Your frown deepened, wincing in pain as you reached back just as he leaned over.
“I do not know what gave her that idea,” Thor said seemingly to no one in particular just as he covered your lips with his own.
The kiss took you by surprise, and you pushed at his chest as he stepped closer, forcing you to stumble back. Your back met a tree for the second time that night, and you were unable to speak as Thor moved his mouth against yours. Your brain felt even more jumbled than it did earlier in the night, confusion pouring into you as Thor kept you from pulling away.
Your mind had immediately jumped to murder that you had never even entertained the possibility of…something else.
When you finally managed to get away from Thor’s hold—or when he let you—you stumbled back into someone else’s waiting arms, and you yelped in a mixture of fear and shock. Bucky held both of your elbows to him as his lips found a home in the crook of your neck, tasting your sweaty skin as you struggled in his tight grip.
“Kill you?” Bucky chuckled. “Never.”
“This isn’t funny,” you told them, voice shaking. “If you’re trying to scare me because of something I did or didn’t do…”
Your eyes met Steve’s at that.
“I’m sorry–!”
You cut yourself off with a gasp, crying out at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth in your skin. Your efforts to get away from him doubled the moment Steve started to make his way closer to you. You frantically looked between him and Thor, understanding that if this was for real and they were serious, there was no getting out of this. Your heart was going crazy in your chest, and Steve confirmed that they heard it.
“Listen to how scared she is…”
“Steve, please,” you begged as he got closer and closer, and when he ignored your apologies and pleas entirely, you accepted that this was no joke.
The blond caught your feet as you kicked at him, separating your legs and stepping between them. You were in an uncomfortable position as Bucky still held your elbows behind you. Steve’s fingers dug into your pants, and when his hands started to pull, you moved as much as you possibly could. Thor’s chuckle reached your ears as you found yourself dropped to the ground.
“I do believe she is besting you both.”
The teasing lilt to his voice made your stomach turn, and your attempt to crawl away was thwarted by hands on your ankles pulling you back. Your nails pressed into the dirt and leaves as you were dragged back, no match for the super soldier who flipped you onto your back. Every kick at Steve was futile, and tears blurred your vision again when he sat on your waist. You pushed at his hands as they reached for your sweater, the thick fabric ripping like paper at the mercy of his strength.
It seemed like no matter what you said to Steve, he didn’t hear a word of it, blue eyes locked in on his goal, and if you had any doubts about this being personal, they were gone the moment your gazes met. There was no give there, nothing in his stare even hinting that he could be talked out of this. In fact, you wouldn’t be shocked if the entire thing was his idea.
You screamed when he leaned down to take a hardened bud into his mouth, the cold air giving him exactly what he wanted.
“There’s no one around for miles, doll,” you heard Bucky say, making you cry harder. “...but by all means.”
He gestured to you as you turned to look at him through a tearful gaze.
“Scream as much as you’d like.”
You and Steve fought over your pants, the blond winning with hardly a fight, and you shook from both the cold and the turn the night had taken. To think it was only moments ago that you’d been so sure they were going to kill you. Another possibility hadn’t even been an option in your mind and why would it? What was tomorrow supposed to be like or hadn’t they thought that far ahead?
A silent conversation seemed to pass through Bucky and Steve as they briefly looked at each other, the brunette making his way over to you. Any fight you were able to give Steve was squashed the moment Bucky dropped to his knees and pinned your hands on either side of your head. You tearfully looked up at him, equal parts angry and defeated as Steve’s hand slid between your thighs.
“Uh uh,” Steve tsk’d, harshly slapping your cunt the moment you squeezed your eyes shut, making you shout. “Eyes on him, sweetheart.”
Bucky had no problem at all holding your gaze while Steve slid a finger into you, quickly followed by another. You couldn’t swallow down the gasp that climbed out of your throat, eyes widening as he curled his fingers into you. You twisted your wrists in Bucky’s grip, angrily staring at him as you fought to swallow down every sound that wanted to escape your lips.
Your toes curled as Steve fingered you, a third finger sliding into you with ease as his actions forced you to drip around his hand. Your chest was heaving with every snap of his wrist, and you attempted to turn your head away when Bucky leaned in, but he stole a kiss anyway. The dark-haired man tasted the inside of your mouth as Steve continued to stretch you out around his fingers.
The sensations from both were too much, and you desperately wanted to be anywhere but here. Bucky only let you catch your breath for a second before diving in again, and for a brief moment, you felt empty and the heat between your legs was gone. That reprieve, however, only lasted for a second, and your chest arched at the feeling of thicker fingers slowly pushing their way into you.
You let out a shaky breath, and you felt Bucky smirk into the kiss.
Thor was not as gentle as Steve, roughly fucking you with his fingers and making your hips lift off of the ground. You were dripping around him, you could feel it, and the sound of his thick fingers pushing into you reached your ears, so you could only imagine what they could hear. The humiliation of it all warmed your cold frame, and you blinked back tears when Bucky finally pulled away.
You stared at him, but his blue eyes were focused instead on what Thor was doing to you.
You refused to look, closing your eyes and turning your head away. Evidently, Steve found that funny, chuckling to himself, and the knowledge that they all found this amusing filled you with an indescribable rage. The sound of Thor fucking you with his fingers was loud, a wet squelch reaching your ears every time he pushed his fingers into your walls.
“I want to see her come,” Steve said, and you pulled at Bucky’s grip.
“No,” you cried, but both Thor and Bucky tightened their holds.
You could already feel your stomach tightening from Thor’s hand, his thumb brushing gentle circles over you, a stark contrast to the movements from his other fingers. You were gone completely however when Bucky leaned back down to nip at your chest before tasting the same pebbled bud Steve had, tongue brushing over the sensitive flesh and making you gasp.
It was all too much, and you could feel and hear your breathing getting heavier. Your stomach was tight and your toes were curled and your chest was arched upwards. Your lashes kept fluttering as you tried so hard to fight it, but against your will, you were pushed over the edge and you came around Thor’s fingers with an embarrassing sigh.
You heard Thor curse and then you felt his mouth on your mound barely a moment later. That only prolonged your orgasm, eyes falling close as he tasted you, his tongue lapping up any and everything you had to offer. He hummed against you, the feeling vibrating throughout your entire body, and you were so lost in the feeling that you didn’t even realize Bucky had let you go.
When Thor finally pulled away too, you were a trembling mess, and you could feel tears kissing your eyes. You barely felt the cold now, your skin so hot and your face so warm. You could hear the rustle of fabric, but you weren’t able to put two and two together until a metal hand was turning you over.
“Bucky–!”
His name had barely escaped your lips before a hand was underneath your stomach and forcing you to your knees. The head of his cock was pushing into you barely a moment later, and the noise that left you was one you couldn’t name. His metal hand was in your hair while the other was tight on your waist.
Your fingers dug into the leaves and dirt as he repeatedly thrust into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the otherwise quiet woods. Your head weakly hung as he pulled you back to meet his every thrust, pulling out until only the tip of him remained before sliding his cock into you to the hilt.
Every time you leaned away, the brunette pulled you back, groaning behind you at the feeling of you wrapped around him. For a while, you forgot all about Steve and Thor, but then you heard the crunch of leaves, and when you forced yourself to look up, your eyes met familiar blue ones.
“It didn’t have to be like this, you know,” Steve told you, and you hated that haughty tone in his voice. “It really didn’t.”
His betrayal—all of theirs—made more tears spill over as you glared at him.
“Fuck you,” you spat at the blond, and Steve only gave you a crooked smile.
You cried out when Bucky’s hand curled around your throat, pulling back and forcing your back to his chest. His other arm snaked around your waist, and you dug your nails into the skin of his arm. He pressed his face into where your shoulder and your neck met, and Steve took another step towards you.
“Be patient, and you will.”
Your vision started to tilt and blur as the result of Bucky’s tight hold on your throat, the dark-haired super soldier whispering in your ear.
“You take my cock so well,” he softly told you just before he came inside of you.
Unfortunately, you came with him, wholly embarrassed and upset as he told you to milk his cock, tightly holding you against him until you stopped trembling. He whispered something else in your ear that sounded a lot like ‘good girl’ before pulling out of you, practically handing you to Thor as if you were a glass of water and not a human being.
You learned that Thor liked to look at your face.
He wasted no time in forcing your legs over his arms and pushing your knees next to your head before sliding into you with ease. The new and uncomfortable angle had you clawing at the dirt in desperation, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. His chest brushed against yours with every surge of his hips, and you couldn’t bite back the whimpers that crawled out of your throat even if you tried.
His skin slapped against yours, and your lips were parted the entire time he was inside of you. Occasionally he kissed you, a gentle gesture that was the complete opposite of how he fucked you. The leaves and twigs of the forest floor scratched at your back with every movement, but the pain from that was almost nonexistent in comparison to the way Thor stretched you out around his cock.
The god amongst the three naturally had the most stamina, and sweat coated your skin after being with Bucky and now Thor.
“I should hope you’re not getting tired, little one,” he said to you, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the perversion of the affectionate name he sometimes gave you. “I don’t know about them, but I want to make the best use of these twelve hours.”
When Thor was close, he dropped one of your legs, a large hand coming up to cover your breast and massage the skin. His teeth nipped at your throat, and your nails dug into his arm. His hips started to slow, Thor torturously dragging his cock in and out of you, driving you crazy and making you lift your hips.
“Atta girl,” you heard someone say, and it sounded like Steve.
Thor slowly pumped himself into you, not minding at all that you didn’t come with him as he spilled himself into you. He didn’t stop thrusting until he was spent, satisfied with himself before pulling out of your limp frame.
Your eyes felt so heavy, and more than anything, you wanted to disappear, but all too soon you felt a familiar hand on your leg.
“No,” you mumbled, pushing at Steve.
“Don’t be mean,” Steve whispered to you, kissing you. “Everybody else got their turn.”
The slap was loud and unexpected, even by you, but it was more than deserved. Somehow, you knew that this was Steve’s idea, and tears skipped down your cheeks as he continued to press kisses along your face as if you hadn’t just hit him.
