Tags: 18+, hurt/comfort...?, mentions of excessive drinking, violence if you squint, smut
AO3 Link
On Halloween night you were visited by a ghost from your past, Dean Winchester. He barged through the door of your apartment, like he still had a set of keys and not just a bent bobby pin, scaring the living shit out of you. He found you a bottle deep in your bathroom, music blaring from your phone's speaker as you adjusted a halo to complete your angel costume. At first, you screamed when you saw his reflection in the mirror, staring back at you from the living room with an arrogant grin and wide green eyes. You left all intentions to give up hunting on the floor of your apartment when you peeled off your costume and packed a duffel bag. Dean returned to you with a job, help him find his dad and then you can go back to your normal life. He said it like it was sacrilegious, a normal life. It took one sentence to end four years of silence.
A year later and you still sit faithfully by his side taking case after case, forever extending your return to normalcy. It didn't take long to fall back into the groove of the life. Bouncing between motel rooms, running credit card scams, and filling your gut with shitty diner food, you started to enjoy it again, really enjoy it and not just because Dean was there. You liked helping people, saving the day without a word of thanks and disappearing before first light. You liked doing it with him. But as time went on, you wore yourself thin. You crossed paths with death more times than you'd like. You started to get reckless during the hunt. Rushing in before Dean, getting into fights you couldn't end, breaking into places with credentials that made heads turn. You were emboldened by some fantasy that you can't get hurt, and you hadn't yet, but it didn't stop there. It was obvious in the way you chased the bottle. When Dean wasn't dragging you from the bars, you only returned to the motel to shower, sleep, or bug him to take you back in the morning. Those three quickly became interchangeable. You were a lot like him in that way, which is why he hesitated to say anything. The moment he points it out he would be subject to the same criticism. But it came to a point when you started to chase lust.
In the beginning it was innocent, like accepting drinks from men at the bar. They saw you with Dean and thought they could measure up, sending over shots of liquor faster than you could drink them. You always smiled so sweetly for them, floating the idea of bringing them to bed before taking Dean's hand and running out before they came to collect. He benefited from it in the long run, free drinks and the thrill of watching their rejection always made for a good night. Then the lines blurred and you stopped leaving the men to their bar stools. You escalated to putting a flirty hand on their thigh. You sat with them in red rounded booths, letting their hands disappear beneath the table, leaving a miserable Dean to imagine what they were doing. You started an unspoken game, how many of them can you kiss in a night, before it devolved into how many will take you outside? To the bathrooms? To their distant apartments? And every time, Dean said nothing. He stayed close to make sure you were safe, no matter how much it killed him to watch. He waited for your texts like 'pick me up', sent from another man's bed just after three in the morning. It enraged him to see the hickeys form on your throat, the rips in your shirt that exposed another night he didn't spend at your side. You 'like it rough' you'd tease when he pressed you about it.
He saw the job take its toll on you. His body ached with pain just like yours. His mind habituated the sting of violence, the guilt over the ones you couldn't save, the exhaustion of knowing the cycle repeats anew each morning. You chased your vices as long as you were able and Dean didn't want to be the one to stop you. Being on the road kept you close to him. Wherever you went at night, you always woke up in the bed opposite of him. You bickered like sweethearts over breakfast and complained about your day over shared cigarettes. And all the while, he missed your body. You used to indulge in him, not the liquor or the other men. But back then, Dean was too cynical to say love. He said life on the road didn't support it, that the job preys on vulnerability and you're doing more harm than good obsessing over it. You'll end up 'demon bait' he remembers shouting back during the heated argument. All you'd asked was for him to say he loved you, to finally admit what his actions already told you. You were gone the next morning. Four years of silence solidified the words in his mind, he'll never forget it. He was jaded by a lifetime on the road. He was too scared to say it, what if you didn't feel the same? Dean figured since you came back to the life, to him, things could be different but you had changed and he couldn't have been more wrong.