His lips traveled to your jaw and then your neck, and your attempt to sit up and back away from him was halted. Steve pulled you back by your hips, forcing your legs around him before leaning back and taking you with him. You let out a grunt when you settled on top of him, attempting to get away, but he was already forcing you down onto his cock.
You both let out similar noises but for entirely different reasons.
The blond wasted no time, getting a tight grip on your hips and bending his knees as he thrust himself up into you. A choked moan escaped into the air, and Steve tightened his hold on your hips. The palms of your hands were pressed against his chest, and against your will, you picked up a rhythm as he forced you to ride him.
You heard footsteps behind you, and you shouldn’t have been surprised to feel lips on the back of your neck. Bucky kissed along your throat as he forced your head back, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes somewhat open. He nipped at the skin, his lips eventually traveling to your lips for a few moments before pulling away entirely. Steve did not stop you once, forcing you to roll your hips over his and push yourself down onto his cock.
You were dripping around him, and when you managed to look down, you could see him staring at where you two met, his tongue poking at his bottom lip as he watched himself disappear into you. It both disgusted you and made your heart skip a beat, doubly so when Thor grabbed your arms, holding them behind you as it was his turn to press kisses along your neck and shoulders.
You shuddered at the feeling and he chuckled.
“I think she might come again,” Thor said, and the blond god kissed the tears on your cheeks.
When he let you go, Steve forced you down against him, his arms wrapped around your back as he roughly pushed his cock up into you. You gasped into his ear, your moans growing louder with every thrust. Your hands pressed into the dirt to steady yourself, but it was no use as Steve practically kept your chest glued to his.
One of his hands curled around the back of your neck, and his lips pressed kisses along your jaw. You couldn’t catch your breath, and Steve could feel you clenching around him.
“You going to come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?”
You couldn’t find a snarky comment to throw at him, simultaneously wanting this to be over and to never end. Steve was repeatedly hitting something inside of you that had you mewling on top of him, and when his hand wrapped around the front of your throat, you clawed at it.
“The sooner you come, the sooner we take you back…”
You shook your head.
“...and get you all cleaned up…”
You pressed your nails into his hand, more tears spilling over.
“...and fed and well rested…”
He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“...and ready to do it all over again.”
When you came around Steve you saw stars, vision going dark and heart skipping a beat as he fucked you through your climax. Even when you had long stopped rolling your hips against his, Steve lazily pushed his cock into you, forcing you to flutter around him as he coated your walls.
You were completely spent and out of breath, barely able to protest as Bucky grabbed you and swung you up into his arms. You were covered in dirt and sweat and God knows what else as the dark-haired man chuckled at the sight of you.
“...and to think…” he murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You thought we wanted to kill you.”
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“Are you… feeling it too?” You say, almost whispering.
He stops in the middle of the room with his back to you. God, you can see the musculature of his back so well now that he took off that flannel. His fists are clenched and arms strained. Your body is on fire. You see his breathing pick up as he hears you approach him, gently placing your hand on his right shoulder. Joel whips around with a wild look in his eyes, his hand flying to the base of your neck to swiftly push you against a nearby wall, pinning you with his body–one hand at your throat and the other caging you in on your right side.
WARNINGS: filthy smut, a little fluff at the end, choking, sex spore/sex pollen fic, creampie, dominant Joel, fingering, pet names, p in v sex, begging, joel yells at reader but dw it's hot, the sex shrooms compel them to screw each other but they've both wanted this for a while, I know this is a javier pena gif but it was so hot i had to use it :3
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
While on a supplies run with your partner for the day, Joel, it seems he’s been having a pretty grumpy day. Grumpier than usual at least. Something about a deal gone south earlier in the day, you guess. He walks swiftly through the trees, just slow enough that you’re having some trouble keeping up, and fast enough that you’re panting a little.
“Joel for fucks sake, I have little legs can we PLEASE slow down? What’s the rush?” You pant, your lungs and legs begging for respite.
Joel gives you a mean look, raising an eyebrow until he sees just how winded you are. You had to start jogging just to keep up with his brisk walking speed. He looks down, “M’sorry, didn’ realize, let’s take a breather.”
You go sit down on what looks like a fallen tree.
“You okay man? Can’t help but think you’re upset on account of the steam coming out of your ears”
Joel fights a smile at that, you know what to say when he’s having a rough time.
“M’fine it’s nothing.” His knees crack a little as he sits on the floor next to you, leaning on the stump as support for his back.
You roll your eyes at him… typical. But at least he isn’t giving you shit.
You shift your weight a little, beginning to look down at Joel while you start to crack another stupid joke, but suddenly, your seat gives out from under you. The tree you’re sitting on seems to be rotted, and it just collapses, sending you falling butt-first about two feet into the newly created hole. You let out a surprised yelp and a plume of… are those spores?… rise up out of the tree.
“Shit.” Joel, also surrounded by the spores, grabs your hands and helps you out of the hole, dragging your dazed self away from the area.
“Are you okay? Doesn’ look like the cordyceps kind… need a minute?”
You’re dazed, a little shocked but you’re physically okay. “Thanks for pulling me out, I'm fine.”
“Better get goin’ then, there’s shelter close by”
You two traverse through the forest, you’re still a little dazed, and you wonder if you hit your head against the bark but you don’t feel a bump or any pain. A couple of minutes later it gets a little too warm, you shrug off your sweater, leaving you in just a tank top and some shorts, but that doesn’t stop the sweating.
Joel just keeps walking, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. At some point you notice his eyes on you, but it’s awkward and you don’t feel very equipped to talk about anything right now so you swiftly look down and keep walking. Eventually, Joel tears his eyes away from you and just takes the lead, walking in front of you and wiping sweat from his own brow. His breath seems a little more labored than usual but you know better than to bring it up to the sometimes- sensitive- about- his- age, old man. You just keep walking until you realize something’s very wrong.
The fever that’s come over you makes your whole body tingle. Your breasts ache, they feel swollen. Your skin is crawling and you’ve broken out in a cold sweat, and there’s this familiar ache deep inside of you that just won’t go away. It’s getting worse. Thankfully the house is within sight and you’re getting closer. Looking ahead of you, you notice Joel removing his flannel, revealing that he was wearing a white ribbed tank underneath. You notice the sweat glisten down his muscular shoulders and his flushed neck; your breath hitches at the sight of his arms.
He stops for a moment at the sound, before he keeps walking, turning the knob to enter the house. Slowly.
“Are you… feeling it too?” You say, almost whispering.
He stops in the middle of the room with his back to you. God, you can see the musculature of his back so well now that he took off that flannel. His fists are clenched and arms strained. Your body is on fire. You see his breathing pick up as he hears you approach him, gently placing your hand on his right shoulder. Joel whips around with a wild look in his eyes, his hand flying to the base of your neck to swiftly push you against a nearby wall, pinning you with his body–one hand at your throat and the other caging you in on your right side. Joel’s crotch presses against you, making you gasp as you feel him hard against you.
Towering over you, Joel bends down nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck right underneath your jaw, inhaling deeply. The stubble of his beard lightly scratches against your skin causing you to break out in goosebumps and coaxing a whimper from your lips. Both of you are panting. Sweating, hearts racing. His face drags it’s way up your neck, toward your cheek, until his lips hover over yours. It’s intoxicating, his breath, the feeling of him rubbing himself all over you, his body pressed against yours, the way he smells, the way he is looking at you like you’re a meal to be devoured. It makes you dizzy, it makes you feel weak in more ways than one. The temptation to collapse into him and just let him have his way with you, beg him for more contact, to press your lips against his, to release all of the lewd noises you’ve been trying so hard to hold inside of you.
“You first babygirl, talk to me, tell me what you’re feeling.'' Joel breathes, almost allowing his lips to touch yours. The hand at the base of your neck moving down your chest to begin kneading at your breast, an involuntary whine making its way out of your throat.
“J-Joel.” Is all you could muster while he kneads your tender and sensitive breast. You’ve never felt so much all at once before, it’s overwhelming.
Joel moves his lips back down toward your jaw, growling into your ear “What is it baby? Usually I can’t get ya to shut up. C’mon sweetness, d’ya think you could use your words f’me? Tell. Me. What. You’re. Feeling.” Joel growls out the demand, sending shockwaves down your stomach into your currently most neediest area.
A long whine escapes you when Joel’s lips make contact with the skin under your jaw, sucking on the tender skin there, feeling his teeth and tongue run over the area. Joel keeps slowly kissing and sucking on your tender flesh while you, winded and overstimulated, try to gather the necessary vocabulary to answer his question.
“Joel I.. Please Joel. P-lease ahhh, ahh please.”
“Please what? ‘m gonna need more than that from you, doll.” He says grinding his hard cock against you, making you gasp. “Mmm,” Joel sighs, a rumbling sound that comes from deep in his chest, “You make the most delicious sounds babygirl.”
“Can’t handle… I need… Joel please! I … need… please…need you.” You manage to gasp out, breathless and shaking. Your whole body is on fire, pussy throbbing, breasts even more swollen and needy, legs shaking, every hair on your body standing up on end. You just know you want him to touch you, hold you, kiss you. You want his tongue in your mouth and his cock in your cunt but you can’t verbalize it, so needy and head so cloudy. You’ve wanted this for a long time, but you could never find the courage to initiate anything. “P-lease Joel… please baby.”
At that point Joel’s lips crash into yours with such an insatiable voracity, it knocks the wind right out of you. He kisses you like he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the first drops of water he’s consumed in weeks. Joel’s tongue forces its way into your mouth and massages against yours while his hips grind against your own. Joel groans into your mouth, and it is the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. Your hands find their way up toward his curls while his own hands tug off your clothes, not breaking away from the kiss for more than one second. You’re both in your own little world together, all that exists right now is each other and the pleasure you both receive. You begin tugging at his undershirt furiously, not caring if it rips, just needing to feel more of his bare skin. You hear him chuckle at your desperation, breaking away from you for just a couple of seconds so he could take off his tank, pressing his lips against yours again while he steps out of his pants and boxers. It’s… so big that it’s a little intimidating. Nevertheless, the fire inside of you rages hotter, needing more. Your skin tingling all over and your heart feeling like it is beating a million times per minute.
Almost as if reading your mind, Joel’s fingers trail fire down your bare stomach before they dip into your wet heat, spreading your slick all over your clit, making you cry out. He inserts one of his large fingers inside of you causing you to clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. “Joel please, I need you now, I need, I need you!” You gasp out. You’re unsure how he could handle all this teasing, all you know is that you want his cock inside of you right now and the longer he takes, the more torturous this all becomes. Joel gently pushes you to the floor. He inserts another finger inside of you, and then another. “Joel baby ahh please!” Your cunt throbs around his fingers, you’re so close to your climax, and even though this is the most intense amount of pleasure you’ve ever felt, you can’t seem to get to that much needed sweet release, you think it might actually drive you insane.
“Need t’make sure you’re prepared, baby” Joel pants. He doesn’t seem like he’s doing much better than you are, and it’s a delicious sight. His eyes wide and wild, skin flushed and sweaty. His muscles are tense, like he’s doing everything he can to hold himself back from straight up ravishing you.
You grab him by the jaw and bark “NOW!” Desperate for him to stop holding back and just start
His eyes darken and you see a hint of a smile show up on his face, but it’s different. If you weren’t so horny you might have otherwise found this expression frightening. He swiftly snatches his hand out of you and toward his member, you can’t help the groan that escapes from your lips. He positions himself right at your entrance before thrusting himself fully inside of you, the sensation so intense you can’t help but let out a loud moan that was probably closer to a scream. You both sit there panting for a couple of seconds, you look up at him and he’s squeezing his eyes, trying and failing to hold back groans and growls between his breaths. You realize he’s trying to give you time to adjust, and he’s really struggling. You grind your hips toward his, silently telling him it’s okay, keep moving which results in Joel letting out a sharp hiss before he starts moving.
It’s not long at all before he’s pounding into you with everything he’s got. His hands all over you, caressing your face, teasing your breasts, desperately grabbing at your thighs. With sweat dripping down his whole body and mingling with yours, his eyes are crazed, looking you over while you fall apart around him. Your eyes flutter shut as you get close… close…so close when one of his hands fly to your throat. While continuing to thrust at a punishing pace, he brings his face close enough to kiss you and between pants he growls out:
“LOOK. AT. ME.”
You immediately open your eyes and your orgasm hits you in waves, stronger and stronger, flooding and overwhelming your senses. You see he’s close too, his hips stutter and the rhythm you two had is now lost, Joel is pounding into you with everything he’s got until you feel him release inside of you. You two collapse into each other, exhausted,
You cuddle yourself into him, nuzzling your face into his chest. After a few minutes, Joel clears his throat and speaks up and you’ve never heard him sound so nervous: “I’ve been wantin to do that for a very long time now…but if…” He trails off, takes a deep breath and continues: “If you don’t wanna mention this… I mean if you wanna forget all this happened I would respect that.”
You shift your weight to sit up just a little and bring your hand to his cheek. Joel closes his eyes, he can't help but lean into your hand. You speak up: “I’ve been wanting this for a while too, Joel.”
Joel leans over toward you, and presses his lips against yours. “Alright then.”
Rating: Explicit, MDNI
WC: 6k, filthy stuff longer that I expected.
Summary: All you could see was a grumpy annoying loner who was getting on your nerves.
You started arguing from day one and never stopped.
But now, he’s all you need, he’s the only one who can save you.
aka
Sex pollen with Joel Miller.
Tags: Sex pollen, dub con/non con (but both are very much into that at some point hehe), fuck or die, intoxication coming from water, intoxicated reader, smut, basically porn with a little plot, unprotected p in v, oral (both receiving), fingering, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, cum eating, mention of scratching and hickeys, grumpy!Joel, enemies to lovers, two idiots stuck together and they hate each other, Jackson!Joel, age is not specified, reader has barely no description besides having pussy and tits, mention of Tommy, mention of Maria, reader is Tommy 's friend but she hates Joel, a lot of arguing/bantering, a lot of pain and a lot of feelings as well, pet names, canon typical violence, infected, mention of food, reader is tough just like I love writing them, she can change a tire and she fully can take care of herself, mention of guns, mention of death (it doesn’t happen).
A/N: I’m posting this at almost 3am in my timezone as the usual mess that I am, yay! First time writing sex pollen and hell, I'm so nervous to share this 🫣 Title comes from a beautiful song by Florence and the Machine. It's barely edited and English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes. I really hope you like it! Comments and reblog are very much appreciated. ❤️
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
“I told you to slow down!”
“Jesus, would you stop lecturing me?”
“When you’ll use your brain, yeah! How you thought driving at that speed in a full rain storm was a good idea?!”
You reply angrily “It’s all your fault!”
Joel gestures his position nervously waving his arms while barking “it’s all my fault?! Look where I am! Passenger seat, darling”
“I would never have gone off the road if you stopped asking stupid questions!” You yell back.
“I swear you’re the most insufferable woman I’ve ever met” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s mutual!”
Joel Miller, ugh. What a jerk.
When Tommy asked you to go to a near city searching for supplies, you begged him to not pair you up with his brother but he wouldn’t listen. Joel is the best shooter in town, that’s what he said. He will keep you safe.
You’re not so sure about that.
You both clearly heard a tire pop and go flat as you hurtled through the mud.
Joel looks furious like he would kill you with his bare hands now.
You glance at him, holding the transceiver hoping for signal.
“This fucking thing doesn’t work” he curses.
You roll your eyes. Of course.
You’re lost in the middle of nowhere with the man you hate the most in the whole town.
You asked Tommy for a truck, no way you would do that by horse spending two or three days in the wild with his heinous brother.
He and Maria agreed to that but they only had this old rusty truck to gave you.
You thought it would have been fine, all good, one day driving and that’s it.
You would return to Jackson by the evening and continue ignoring Joel as much as possible, as you always had.
“What the hell we’re going to do now” you whine in frustration.
“There’s a house over there, we could try to run as soon as the rain slows down” Joel suggests, his voice always gruff.
You nod, looking right in front of you to not meet his gaze again.
The rain stops after a while and Joel announces “I’m going to check for infected.Stay here”
You jump out of the car following him and you spit out “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to stay here alone without doing anything. I’m no damsel in distress”
Joel groans but doesn’t reply, approaching the house cautiously, rifle in hand.
Clutching your pistol, you follow him.
You remain silent, alert to any sound that might come from inside.
Everything seems quiet. The house is made of wood and looks rather dilapidated and rotten, but it could serve as a shelter for the night.
You turn to look at the truck, which miraculously seems almost unscathed after your crash, apart from a flat tire.
You can change it in daylight; as soon as dawn breaks, you'll go out and fix it.
You’ll beg Tommy to put you on patrol with anyone but his grumpy, unpleasant brother first thing after coming home.
Your friend is like a cozy fire in the winter while his brother is like stormy weather.
Joel patrols one side of the house while you quietly walk around the other side. When you meet up again in front of the door, there seems to be no one else around. Joel opens the door and looks left and right, finding the inside of the house empty.
“Let's go in,” he whispers. It's not really a house, more like a hunter's shack that's been abandoned for who knows how long.
There's almost nothing in it, just a basic kitchenette with a stove and sink and a cot thrown in the corner.
It's pretty squalid, but at least there are a couple of dusty blankets to use for the night, and you have a can of beans in your backpack that will serve as dinner.
Joel sits down on the ground, placing his backpack in front of him and his rifle beside him. He bends his legs, resting his arms on his knees, and looks up at you: “You'd better make yourself comfortable, I don't think we'll be able to leave before tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks for clarifying that, I would never have figured it out on my own,” you snap, before sitting down in front of him, at a safe distance.
You'd rather fall into a snake pit than spend the night with this guy.
“Listen, princess, we're stuck here, you might as well stop being so unpleasant all the time.”
You scoff “Look who's talking, Mr. Nice Guy.”
Joel glares at you. “You started it. And if you'd been paying attention, we'd be home by now.”
The rain beats against the wooden boards with a constant, almost sinister ticking sound.
It started again a few minutes ago and it feels like it has every intention of going on all night.
“Thank your brother. I didn't decide that we should come together I would have been perfectly fine by myself.”
You don't even have time to finish your sentence before a violent thunderclap splits the sky, falling in the woods and illuminating the gloomy interior of the house. You gasp, pulling your knees up to your chest and curling up into a ball.
Joel laughs in his corner. “Sure, right, I can see that.”
You don’t even reply to him, it’s a waste for time.
You get up and check the stove to see if it works. Of course it doesn't. No one has brought gas cylinders to this godforsaken place for a decade.
“Great, we'll have cold beans for dinner,” you shrug, resigned.
Joel pulls a couple of sandwiches out of his backpack and throws one to you.
“Eat.”
“Oh, thank you. Finally, you're good for something.”
Joel rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his sandwich without answering. You sit back down in the corner and unwrap yours, hoping it's one of Maria's famous turkey sandwiches. That woman is good at everything; she would have made an excellent partner for this mission.
You eat in silence, enjoying your friend's secret sauce recipe and silently thanking Joel for being her brother-in-law. At least one piece of good fortune in this misery.
Joel looks at you between bites and chuckles, saying you eat like a truck driver.
You grumble something about how awful he is, before lying down on the cot and announcing to him, “I'm sleeping here. Don't try to come near me, Miller, I swear I'll rip your balls off.”
“How elegant. Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of it. I'll be fine here.”
While the man who never has to ask spreads a blanket on the cold floorboards, you curl up under yours, praying you'll be able to sleep and forget this hell of an evening as quickly as possible.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him lie down on the floor and wrap himself in the blanket. “Well, good night, princess,” he grunts mockingly.
You don't know what time it is when you wake up, but it's still dark.
You've had an uncomfortable and restless sleep, the cot is terrible, and your body feels sore.