Dean knew you could do better but he never dared to say it until your vices roared their ugly heads and Dean got into a fight. One of the men at the bar, his face too normal to deem important enough to remember, started getting touchy with you in one of those red booths. Dean watched from across the room, taking languid sips of his whiskey. He liked the way it burned his throat, it was much easier to swallow than the scene unfolding before him. You kissed the man and he knew you were wasted by the way you licked a stripe up the side of his face. Dean couldn't hear you giggle as the stranger's hands found their way beneath your shirt, but he knows the sound well. The night turned sour when you finally pulled away, thanked him for the drinks, and lied about having to leave. Dean knew the line well by now, 'I have an early morning' you'd pout. The man must have felt entitled to your body the way his hand wrapped tight around your wrist. He gave you the command to stay, pulling you back in the booth but you persisted, it's time for you to leave. Dean watches your lips move, 'Stop' you tell the man as he wrestles with your body. You're a big girl who knows how to use her big girl fists. Dean waits for you to shove him away or throw the first punch, then he'll come to the rescue, but it doesn't happen. You look to Dean for help with a fear in your eyes that makes his blood run cold. He didn't leave his bar stool with the intention to fight. He figured a few intimidating words would be enough for the man to release you from his grasp.
"Let her go." Dean stands at the edge of the table, staring down the man in the booth with a familiar grimace.
The man only laughs in response, "What're you gonna do about it?" He slurs. Dean looks to you for permission, as if he needed it, and you return with an anxious nod thinking he'll just put his hands on the guy to scare him. Instead, he swings. Dean's fist connects with the side of the man's jaw and the grip on your wrist loosens. You shuffle out of the booth, to stand at Dean's side, and the man rises to his feet, "What the fuck?!" He shouts, shuffling his gaze between the two of you, making a connection that neither of you notice.
Naturally, the bar goes quiet and the attention of every patron instantly turns to Dean. Usually he would walk away, the single punch had its effect and you were safe now. But in this man's face he saw the faces over every other man before him. He saw their hands on your body and their tongues down your throat. He saw the bruises they left in good faith and the ones you covered when things went too far.
"We should go-" You say quietly, grabbing Dean's arm to pull him toward the door but he doesn't budge.
"Go to the car." Dean says calmly, which should have been a clear sign to you that he was getting into a fight. You knew better than to stay around for the fallout.
Dean adds more force to the second swing, this time aiming for the man's nose. His fist lands on target and a spray of blood streaks across the booth. It splatters against Dean's shirt and begins to pour down the man's face.
"Motherfuc-" The man doesn't get the chance to spit out the rest as Dean grabs his t-shirt and pulls him from the booth, tossing him to the ground with ease. Seeing this, no one in the bar musters the courage to step in. It wasn't exactly a fair match-up. Dean leans down and punches again, and again, and again until sickly hues of purple and red obscure the man's face into a mess of swollen, broken flesh. He begs for Dean to stop, that he was sorry for touching 'his girl'. Hearing you attached to Dean with such a title just enrages him more. He laughs, "I thought you didn't know what stop means?" A kick between the ribs finally shuts him up. Dean stands to admire his work. His justified rage manifests in a cowering, blubbering mess on the sticky bar floor.
He gives a final kick to the stomach, for good measure. Dean wipes his hands against his jacket, ignoring the crowd that gathered around him, and exits the bar. You greet him in the parking lot, worry stricken across your face at the sight of blood highlighted against his white shirt, and neither of you acknowledges what happened until you get back to the motel.
"You didn't have to do that, Dean." You comment, wringing the water out of your hair with a towel.
"You don't know what I did or didn't do." He responds plainly, throwing off his soiled t-shirt.
"I'm not stupid."
"I didn't say you were." Dean signals the end of the conversation by shutting the bathroom door and you hear the shower come to life. The air is thick with steam and things unsaid. You wait for what seems like forever for him to return. You won't let him escape the argument so easily. Dean returns from the shower with a towel draped around his waist. You pay it no mind, in the past year you've seen far more than what can be imagined. Rather, you focus on the deep scowl pasted across his face.
You tread lightly, "I'm just saying I think you went too far."
Dean scoffs, feeling his rage linger with simmering heat, "You want to talk about too far? How about spending one night without hooking up with the first guy you see?" He can't even meet your gaze when he says it, he just stares into the mirror as he rakes through his hair. His words hit you like a punch and the air escapes your lungs. Your eyes follow Dean across the room to the dresser where he pulls out a pair of pajama pants and throws them to the bed.
"Why are you being so mean?" You challenge. The way he doesn't give you his full attention, getting ready for bed like it's a regular night, makes you feel so small. He cares enough to be angry but not enough to say it to your face.