You hear noises coming from outside, a muffled growling sound, a sound you've heard hundreds of times before, but it takes you a few seconds to recognize it.
Infected.
Fuck.
You jump up and look around, searching for Joel in the dim light. He's nowhere to be seen.
Your blood runs cold. For a moment, you think he left you here alone, then you see his backpack on the floor next to the crumpled blanket he slept on.
You look out the window and see him standing in front of the house, a knife in hand, killing the infected one by one as they approach.
There are at least a dozen of them, faces deformed, rotten teeth, clothes torn and hideous fungi sprouting from their heads like pestilent tentacles.
Instinctively, you grab your knife and rush outside to help him, stabbing a monster just in time before it reaches him from behind.
You will never get used to it, after all this time your skin crawls at the sound of murder.
Cartilage crackling under the blade, skin splitting, blood flowing, the smell of death and infection wafting through the air. It's terrifying. You forced yourself to do this to survive, there was no other way, but you still can’t wrap your head around the fact that these creatures were once people.
“What are you doing out there?! Go back inside!” Joel barks a moment before stabbing a couple more infected.
You kill the last one remained and then grunt “Just say thank you, Miller, I actually saved your ass”
“I could have handled it perfectly fine!”
His breath is itching due to the effort, his eyes shines in the dark despite being so deep brown and you could swear there was concerned in his voice, He was worried about you.
Your heart flutter for a moment, a strange unusual feeling spreading through your chest.
“Ungrateful prick” you spit, before turning on your heels and going back into the shack.
Joel follows you, he doesn’t reply but you can feel his blood boiling at your insult.
He slams the door, and sits back on the blanket, furiously searching through his backpack. He pulls out another sandwich and begins to eat it without offering you anything. Arms crossed around your chest, you sit on the cot, looking out the window and waiting for sunrise to leave this place and go back to Jackson. You can't bear another minute of this forced closeness with Joel.
You try to calm down, but words struggle to escape your throat, you feel them crawling along the walls and crowding onto your tongue.
“I swear, I never met someone as annoying as you are, Miller. Don’t ever talk to me again when we get back”
Joel pauses, sandwich in hands, he swallows a bite and stares at you like he’s trying to get under your skin.
“Fine” he barks “I have zero interest in getting along with you”
Air is filled with mutual hate, it flutters all over the place.
Your stomach growls softly but you don’t feel like eating beans and you don’t want to ask to Joel to share his breakfast.
You go out as it's starting to get light, to see if you can change the tire. The forest is vast, the wind howls through the trees, and you shrug your jacket around yourself, shivering.
“Fucking Joel” you grunt, approaching the truck.
It's still where you left it, covered in mud, with a branch on the windshield that must have fallen while it was raining. Luckily, it didn't break the glass.
You remove the branch and open the trunk, taking out the spare tire and the jack.
Once you've changed the tire, sweaty and covered in dirt, you notice a stream flowing placidly a short distance away.
You approach, thirsty, and examine the water. It looks clean, and your parched throat begs you to drink, so you do. You wash your hands and then cup them and dip them in the water, scooping up a bit. Water is cool and glides deliciously over your tongue, just what you needed. You take another generous swig, before noticing some strange fruits floating on the surface, they’re half-rotten and swollen with water. They look like berries but they’re probably not. You shrug, not giving it much thought, you clean up your face as well.
You sigh in relief, thinking that your problems are finally over. You just have to go back to Joel and tell him the problem's solved and you can get back on your way. You're not thrilled about talking to him again, but at least it will be the last time.
No more Millers around you except for Tommy, and you can’t wait for it.
As soon as you return to the shack you feel something is wrong.
A terrible nausea hits you in the pit of your stomach, so strong you think you're going to throw up. You breathe slowly, closing your eyes and sitting on the cot, trying to make it go away.
An immense heat suddenly envelops you, invading every cell of your body, and you feel as if you're about to catch fire from the inside. It's a sensation you've never felt before, absurd even considering the frigid late-October air that's made you shiver all night.
Your throat feels dry again, the heat burning inside you like a brazier sizzling in your guts, you feel like you’re about to faint.
Joel notices something's wrong and starts to move closer. "Are you okay? God, you're sweating."
"Stay away from me," you shout in a strangled cry.
"Don't be stupid," he scolds you. "Drink some water."
He hands you his canteen. You grab it in a panic, taking a long swig, but it makes no difference.
You're out of breath and the heat shows no signs of leaving you, you gasp and feel your stomach twisting into a violent knot.
It's unbearable and cruel, and Joel looking at you doesn't make it any better. You hate feeling so bad in front of him.
His wide eyes stare at you helplessly, “What can I do?” As much as he hates you, he seems genuinely concerned, he lowers himself to his knees and reaches to cup your cheek.
You flinch at his touch, feeling his warm hand on your burning skin, and you look at him with terrified eyes. “Don’t touch me,” you hiss.
His hand touching you changes something, though. Something else adds to the unbearable heat. You feel...hunger, desire. Extreme, animalistic need for sex suddenly slithers through your veins, and there's nothing you want more than to be fucked by him.
You've never thought about it before, not even once.
You'd rather do it with anyone than Joel Miller, but now? Now it's an uncontrollable, primal need.
“Fuck” you hiss “fuck fuck fuck”
You’re desperate and scared, what’s happening to you?
He barely touched you and you would rip his clothes off.
“What can I do to help you?” His voice is filled with concern and he reaches out again to graze your cheek.
You flinch again, fearing to not be able to hold your demeanor down anymore.
His big brown eyes look so pretty right now, you never noticed how beautiful they were before. He smells of wood and white musk and your nostrils flare.
You feel like you can already smell his testosterone and your desire grows, it throbs inside you, making your nipples harden under your shirt.
You don't want to tell him what you need, but you feel like if you don't, the heat will end up destroying you, eating you away from the inside out.
“Joel…” you whisper reluctantly.
“Yes, darling, talk to me” he urges you “tell me what you need”
“I…” you pause, gasping for air again “I… need…”
“Come on, you can do it. Whatever it is, just spill it out”
Joel looks at you expectantly, his mouth twitching slightly with impatience.
You shut your eyes and shake your head crying “no i can’t…i can’t”
Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you try to stop your words, but you can't.
Joel is increasingly agitated, he grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you, repeating, "Tell me what I can do."
“You don't care about me, you might as well let me die here” you scream dramatically, feeling on the verge of a breakdown.
"No way! I've never liked you much, but that doesn't mean I'd leave you to die out here in the middle of nowhere."
You don't want to die. You just know that. And you feel that if you don't speak up quickly and let Joel take charge, it might happen.
“I need…” you breathe again
“Yes, darling?” Joel strokes your arms trying to reassure you “don’t be ashamed”
“I need to be fucked” you spill out covering your mouth with your hand right after, the feverish heat that envelops you and continues to tear you apart.
“What?” Joel’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?!”
“Do you think I'm joking?! I need it, Joel, ok?! I can feel it in my bones” you whine, high pitched voice, tears streaming down your face like a river.
“But I…” Joel tries to say.
“Cut the shit out, you either fuck me or I’ll die! So if you can’t do it, just leave! I fixed the car. Just leave me here”
Joel clenches his fists and looks you in the eye with a determination that instills awe in you.
He won't let go, you can see it all over his face.
“So you’re telling me…you feel so bad you might pass away and the only thing that would fix that is…my cock?”
You swallow loudly. Your inside is still burning and you’re still sweating profusely and Joel putting it like that makes you feel even more like you’re going insane.
“You see the state I’m in, right? I need that”
Joel wraps his big arm around your middle and makes you lay on the cot. “I’m not going to abandon you. Ever. Tommy would never forgive me, you’re his friend. Hell, I would never forgive myself. So…” he doesn’t even finish the sentence, he just hop on the cot right above you, gently crushing you with his body,
His weight on you is soothing, you instantly feel like it’s the right thing to do but you need more. So much more.
You whine again, so loud Joel is scared “Gosh, did I hurt you?!”
You clasp your hand on his back pushing him down on you, still crying, still desperate, but with a shred of hope blooming inside your heart.
“Closer, Joel, please” you mewl “I need more”
“Alright, honey, just…God, just don’t cry, it’s going to be fine, okay?” He caresses your face, fingertips brushing at your cheekbone, he’s careful like he’s touching something fragile and you’re getting so nervous you feel like you’re about to crawl off your skin.
“You don’t understand. I. Need. Sex. Right. Now.” You punctuate every word, a need so strong hammering in your gut, twisted and despairing.
Joel rushes to take off his jacket, his shirt, his boots and jeans under your deeply imploring gaze.
You can see fears, doubts, disbelief washing all over his face. He’s back on you a few moments later, wearing only a pair of boxers that you would rip out of his body. Hooking your fingers in the elastic you pull them down with a rush you never had before, all you can think is his cock inside you finally ending your torture.
“Fuck!” He hisses as you grab his cock with your hand, stroking it up and down.
The contact with his warm skin feels right, your hand stop shaking and hurting, like it just needed to be full of his cock.
Your pussy feels even worse, wet as you never been, gushing, screaming, tearing for attention.
It clenches around nothing, begging to be full.
“Undress me, Joel.” You whine “Please please please, just put it inside me, I need it…FUCK - I need it so bad!”
He doesn't waste any more time talking, fully worried about you, hectic and stressed.
He reads in your eyes the gravity of what you are asking him, the blind desperation that is consuming you with every passing moment.
He unbuttons your jeans, slipping a hand inside your panties, cupping your pussy, kneading one of your breasts with the other from above your shirt.
His fingers slide over the wet hot lewd obscenity flowing between your lips, and it’s tremendously comforting.
“Yes!” You cry “good God, YES. MORE.”
“I got you baby, just relax, you’ll feel better in no time” he growls
His index and middle fingers slide into your slit, soaked with your juices, rise up to your clit, starting to draw tight circles over it.
“Damn!” He grunts “you’re so wet”
You never begged a man before, it’s not your character, but there’s nothing else you can do right now.
“Save me Joel, please.”
You’re sobbing so hard, so awkwardly, your mind is fuzzy and your body terribly aches.
His cock slips out of your hand and you cry at the loss.
Joel kisses you, burying your words in your throat, moans reverberating in his mouth, his tongue making its way past your lips, soothing and calming the desert you feel.
It’s a sloppy, urgent crash of mouths, you tilt your head to give him more access and he deepens the kiss, tickling your palate, intertwining his tongue with yours.
It feels good, so good your hands clasp the nape of his neck, tugging his salt and pepper curls, silently asking for him to go on.
And yet, it’s not enough so you cry for his cock, again and again and again.
“Give me a minute, dear, I just need - fuck - I just need to take these off” he fumbles with your trousers and panties, pulling them down to mid-thigh.
“I don’t have a minute!” You’re yelling at him like a possessed person, your hips rolling over the cot, searching for any type of relief.
Your entire body shakes in pain, Joel hurries to crush on you again, grounding you on the mattress, taking his cock in his hand, aligning it with your entrance.
He takes advantage of your juices leaking profusely to wet his shaft, rubbing the tip over your slit and you moan at the contact, so loud probably the entire forest is hearing you.
“Fuck - baby, you need to be quiet, we’re going to attract more infected” he tries to say but you can’t, it feels like being catch and brought to life again and you crave the feeling, you need the feeling, it’s like rain on a dry soil.
Joel rubs over you a couple of more time while you gasp like a fish, your lips agape and your hands scratching on his back, grabbing him like a lifeline, his skin on yours the only medicine for your pain.
“Easy, easy” he says, already hard from you fisting his cock, “just calm down, baby, I’m here, okay? You’re not going to die, no need to mark me like a cattle”
You would love to laugh but you can’t, every single drop in your blood boils and scald.
Joel is focused, eyes on your pussy as he maneuvers his cock into your slit, one inch at the time “fuck, she’s so tight…”
Your eager cunt is sucking him up, swallowing his length and he whimpers at the sensation “and so hungry! Jesus, honey, you’re gonna make me spurt right away”
It’s wet and hot and the perfect thickness to fill you up like you need to be.
Joel’s cock is fucking fine, perfectly doing the job, saving your life.
“I need it, I need him, I need you” you whine like a litany
Your hips are rocking frantically against his as he struggles to hold on, filling you to the brim.
“Here we go, honey, is it good?”
You mewl, looking at him frowning, eyes uncertain and lips trembling.
“YES. Yes”
He smiles softly “okay. How do you want it?”
“Hard.” You answer with no hesitation “hard, Joel, just - fuck - just split me in two”
His eyes darken and he takes a handful of your ass, lifting you slightly off the cot, letting you feel it deeper, his big cock kissing your cervix.
“Whatever you want darling” he rocks his hips on yours sinking inside you, muttering “God, that feels good, I never would have thought you had such a sweet pussy”
You grunt, too overwhelmed to bite back.
He starts pounding into you, reaching your special spot, heavy and hot, calming the hell that rages inside you.
One of his hand slips under your shirt, kneading one of your nipples, he growls tighten two of his fingers on it, pulling and twisting, rolling it between his fingertips.
You arch your back, basking into the sensation, your sore little button finally getting attention.
He rolls up your shirt to reveal it, lacing his mouth on it, sucking as if he's trying to feed himself.
His tongue brushes over it, rolling it gently, licking your entire areola before starting to suck again.
When he’s content with his work he switches on the other one giving it the same treatment.
He's still thrusting into you, long, deep thrusts that rock your body and make you feel better, much better.
“Yes, just like that - it’s working, it’s - fuck - it’s working so good” you urge him.
Your cunt is clenching hard, chocking his cock and covering him in your abundant, slick juices, leaking between your legs and pooling on the mattress underneath you.
His hand goes on your clit, rubbing it, eliciting more whimpers from you.
He’s rough as you wanted for him to be, scraping at your body, biting over your tits, sucking hickeys on your skin, devouring you inch by inch.
“Fuck baby, you look so pretty like that, full of my cock, writhing underneath me” he mutters.
He’s crumbling the same as you, his stoic facade starting to fall, leaving space to a new protective and caring man you’ve never met before.
Tommy always said to you Joel had a lethal protective side but you never believed him.
All you could see was a grumpy annoying loner who was getting on your nerves.
You started arguing from day one and never stopped.
But now, he’s all you need, he’s the only one who can save you.
And his body feels so nice, perfectly blending with yours, easing the pain you feel, healing that aching sickness inside you.
You’re swallowing him whole and you feel like you would never grow tired.
You feel your first orgasm mounting inside you, grasping at your lower tummy, as his cock stretches your walls, the thick veins on his cock adding a pleasant tickling, his hands giving you a much needed sense of grounding and safety.
Your insides are coiling and churning and your brain feeling like cotton candy, fuzzy and confused, you wail at him like a child throwing a tantrum, asking for him to paint your walls.
“You sure?” He stops in his track for just a moment and you nod frantically “please, I need your cum”
“But…”
“No but, Joel, Jesus! I’m on the pill, just spill your fucking cum inside me okay?!” You spit out and he grins “Okay, okay, damn! No need to curse at me like a sailor”
“I was fucking dying! It might happen still, I don’t fucking know” you whine “shut your mouth and fill me up”
He thrust on your spot a couple of more times before releasing thick sticky streak of his cum inside you, spurting all his pleasure inside your tender, spent, aching pussy.
You come right after, sucking him up so hard it feels unreal, your body taking what it needs despite you and your contempt for the man.
A deep guttural sound elbows at your throat, coming out strong like you never thought.
Your peak is rattling all over you, curling your toe, pulling at your chest, shutting your eyes tight, mouth forming an O, your face heated and your entire body beaded with sweat.
As soon as it fades, you know you’re not done yet and you’re desperate.
“Fuck, I need more”
Joel is panting and trying to recover but he doesn’t hold back.
He places himself between your thighs, half of his legs dangling over the cot. You spread open, lifting your legs, your hands behind your knees, obscenely open and ready for him.
He starts licking your pussy clean, the flat of his tongue lapping at you in long lines and then swirling around your clit.
His cum trickles down from your entrance and he scoops all he can pushing it back inside, his nose repeatedly bumping on your clit as he thrusts into you with his tongue.
You moan loudly when he starts fucking you with his fingers, two of them, long, big, the squelching lewd sound of him fucking his cum back in bouncing at the walls of the shed.
His lips latch onto your clit, sucking it inside his mouth, giving you that extra thrill you’re still craving so bad.
“That’s it baby. I won't let you feel empty and lost, poor little thing squeezing my fingers so good UGH such a nice pussy needs a princess treatment, isn’t she?”
He’s mumbling while he thrust deep into you, curling up his fingers to reach your spot again, making sure to give you another orgasm.
He goes back to your clit sucking it harder, making your eyes roll, your peak crawling up inside you.
“I’m coming - FUCK - coming again” you scream and Joel just pushes the right button inside you, making you fall off the edge.
You didn’t know he was so good at sex either, you never thought about anything sexual involving him, but hot damn, he’s fucking great.
Maybe it’s the sickness you’re feeling but you find him handsome now, you never realized how attractive he was before.
You squirt in his mouth and he diligently drinks everything he can, lapping at your cunt like a man starved, the rest of it wetting his mustache and his chin.
He looks at you, labored breath and bleary eyes, his lips glistening with your release “is it enough?” He pants.
You feel better but not completely put together, temperature in your body is still sky rocketing and the uneasy sensation in your stomach is still there.
He looks exhausted and you’re sorry about asking him to do more but you have no choice, you still feel like an animal who needs more feeding.
“I…almost” you whisper, that little common sense you regained making you feel self conscious about what just happened, the desperate way you begged him, how he fucked you and the way he’s looking at you now.
Like he’s watching someone he cares about, like he considers you pretty, like he’s deep down giving a shit about you and your well being.
The fact that he caresses your face and kisses your lips so tenderly doesn’t help either.
It’s fucking Joel Miller and you’re starting being stupidly dreamy about him, for fucks sake.
“What else can I do?” He asks and you know exactly what you want, even if you’re struggling to put this out in the world right now.
“I want - no, I need to suck you”
“Giving me a blowjob will fix you?” He raises his eyebrow in disbelief, a smirk curling his lips.
“Fuck, Joel, you still want to question it?” You glance at him
“Hey, if you want it, go ahead.” He shrugs “Be my guest, darling”
You struggle up from the cot, kneeling in front of him. Your eyes take in his body for the first time: his thick biceps, his large, calloused hands, his sculpted pecs, his slightly soft belly adorned with a delicious happy trail, his toned thighs, his cock... hell, his cock is much bigger than you'd realized it was until now.
You were so wet that it slid in effortlessly and well… you still are, so soaked that your juices are dripping down your inner thighs, but now in front of your eyes it looks downright intimidating.
And yet the need is churning again in your tummy, inescapable and strong.
You bring your lips close to his tip and feel his body tense, waiting, slightly trembling.
He’s nervous, even if he pretends not to be.
As soon as you take it into your mouth, it works like magic, heavy and dripping on your tongue. It's delicious. You relax your jaw, feeling it slide down, pulsing on your palate, reaching all the way to the back of your throat.
Nestling him like that makes your core at ease, finally resting after the battle that infuriated inside you.
Suckling at him like a lollipop, saliva pooling in your mouth and trickling down your chin makes you content, calm, soothed.
It’s the most incredible thing.
You haven’t the slightest idea how did you know what would have worked but you did nonetheless.
Like you previously said to Joel, you could feel it in your bones and your instinct was right.
You’re doing better and the relief is priceless.
It’s all thanks to Joel so you decide you’re going to give him the best blowjob you can possibly pull out.
You go down on him, caressing every vein, sliding slowly on his underside, savoring his musky flavor on your tongue, taking care of his balls as well, gently squeezing them in your hand.
All is quiet except for the grunts coming out of Joel and the wet pops of your sucking.
“Jesus, dear, didn’t know you were so fucking good” he growls
“You don’t know a lot about me or my multiple talents”
Joel chuckles “Right. Maybe we could be friends, after all”
“Assuming I survive this” you mumble putting even more effort on your wet job.