Dean's never had a way with words, there's a lot he wants to say but it gets jumbled through a screen of anger. "All I'm saying is maybe you should have more respect for yourself and stop acting like such a whore-"
"Yeah, well maybe I like it Dean! Have you ever thought of that?!" You shout back through a veil of tears. "Sure, I-I go too far sometimes but it's better to feel loved than to sit all sad at the table like you do!"
Dean ignores your jab and pushes back, "You think that's love? Maybe you are stupid."
"I'm not!" You scream back, "I knew I should have never come back! You're such a fucking asshole, Dean." Your hands fly up to cover your face and you cry. You won't give him the satisfaction of seeing his words get to you.
"It's what you need to hear! You're sitting here talking about love and what you mean is attention. They give you attention and it fills that little hole in your chest. I have it too but it doesn't justify the way you act like- like all you need is a good fuck to fix everything! Love doesn't look like those fucking bruises on your thigh and it's certainly not at the end of a bottle of vodka+!" Something buried deep in Dean's chest snaps. "I mean-fuck, I don't think you would know what love looks like if it stood in your face and screamed at you!" He yells back at you, face red and hands trembling. You cower on your bed, stifling your tears and hiding your face like you do late at night when you think Dean's asleep. He's no better than those men who make you feel worthless and unseen. You don't deserve the anger he misplaces on you when it should be pointed at himself. Dean drops his thought and takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with his finger and his thumb. Your quiet sobs ring louder in the silence.
You feel compression at the edge of your bed and look up to see Dean sitting across from you. Your name crosses between his lips, soft and apologetic, "I-I shouldn't have said all that, I'm sorry." He reaches out to place a hand on your knee and is surprised when you don't push him away. You recognize the gesture for what it is, a bid for connection, for comfort. Dean's never been good with words but you find the bits of truth in what he's said. You know you're being careless with your body you just don't know how to stop.
"You're not a whore. That was fucked up to say."
You reply weakly, "Thanks. It was."
"And you're right, I went too far. I wasn't thinking."
You scowl back, "You beat the shit out of some guy for, like, no reason."
Dean rolls his eyes but he doesn't deny it, "C'mon, I had every right to do what I did the way he was acting."
"Fine." You agree. Silence passes. You let Dean's hand linger on your knee. You don't want to admit it makes you feel better. Between all of the one-night stands and bathroom feel-ups, nothing matches how Dean makes you feel. You see him and you see home. You see late nights playing cards in the Impala and you see his toothy smile hearing his favorite song come on the radio. A life of hunting will likely kill you one day but you'll have spent it at his side. With another hand, Dean wipes the stray tears from your cheeks. With you, he feels like he has something to lose. His life has been on the line countless times but seeing you in pain is more terrifying than a stare down with death itself. "I care about you. A lot. And when you say shit like you do it for love, it just worries me. That isn't love."
"Then what is love, Dean? Enlighten me." You ask sardonically.
Made vulnerable in the flickering light of shitty motel lamps, Dean tries his best to make you understand, "It's the feeling I get knowing you'll always be the first person I see when I wake up. It's showing up on Halloween night because I couldn't stand another year without seeing you. It's dropping everything to hunt with me again, even though I know you hate it."
Your heart beats loud in your chest, in your ears. Tears return with full force as you realize what he's saying. You add, "It's going home with strangers and pretending they're you. But it's never you. Just once I want it to be you-"
Dean leans in and captures your lips with his. It's not the brutal collision of mouths that you're used to but a gentle kiss between two people who don't say love, but they try. It's soft and timid, testing how far you'll let him take this. And if you were to pull away now he would still be happy he got the chance. You feel the palm of his hand cup your cheek and you lean into the soothing touch.
Your arms wrap around his neck and you tumble backwards onto the bed, pulling Dean on top of you. He follows faithfully, extending a hand against the bed to brace the impact. You hum into the kiss and savor his taste, sharp whiskey consumed with irritation, a cigarette smoked in silence and fresh mint to mask it all. Dean traces your curves with a wandering hand that stops to linger over a strip of exposed skin where your t-shirt rode up. It's charming how coy he's being, as if this is your first time again. You pull your shirt over your head and your breasts fall in front of his face. Dean's eyes widen and you giggle, the resonate sound rings in his ears. He grabs with both hands, placing his mouth over one nipple while his thumb encircles the other. Sparks of electricity rush through your nerves and you moan with need. Your hips cant and the sudden pressure between your legs sends a rush of heat barrelling through your core. Your head spins. Dean's lips trail down to your neck, gently nipping at your skin, never hard enough to leave a mark.
His eyes lock with yours as you shimmy out of your pajama shorts. For a moment, you lay bare for Dean to drink in the sight. His pajama pants hit the floor and under his carnal gaze, the vulnerability of being entirely nude doesn't make you feel so anxious.
"So perfect." He breathes, pulling you in for another kiss. He takes a possessive grip of your waist without the pressure of expectation. Your fingers trail across his bare chest, feeling the bulk of his muscle moving beneath taut skin.
Sex with Dean isn't teeth buried into your skin or a tight hand around your neck. It's chaste kisses pressed against your cheek and the tenderness of his hands on your back, holding you close. It's the way he praises you endlessly, 'Just like that, sweetheart' and 'You feel so good' moaned against the shell of your ear.
Dean doesn't say love but you feel it when his fingers interlace with yours and his rough hand gives you an affectionate squeeze. You feel it with every thrust of his hips. Dean fucks you like it's the last time he'll have the chance, taking his time to the relish the way you grip tight around his cock. The feeling of him inside of you again, the dull ache of the stretch and dizzying pleasure as he tilts his hip to hit that spot over and over, satisfies the part of you that hungered for him. His hand reaches between where your bodies meet and the warmth in your core comes aflame at his touch, overwhelming your nerves with paced circles around your sensitive bud. With Dean you can discard any notions of performance and just feel. Feel the warmth of his smooth skin glide against yours. Feel his hips stutter when he pushes himself deeper inside and feel the fluttering of your walls around his cock. Feel yourself writhe beneath his touch, back arching and toes curling as two deft fingers and a pace driven by desperation brings you closer and closer to your peak. A symphony of obscene sounds echo around the four walls of your motel room. Your body sings for Dean. He talks you through it as your legs shake and tighten around his waist. The bed sheet balls in your fists as your orgasm ripples across your nerves with a flash of white heat. Dean spits curses into the space above you, brows furrowed and eyes pressed shut. His hips mercilessly chase his high when the spring snaps and Dean buries himself at the hilt, spilling inside of you with an animalistic groan. Dean collapses onto the bed and for a moment, the only sound he hears is the sound of two bodies catching their breaths.
"I love you." He declares. It took five years for him to say it, you'd wait five more just to hear it again.
"I love you too." You reply, pressing your lips against his forehead.
Dean fell asleep not long after you returned from the bathroom. He wrapped himself in your bed sheets and lets out muffled snores into your pillow. A sting in your chest reminds you of the decision you didn't want to make just yet. Your mission was over, you helped Dean find his dad and all that followed after. You feel the urge to go home now, return to your normal life, that was the deal. You left your life on pause, a college degree and a group of friends growing more concerned the longer you ignore their calls. He's not the only one who's noticed the toll this life pays on your body and mind. As hard as you may try, you know you could never convince Dean to leave with you. He isn't the type to be domesticated, the job rests deep in his blood. He can try playing house with you for a few months before something inevitably pulls him back in and he's crushed to leave you behind. But you can't go, especially not after tonight. How dare you break his heart.
You get into bed with him, pushing his arm out of you way to curl up at his side, feeling the melodic rise and fall of his chest. If you could fall deeply and stupidly in love with a man like Dean, you could surely fall in love with the job again, right?
Dean slumps against the brick wall, stabbing his finger at a series of numbers too blurry for him to see. He hopes they're the right ones. The phone starts to ring and all Dean can think is pick up, pick up, pick up-
"What're you wearing?" His voice crackles out of your speakerphone. He's drunk, really drunk. His words are sewn together by the handful of beers he's had tonight and they emerge rough and breathy.
"What ever happened to hello?" You say with an invisible smile, wiping the sleep from your eyes. You always make time for Dean.
"Hi." There's a silence on the other end, "I bet it's those panties with the red lace. Those are m'favorite."
"Dean!" You're glad he isn't here to see how red your checks get. "Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I went out. Sammy didn't wanna come-" You hear him say lame ass under his breath, "Sonsofbitches stopped serving me so I left. Found a payphone…was I right? About the panties?" A giggle slips from your lips. You try not to dwell on the fact that he's wasted and the only thing his mind can keep track of is you.
You lift up your bedsheets to look down at a pair of blush pink panties, he's wrong. But he doesn't need to know. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Winchester intuition." He says all confident, "You in bed?"