“You will, I’m sure you will. you were as hot as a damn fireplace, now not anymore“ he reassures you, knuckles running over your cheek “and you’re not crying”
You smile at him, winking as your tongue swirls all over his big mushroom and then you make it disappear in your mouth again, focused on his pleasure.
“Cheeky” he observes, amused.
You’re bobbing up and down his cock, holding the rest of it with your hand, sucking him hard and good and Joel loses his train of thoughts, he start muttering “yes, just like that” and “fuck” until a long thick shot of his cum hits your throat and you swallow it all, shivering at the nice sensation of his semen running down your tongue.
It feels good and he tastes good.
You run a finger over your lower lip, catching a few drops of his seed that escaped your greed.
“So naughty” he smirks
“Yeah, maybe I am, so what?” You challenge him
“I like it”
You laugh, finally feeling like a person again, your body doesn’t hurt anymore and your mind is clear, just a little dreamy about how you're finding yourself having feelings about Joel.
“Nice cock, by the way” you grant him, standing on your feet again “and he did the work just right”
“I’m glad it worked. And…” he paused, getting closer to you “To be honest, I liked it a lot more than I thought I would.”
“Which part?” You ask softly
“All of it.” And he kisses you, gently and slowly this time, savoring your lips, indulging in a sweet dance with your tongue.
“Hey, I just recovered, take it easy” you tell him breathlessly when he pulls away.
“Mmm… only if I'm allowed to do it again tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow, and the day after that.”
“We’ll see Miller” you smile
“Hey! I saved you!”
“Are you going to forever blackmail me about this?” You ask ironically
“Maybe. If it will grant me the right to kiss you, then yes”
You roll your eyes, kissing him back.
“Let’s get out of here” you urge him, as you’re fixing your clothes and he pulls back his.
“What will we tell them when they ask us why we were gone so long?” It’s a thought that just struck you.
“That you were sick and I took care of you. They don’t need to know the details.”
“Right. Aw, look at you, so proud of yourself”
You stroke his arms softly laughing at him, “you’re going to strut around about that, huh?”
He puts an arm around your waist and you feel the urge rising again inside your body, thankfully without the crushing pain that was driving you crazy. Just a comfortable, intriguing warmth and a tickle on your pussy.
“Let's go home, silly” He growls
“You know what? Maybe we should stop along the way,” you tell him, walking out of the shack, hugging him, pinching his butt.
“You want more?! Jesus, this illness was just an excuse to get laid, admit it.”
“It really wasn’t. But now that I've discovered how good you are... that's another story.”
Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dub con, post apocalyptic world, scavenging, guilt, shame, desire, Joel having a bad attitude, mentions of periods, rough sex, neediness, unprotected sex, cream pie
Comments: Coming across Wymore, NE, you hoped to find some much needed supplies for the coming winter but you find that the fungus has mutated in dangerous and frightening ways. Needing to insure that there are more hosts to infect in a very basic kind of way.
🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉Happy Birthday @storiesofthefandomlovers!!!! I love you and hope you have the best damn day! In thotty tradition, here is a sex pollen to celebrate another year around the sun!🎊🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉
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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
The world has changed in the past twenty years. None of it for the betterment of humanity. The crunch of the dried leaves grinds under your boots and your head rotates left and then right as you watch, listen. Waiting for any sign of life or more importantly, danger. The weight of your rifle is heavy in your hands, although you hold it down, unassuming but ready to be lifted at a second’s notice.
“I don’t know why you don’t just hook it over your shoulder.” Ellie snorts, her backpack bouncing slightly on her back from the steps that seem so unencumbered by worry. Why should she worry when there are two fully armed adults on either side of her. Her own personal guard in a manner of speaking. “There hasn’t been anything out here for daaaaaays.” She drags the word out like it's the most horrible thing in the world that it’s been peaceful.
Joel snorts, rolling his eyes as you glance over at him and then look back out at the surrounding terrain. “Yeah, that’s why we are on guard.” He grunts, even though his own rifle is on his shoulder. His hand gripped the shoulder sling loosely but he had only just put it up there half an hour ago after you had taken your turn relaxing as much as you can. “it’s too fucking quiet.”
He’s right. After the disasters that had been Kansas City, you had tried to avoid major cities, but even in the small towns, you had come across plenty of cordyceps and clickers. You hate the clickers with a passion.
The isolation can account for a lot of the silence. Miles stretching between remnants of civilization. The crumbling buildings and overgrown roads give the entire midwest a sense of peace. It’s unnerving.
Your grip adjusts, head rolling around your shoulders slightly to try to loosen the knot that builds up in your shoulders after so long. The weight of your pack isn’t as heavy as it should be, the rations not exactly filling since you had to escape that one clicker in Du Bois, Nebraska. Your pack had been ripped and most of the food you had been carrying was lost.
You glance over at Joel, noticing the way his shoulders seem to hang, almost a reflection of the way you feel. “We need to risk a larger town.” You murmur quietly, knowing that his first instinct will be to argue with you. You stumble slightly over a rock and hiss when you feel the hole in the sole of your boots.
“Too dangerous.” Joel snorts, shaking his head even as he watches you regain your footing. “I’ve got some duct tape in my bag.” He reminds you, knowing that you should probably reinforce that shoe before you lose the sole all together.
“It’s not just shoes.” You protest, trying to ignore the way that Ellie groans obnoxiously loud and stomps her foot.
“Come on, man!” She throws her own arguments into the ring. “I need tampons! We could find them if there was jack shit out here, but there’s not. Do you want me to attract wild animals?” She presses, glaring at Joel who looks equal parts horrified and unconvinced. She cracks an evil grin. “Circling us in the wild as I just leave behind a trail of blood? Aaaaand tears.” She adds, lifting her brows. “Periods are really emotional things.”
Biting your lip to keep from snorting, you watch as Joel; normally stoic, no bullshit Joel, can’t seem to string together the words to respond. His eyes slide over to you, almost pleading with you to say something.
Your brows lift in question and he twitches slightly, his dark eyes unhappy with you not immediately jumping in to save him. “We could use the food if we can find any.” You rationalize, smirking when his brows pinch together and he looks like he had just been betrayed.
“Clean underwear!” Ellie adds. “Or….cleaner. And a heavier fucking coat.” She shivers slightly and you can see that is the moment when Joel caves. He acts like a prick most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for the kid. He won’t admit, maybe not even to himself, but he looks over at the faded and nearly rusted out sign.
You continue walking, not pressing any more and you can hear the grumbling thoughts that are rolling through Joel’s mind. The now half hearted protests about why this is such a bad idea but you wait for the sigh.
Almost even with the sign is when it comes, heavy and it sounds almost pained. Like he is going against everything he believes in. “Stop.” He huffs, shuffling to pull his bag off his back and kneeling down with a groan and the small pops of fifty plus year old knees. Unzipping the pocket where he keeps the Atlas and flips the worn pages to Nebraska. Glancing back at the road behind you and then at the sign before looking at the map. Tracing the route that you had already traveled before looking ahead at the towns that were on highway 77.
Ellie doesn’t say a word but she practically bounces on her toes as she waits for his decision. You know that he’s going to agree, it’s just a matter of which town he chooses. He knows the truth of the situation. Winter is going to come quicker than any of you want, your food supply is low, you could probably all use a new set of boots, and all of you would kill for a halfway decent musty mattress to sleep on. Four walls and a hopefully non-leaking roof over your heads would be the icing on the cake.
“Wymore is coming up in fifty-eight miles.” He taps the map and looks up at you to see what you think.
Ellie shuffles slightly and instead of grinning, you crane your neck to look at the map yourself. “It looks like it’s bigger than the last few towns, but at least it’s not like we are running into Lincoln.” You hum before you nod. “I say we try.”
“Yessssss!” The teenager pumps her fist in excitement and she grins when Joel rolls his eyes. You’ve noticed that like any normal teenager, her favorite activity is annoying any kind of parental unit and pushing boundaries. This applies to Joel whether or not he likes it. “I want to find another joke book too.”
Joel groans but you just turn around, grinning yourself as Joel mumbles under his breath, stuffing the map back in his pack and zipping it up. Joel and Ellie are alike in a lot of ways, especially their penchant for mumbling.
You resist the urge to offer him a hand up, knowing he will be even more pissy if you do. For someone who complains about being older, he gets downright grouchy when he’s reminded of that same fact. “Well then, the quicker we get there, the quicker we don’t have to hear ‘are we there yet?’.” You snort, making Ellie grin shamelessly as she shrugs, knowing she will do exactly that.
“So let’s get going.” She doesn’t wait for anyone, just setting off down the road and leaving the two of you to catch up with her.
****
It takes you nearly three days to get to Wymore. All of you are tired, but Joel is the one who barely sleeps, even when you force him to lay down. It’s as if he cannot stop trying to protect Ellie, and also you, long enough for him to rest. He gets upset when he has to sleep, staying up until he is nodding off. The coffee supply has been exhausted and it’s probably a good thing. He would drink it all day to the point where his hands would shake from too much caffeine. Still he just wouldn’t trust you to make sure that no one snuck up on you for a few hours until he was past the point of being useless.
The first signs of the town are a welcomed relief but it’s also an added source of tension. Each mile that you had traveled had added to the fear that this might be the time that you fail. That something goes wrong and someone else dies. The road here has not been easy and the losses have weighed heavily on all of you. Joel still won’t even mention Tess and you hate it when you wake up in the early morning hours to find him staring down at the broken face of his watch with a look that breaks your heart.
Every approach into a new area can mean danger, either from the clickers or from humans and honestly you don’t know which one you fear more. Your gun is back in your hand, the weight of it familiar and comforting as you pass the first gas station, the windows busted out and dried fungus clinging to the building.
“Fuck.” You hiss, uneasy at the presence of the fungal vines, even if they look like they aren’t active.
“I wonder why it looks pink.” Ellie frowns as she squints at the building. “It’s usually an ugly brown color, right?” She looks towards Joel for confirmation, but he’s busy frowning at the building himself.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” If the cordyceps have spread this far out of town then there’s a possibility there are still active branches closer to the supplies that you are looking for.
“Come on man.” Ellie groans, kicking a dirt clod. “There’s nothing for miles. It’s probably all dead.”
You know that Ellie is probably right, but it’s a risk. You bite your lip, looking over at Joel. “Why don’t we sweep the town and we can see?” You ask, knowing that if everything is dead, you could desperately use the rest. Cordyceps rarely return en masse when the vines have withered and died. It could be a safe place to recharge and for Joel to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.
You’ve stopped walking as you talk, Joel looking around as he contemplates your alternatives. To be honest, there aren’t many and both of you know it. Not without a lot of backtracking which none of you want to do.
Joel sighs and you know that he’s going to agree. He turns to Ellie. “Don’t fucking touch anything until we say it’s alright.” He points at her for good measure, as if his finger would impress the importance of his words. “Got it?”
“Got it.” She huffs. “Jesus, you act like we haven’t done this before.” You roll your eyes and look away, knowing you shouldn’t encourage her right now.
It takes hours to make your way into the center of town. Not because you are blocked by clickers or avoiding humans, it’s because you are stocking up. It’s like the fungus took over this town and just let it rot. Nothing inside the first few blocks of town is disturbed. No looting has been done here, plenty of supplies to be had.
Both you and Joel have been cautious but slowly optimistic as you’ve found boots and heavy jackets, gloves and hats. A new pair of clothes have been rolled into everyone’s bags and you’ve even grabbed another pack to fill with the mylar sealed packs of camping food from the sporting goods store. It was a miracle that nothing had been ransacked, but it makes you wonder exactly what the fuck happened here. Did the army sweep through and round up all the residents right away? It would make sense, but then why were there dead spores of the fungus here? You haven’t seen one body so far and it makes you nervous.
“This place is a fucking gold mine.” Ellie grins like a kid in a candy store, perhaps because you’ve actually found candy and she has been sucking on the jolly ranchers until the top of her mouth is raw. “Now we just need to find a place to sleep. I want my own room.”
Glancing over at Joel, you expect him to immediately tell her no, but he doesn’t say a word. Continuing to look around like he is expecting a clicker to pop out from the doorway of the local McDonald’s, now completely covered in that strange pink fungus. It’s like he doesn’t even hear her as he frowns at the building.
She takes that as approval and immediately starts talking about how she’s going to spread out. Making you snort when she talks about sitting in her underwear for an hour. There hasn’t been a lot of privacy out here on the road, so you can understand that desire.
“Joel.” You murmur his name softly, knowing that the best thing you can do is to find the motel and get settled down for the night before the sun sets. Even if this town is as safe as it appears on the surface, you would rather not be fumbling around in the dark . He doesn’t look over at you, still staring at the overgrown building as if it’s holding the secret. Maybe it reminds him of the Boston Museum, ominously covered with the tentacles of the fungus and the horrors that you had found inside it. “Joel!”
“What?” His head whips around, body tense as he’s ripped out of his thoughts. Relaxing when he finds you and Ellie staring at him.
“We need to find the motel.” You remind him, nodding towards the sun getting lower in the sky. “I think we could all use a good night’s sleep.”
He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searing your face, looking for some hidden meaning beneath your words before he glances over at an eager Ellie. “Yeah, sure.” He agrees, adjusting his rifle to sling it onto his shoulder and adjusts his now much heavier pack on his back. “Probably on the other side of the main drag.”
His new boots thump against the cracked pavement. The roads leading deeper into the town is the guide towards what will hopefully be a comfortable bed and at least eight hours of sleep.
Your own new boots feel pretty good, but maybe a day or so here, going through supplies and really making sure that you can take on the coming winter would be a good thing. Allowing you to break in the shoes without blisters. You’ll have to talk about it with Joel after Ellie sequesters herself for the night.
It’s about another fifteen minutes before you get to the small motel that looks like it will be a good place to spend the night. Half the building is covered in another large cluster of the fungus, the pink hue looking particularly bright in the fading sun.
“We’ll get some keys.” It will be better than breaking down doors, especially since the motel wasn’t equipped with the keycards that the high end hotels had started switching to before society came crashing down.
The bad news is that the motel doesn’t have any adjoining rooms, so Joel and Ellie get into a small spat about her having her own room, Ellie eventually winning after promising that she will block the door with a dresser and he’s allowed to sweep the room before she locks herself in. Half the building is so overtaken by the vivid pink fungus that you swear looks like a big splat of bubblegum thrown over the walls.
She doesn’t even want to have dinner with you and Joel, making the man go through the room and then telling you both goodnight and shutting the door in your face. Making you laugh as Joel frowns at the door, rethinking this entire situation.
“Well, you can have a room to yourself too.” You offer, smirking as he cuts his eyes towards you. You know that Joel would rather everyone sleep where he can keep his eyes on them, so you getting privacy is off the table.
“Shut up.” Joel grunts, walking down towards the next room and kicking it open, watchful even though you’ve both already been in the room and deposited your bags. It’s a nice room, two double beds so each one of you can stretch out and relax.
You laugh quietly and decide to walk down the railing towards the portion of the building that has been overtaken by the fungus. Your curiosity about this variant is finally getting the best of you and you want to get a better look at it.
It’s thick. The tendril that is draped over the metal railing of the second floor, wrapping around it and up the support column. You bite your lip, tilting your head when you see the withered remnants of some kind of flower. What kind of fungus sprouts flowers?
You jump when something touches your back, whirling around to find Joel behind you, holding his hands up. He smirks at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Fuck you.” You hiss, narrowing your eyes and he huffs. “What are you doing?” He asks.
Turning back towards the fungus, you sigh. “This is different from any other kind I’ve ever seen.” You comment, stepping closer to it only to feel Joel reach for your arm to pull you back. “It’s dried out.” You remind him, jerking your head towards the husk of the cordyceps. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” You know that he spent a lot of time sneaking out of the Boston QZ, it’s possible he had seen it before.
He grunts, relaxing his hold on you and he shuffles slightly closer, looking at the flower buds that extend from the tendrils. His own suspicions about anything fungus related is deep, but it’s dried. “I haven’t.” He admits after a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly and trying to think if there is any reason why this pink coloring has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
“So it’s something new.” You bite your lip and lean in, feeling the disapproval radiate off of Joel in hot waves but you ignore him. Tilting your head and reaching out to touch one of the dried flowers.
“Don’t-”
The second your finger touches the wilted bloom, it bursts open, spurting you and Joel behind you in a cloud of pink dust. You gasp, holding your breath but there’s no hope for not inhaling the pollen.
“Fuck!” Joel coughs, shaking his head and backing up so quickly he hits the side of the building and reaches out to drag you away from the lingering cloud of dust and starts to practically beat it off the two of you. “We need- we need-” He leans over and starts coughing, obviously having inhaled just as much of it as you had.
“We’re okay.” You gasp, shaking your head and brushing the dust off your clothes. “We- it’s dead. Right?” You hate that you are asking that, but you hadn’t expected that from a dried out fungus.
“It- we should clean up.” Joel blinks, the pollen making his eyes itch and that has to be the cause of the rush of heat that slides over him. It’s just adrenaline. Fear. Anything that would scare both of you would make the slight nip in the air disappear and make you feel like your skin is superheated.
The water is gravity fed. The large cisterns on the roof are still full and while it’s not warm, perhaps a cold shower might be better right now. Joel drags you both to the room and locks the door, although he doesn’t push a dresser in front of it in case Ellie needs you in the night.
In the bathroom, you are shaking as you start to strip down, worrying about how stupid you just were and if you completely fucked yourself. The anxious fear covering the way your skin seems to burn and feel so sensitive to everything. Shuddering when your hand brushes over your thigh as you push your jeans down and kick them off before you pull your shirt over your head and remove your bra.
Clean up. Get the pollen off your skin and cool down. Your body seems to be working on overdrive. Your nipple hard under the cold water and instead of gasping in shock, you moan softly. Enjoying the sensation and reaching for the bar of soap that is still wrapped in plastic.
Hurry up, hurry up. Joel paces around the room, his hands curled into fists. Practically sweating even though the air is cool as the sun sets. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he is battling a sickness.
Over and over again, he goes through the symptoms of the infection of the cordyceps, there’s no veining, he’s stopped and checked his eyes and reflection in the peeling mirror about twenty times in the five minutes you’ve been in the bathroom. And he doesn’t fucking think the fungus makes his cock harder than a fucking rock in his jeans.
He’s not thought about sex in months. Nothing beyond fleeting moments of attraction to you that he swiftly buries under guilt and responsibility. Normally, it is when you’re bent over and your ass is presented to him in such a way that he thinks about sinking into you from behind, or when your shirt pulls tight over your breasts and he imagines cupping them in his hands as you sit on his cock. Immediately dismissed and ignored as he reminds himself of how he had failed Tess, he doesn’t deserve to find warmth and comfort in your arms.
Now, it’s all he can think about. The urge to palm his cock makes his fingers twitch and he almost moves his hand over his crotch before he flinches back to reality and tries to examine his face in the mirror again, wondering if his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep or if he is infected.
Scrubbing your body is nearly painful, wanting to stop and touch yourself, but you can’t. You need to get this done and get out so Joel can shower. Still, despite the cold water, you feel like you are on fire when you shut off the water and realize that you didn’t bring your bag into the bathroom. You will have to go out there in nothing because you can’t put those clothes back on. Not until they have been washed.
Moderately dry, you hear Joel bang on the door. “Hurry up.” He growls, making you clench your thighs together at the raspy tone and hating how it spears through you. You know Joel isn’t interested in you, hasn’t ever looked at you like that and the crush that you had on the man had been buried deep.
“I’m done.” You don’t have a chance to be embarrassed as you open the door and Joel practically shoves past you into the bathroom and slams it behind him. “Fuck.” Your annoyance cools the heat for a moment, but it’s only temporary.