He got one thing right. "Yeah, I was asleep." You look at your bedside clock, 11:08pm. "It's late, you should call me from the motel."
Dean lets out a sigh of stubbornness, "No, Sammy's at the motel. And I wanna…" There's silence on the other line.
"You wanna what, Dean?"
"I jus' wanna hear you…I've been thinking about you." His voice drops an octave, "Been thinking about last month." The lust in his tone lights a warmth in your core. This is new. You turn in bed and squeeze your thighs together, thinking of when he was here last. You've washed your sheets since then but his scent always lingers.
"Oh, you have?" Your heart flutters.
"I don't wanna go back to the motel, baby." He groans, "I wanna be with you, in your bed-"
"And what do you wanna do in my bed?" You tease. Dean's grip on the phone tightens and his head rests against the wall.
"Anything you'll let me." He's a desperate mess who can't seem to shake the image of you from his thoughts. Case after case, he makes himself busy to pass time but when his head hits the pillow each night—there you are. Hearing your voice isn't enough, he needs you beneath him, singing his name again.
"Dean?" Your voice, soft and sleep-ridden, interrupts his thoughts.
The desire in his chest burns hotter and hotter. Words escape his lips on impulse, he can't help but let it all spill out. "I wanna to taste you again. I like eating that pretty pussy of yours. It's so sweet, you taste 's good." You press your legs tighter as the heat pulses hotter, sparking electricty in your core. You can feel your panties dampen as he continues, "I wanna make you come, again and again until you're pulling my hair to stop. I like when you do that."
"I'll remember that for next time."
"I wanna-" He stutters, "I need to you, baby. I need to feel you, tight, around me."
You whine, you can't help it. The breathing on the other line catches. "Where are you? Maybe I can pick you up?"
"Too far away, baby. Just- just keep talking to me." Dean's hand trails down his pants to palm the outside of his jeans, to finally give attention to the growing bulge beneath his zipper. His cock strains against the unforgiving denim. He was hard before he called but now that your sweet voice is on the other line, endulging his needs, Dean's cock aches for release.
"I've been thinking about you too, Dean." Your hand snakes down your stomach, "It's driving me crazy, actually. Whenever I can't stop thinking-" Your breath hitches as your fingers find your clit, applying light pressure on the sensitive bud. If only Dean knew how wet you get, just hearing his voice. "-I imagine you're here with me and I touch myself." The confession feels raw on your lips, an intimacy somehow greater than what the two of you have shared so far.
"Are you doing it now?" He exhales heavily. You imagine how worked up he is, if he's also finding relief with the sound of your voice. You wonder if he satisfies himself with thoughts of you, late at night after Sam's gone to bed.
"Yes." You say sweetly.
"What're you thinking 'bout now?"
"I'm thinking about what you said. You, on your knees, your head buried between my thighs." Your fingers slowly circle around your clit, mimicking how you imagine Dean's tongue, "Drinking from me like you want. You're so good at eating my pussy, Dean, no one can make me come like you do."
"Oh baby." Dean hums, making quick work to unlatch his belt buckle. You can hear the metal snap over the phone and you know he's touching himself now. "I can imagine you now, on your back, legs spread just for me, to show off that pretty pussy like the good girl that you are. You gonna be good for me, sweetheart?"
"I'll be so good for you, Dean." You sing, picking up the pace between your legs and rubbing your clit, back and forth, with ease. Pleasure begins to roll in waves through your core, spreading undeniable sparks across your nerves. "I want you to play with me with your tongue, lick me raw, until my thighs shake and I beg you to stop. Then I'll run my fingers through your hair and pull-"
Dean moan interrupts you, over the sound of his hard breaths you almost miss the sweet noise. "But I won't stop, baby. I'll grab your ass and jus' pull you close against my mouth. You can squirm all you want but I won't stop until you come again." Dean can't help but push his hand into his boxers. The back of his hand slides past the mess he's made thinking about you, precum stains the fabric, leaving wet spots on the walls of his underwear. The relief is immediate as he wraps around his shaft. Dean gives it a tug. His long lashes flutter shut as Dean then slides his fist over his weeping tip which throbs for more attention.