The water is icy, but still, Joel curls his hands into fists against the shower wall. He’s fucking hard. Harder than he had probably ever been in his entire life, even when he was a horny teenager and would have fucked anyone who let him between their thighs. He’s not felt like this ever. The need to touch himself builds to the point where his hips are rocking into thin air against the spray of the water. Want clawing up his throat and pooling in his stomach in a heavy knot.
You don’t dress, you can’t. Crawling under the covers of one of the beds, you listen to Joel groan in the bathroom, it’s muted over the sound of the shower but it’s sexy. All of his sounds are sexy, from the low grunts he gives when he’s stiff and sore, to the huffs and groans of annoyance. It’s all sexy to you. The rasp of his voice when he’s not spoken for a few hours.
Closing your eyes, it’s easy to give in, to let your hands drift over your skin. He’s not here, you can take care of this frantic need that is swirling inside you. You just need to slide your hand between your thighs and ease it. It wouldn’t take much more than a few swipes of your fingers against your pulsing and aching clit.
Trying to fight it, you concentrate on your breathing, in and out. Inhaling slowly and holding it so you can exhale when the burn in your lungs tells you that you’ve reached your limit. It helps, but not much. Not when you’re imagining Joel in his shower. Touching him. Being free to touch him and having his hands on your body in return.
Your hands slip over your breasts, squeezing them hard enough to moan softly and your legs shift to press together. Clenching around nothing and wishing that you were full while your hands start to move down over your stomach.
The first touch is almost a relief, your entire core quivering as your fingers press against your clit. It’s overwhelming and not enough. You need more, fingertips pressing and rubbing around the puffed up bundle of nerves. You’re already soaked and can feel it dripping down your slit.
Spurred on by that insatiable need, you slide your fingers around your entrance and start to press them inside. Biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Imagining that it’s more, that it’s a cock that is starting to break you open and fill that void that is aching.
You are so caught up in the bliss of that first stretch of your fingers that you don’t hear the shower turn off. The quiet curses coming from the bathroom are muffled by the rush of blood in your ears, the feeling of relief coursing through your nerves and taking over. You don’t hear the click of the lock and the turn of the handle. The door opening doesn't even register as you plant your heels on the bed and push your hips up, needing to get your fingers deeper, not quite reaching the spot inside you that craves fullness.
You don’t hear him until he chokes out a sound that is pained and low, like he’s injured. Your eyes pop open as you lurch up off the bed, your fingers ripping themselves out of your cunt hard enough to make you whimper. Fixed on Joel’s towel draped body, tented over his waist.
“Joel, I-”
“Fuuuuuck.” He growls, his eyes closing and his hands bunches into fists, one holding his towel and the other by his side. “I’ve tried to not think about you, about touching you.” His words are rasped out, strained against his vocal cords. “I’ve goddamn beat into my brain that you aren’t to be thought about this way and now, I can’t stop.” His stomach clenches and his body twitches as he struggles to keep still.
Your chest heaves and you see his eyes drop down to your uncovered tits. His jaw clenching and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. “I - I need to touch myself.” You admit breathlessly. “I - it hurts so bad and I need something inside me.”
Joel groans again, shuddering so violently that you can see him shake from where you are. “I’ve jerked off in the shower twice and it's still hard.” He drops the towel, revealing his hard and leaking cock, making you whimper at the sight and clench around nothing. “I think that- that we- that the flower-”
“I don’t care.” You moan, shaking your head and crawling to your knees and shuffling forward. Showing him all of you and so goddamn desperate to touch him that you think you are about to explode. “Touch me, Joel. Fuck, touch me, please.” You beg, your hands on your own body.
“We-” He shakes his head and his face changes, morphs into pain.
“Fuck me.” You hiss, watching as his resolve breaks. His cock bounces as he lunges for you, hard and swift, driving you back to the bed with a bounce. Almost as if he is attacking you.
He’s not gentle. His mouth finding yours in a harsh kiss, your permission unleashing the coils of restraint that he had tried to put on himself. His grip bruises as he hauls you up the bed and settles between your thighs.
You’ve always attributed Joel with rough gentleness. The type of man who would make you ache and then hold you close. Groaning in pleasure when you find out that is exactly what Joel Miller is like. His hands spreading your thighs with a desperation that proves he is just as afflicted by this fungal pollen as you are. His cock hard and pressing against your folds as he rocks his hips forward to line up. Almost unable to find the hole with his eagerness to sink into you.
“Joel, hurry.” Your hands shake, holding onto him and urging him closer to you, frantic with need now that you know that you are going to have him inside you.
“Goddamn, I’m trying.” He hisses, hating to let you go so he can take his cock in hand. Rocking into his own grip as he shuttles his hips forward. “I’m fuckin’ trying, sweetheart.”
You whimper when you finally feel him pressing against your entrance, choking out a sound of need that is animalistic. Only to cry out in bliss as he pushes inside you without another delay.
He groans, eyes cinched shut as he slides inside you to the hilt, burying himself in your heat and feeling that coil in his stomach tighten even more now that your walls are around him. Immediately starting to move just as soon as he fills you, driving by that need and burning in his very veins.
It’s exquisite, the pain and pleasure blending and fusing in your stomach, nerves alight and responding to every small movement. You can’t get enough of him, you need more. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you rise to meet his harsh thrusts. Clenching down around him every time he hits that spot deep inside you that you couldn’t reach with your fingers.
He shouldn’t be inside you, he shouldn’t be touching you, but now that he is, he can’t stop. Turning his head, he presses his lips to yours and slides his tongue into your mouth. Needing more. Kissing you like he had imagined a thousand times before. Giving into every urge he has had since the day he met you and repressed before right now. Snapping his hips forward sharply and pulling every groan out of your mouth to swallow down.
Every thrust makes it better, eases that burning in your core, your cunt slick and squelching every time he drives into you. He absorbs every sound you make, almost greedy for them. His hips jarring as they slam into you. Rocking you both up the bed.
“Oh god,” breaking away from the kiss, you moan into his ear. Closing your eyes as he pants and puffs while he fucks you. “So deep, so deep, Joel.” Your nails drag down his back, making him hiss in pleasure and pain.
“Shit.” He groans your name, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts and the building pressure. “You needed this?” He growls, making you clench down around him hard and whimper his name. “Yessss.” You agree, nodding against the pillow. “Needed it so bad.”
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He huffs, burying his face against your neck. Continuing to pound into you, and not letting up even though his back is screaming in pain. His body won’t let him do anything but rock his hips. Driven by a need that overrides everything else.
His words make you burn, making you even more desperate for him. Your hips rock up and legs tightening around his waist even more. Loving how his cock stretches you out and scrubs against every nerve in your cunt. Lighting up your body until you are gasping on the edge of that much needed orgasm.
Every plunge into your body brings him closer to cumming, desperate to feel that emptiness, that wrung out filling once he has filled you. He shouldn’t cum inside you, he knows that, but he’s not going to be able to stop himself. He can barely pull back enough to rock his hips back into you.
His arms have banded around you, holding you into place as he fucks you. Deep and primal, as if he is trying to fuse the two of you into one. His cock punches into the depths of your body that you never imagined anyone reaching, but he touches it with ease. Your body pulsing with that need to come apart.
“So close, I’m so close, baby.” You whine, body starting to tremble underneath him. “So close.” Your nails dig into his shoulder, grounding yourself to him in desperation. “Joel.”
“I gotcha.” He groans, eyes closed and his breath fanning against your skin. “I’mma take good care of you, sweetheart.” He promises. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, ain’t cha? Just like you wanted.”
His words throw you over the edge, that need built up so tight inside you that it busts on the next thrust. Lights careen and collide behind your eyes, bright and beautiful as your whole body ignites into pleasure like you’ve never experienced before. Crying out loudly and soaking him in a wave of your juices. Cumming harder than you ever have before.
Joel growls your name, his hips stuttering as you come apart around you. Unable to hold back any longer. He buries himself deep into your hot passage and paints your walls with sticks ropes of his seed. Panting against your lips as he empties himself body and perhaps his very soul into you.
Both of you pant, relieved and exhausted from the pure exertion of need as you had taken from each other. Joel presses into you, trying to catch his breath, but the fire is still burning low in his belly, his cock still not softening as it twitches inside you.
“Oh fuck.” You feel that same desire still curling in your stomach, not satisfied by the intensity of the orgasm that you are still coming down from. “Joel-”
He huffs and shakes his head. “Don’t-” he presses his lips to your again, body screaming as he starts to move again. “Shhhhhh.”
The need still burns and both of you are still locked in its fiery grip, not yet free from the desire that washed over you from a burst of pollen.
****
“What the fuck man, open the door!” The thudding on the door finally penetrates the bone deep sleep you had finally fallen into. You don’t know how many time Joel fucked you, or how many times he had spend himself inside you as you blearily open your eyes.
Joel grunts, slowly opening his own eyes and unwinding himself from the tangled together position that you had passed out in. The knocking on the door keeps on. “Joel!” Your name is also shouted, Ellie starting to sound somewhat panicked when neither one of you is immediately opening the door.
“Fuck! I’m coming.” He drags the top blanket off the bed and wraps it around his waist before flinging the door opened to blink into the harshness of the sun. “What?” He growls roughly, making Ellie’s eyes blow wide with shock.
“Holy shit, what happened to you?” She demands, pushing into the room and stopping short when she sees you sitting up in the only bed that has been disturbed, the sheet anchored beneath your armpits. “Oh shit, you fucked.” She gasps, turning and shooting Joel an impressed grin. “Way to go, old man, you made a move.” Her grin quickly turns into an expression of mild disgust when she realizes that she’s congratulating you two on having sex. “Uh, I’m gonna go now.” She huffs, wrinkling her nose and pinching it. “It smells in here.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she darts back out the door and Joel just stands there for a moment before he rolls his eyes and goes to shut the door before he thinks better of it. Sticking his head out of the room, he shouts after Ellie. “Stay away from the fucking fungus!”
You snort, grinning to yourself as your body starts to ache. Fucking fungus indeed.