You shiver at the thought. You try to maintain a hold on your cellphone, pressing it against your ear, but with every word coming out of Dean's mouth your limbs grow weaker. You whimper with need, growing frustrated that all you can do is encircle your clit with your fingers and not chase your orgasm against Dean's thick tongue. You remember how he flattens it against your folds, slowly dragging it up and down the length of your core before swirling your clit like a man starved.
"Fuck-Dean." You say and your curiosity piques, "Are you touching yourself?"
"'Course, baby." He strains to respond. Without four walls of privacy, Dean is lucky the bar's parking lot is dead empty. What a sight to behold, Dean struggling to lean against the brick wall while his jeans are split at the zipper and his hand is shoved beneath his boxers, slowly pulsing with the beat of his hand. One hand holds the phone tight against his face, to hear every sound you make on the other end, while the other languidly strokes the length of his cock. "I could eat your pussy for days, baby, but I need to be inside of you."
"You wanna to be inside of me?" You toy with him.
"Yes. Please." The sound of Dean begging alone threatens to bring you over the edge. You dip your middle finger down to gather your slick and tease your entrance. Among your dizzying hunger, you're struck with disappointment as you clench around nothing, wishing Dean was on top of you instead. "How do you want me? I can stay on my back orrr I can go on my knees."
Dean thinks for a moment, "On your knees."
At his command, you rise to your knees. Placing the cellphone in front of you, you toggle speakerphone on and get on all fours in front of it, resting against the bed on your forearms. Your hand quickly returns between your legs to tease your clit. "I wish I could send you a pic. My ass is in the air and I'm dripping all over my sheets just waiting for you to fuck me."
Dean's hips buck into his fist, "Fuck- good girl." His voice rumbles through your speakers. "I bet you can't wait to take this cock."
"I can't, I wanna feel you inside of me right now. I wanna feel you stretch and break me with your cock until I can't take anymore."
"But you always take me, sweetheart, and you feel so fuckin' good. Are you using your fingers?" You groan in response, it's all he needs to hear, and Dean commands again, "Fuck yourself with your fingers for me, baby. Let me hear you." You don't hold back, you let out a hearty moan as you push your middle finger inside. You clench tightly around your finger, desperate for a thicker fill.
Dean squeezes his fist as you moan into the speaker. If he's quiet, he can hear the sloppy wetness of you thrusting your finger inside. Dean matches your pace with his fist, ignoring how his knees buckle and how his tip continues to leak in his underwear. "Yes, just like that." One, two, three needy pumps and Dean's moaning with you. He's louder than normal, more sensitive now that he's downed a handful of beers.
"Does it feel good, baby?" You coo at him, "Should I add another finger?"
He responds quickly, "Yes." You want to be a good girl, Dean's good girl, so you couple your middle with your index finger. The stretch feels so good, nothing like Dean, but enough that you buck against your hand. You scissor your fingers apart to find the right girth to match Dean. You whine when your index finger finds that spot, the pressure point that has your back arching like an animal. You desperately massage at the soft flesh of your inner walls, thrusting just like hewould. With both of your fingers now pumping inside of your heat, your lids fall shut and you let your head drop to the bed. "It feels so good, Dean, but I wish it was you."
"Me too, baby" He drawls, "I miss how tight you feel around me, how I try to pull out but you suck me in and I can't fuckin' stop." Dean's cock twitches, he's painfully hard and begging for release. His tip, swollen and red, weeps for you endlessly. All he wants is to spill inside of you, feel himself coat your inner walls with his seed and drive it deeper as you cry out beneath him.
"Dean-" Your voice emerges ragged and needy. Your walls flutter around your fingers and your head begins to spin,"I'm close" Dean applies more pressure around the base, mercilessly jerking himself as his hips buck with rhythm into his tightening fist.
"Fuck- me too, sweetheart." Dean says through gritted teeth, jerking himself faster to match your pace. He throws his head back against the wall as he shamelessly tugs at his cock, picturing your tight pussy swallow every delicious inch. A string of moans erupts from your lips in response as you approach the peak, "Fuck, Dean, I'm coming."
"Be a good girl then and come for me." You pump your fingers faster, giving extra care to that spot that has you crying out for more. You're a pathetic sight, hair wild with sweat and legs trembling as you fuck yourself on Dean's command. The spring coiled in your core winds ever tighter each time the pad of your finger grazes against your walls. Your body is consumed with a white heat. Your legs shake as you try to maintain composure but everything snaps when Dean groans into the speaker.
He's raptly listening to you come undone, using only the sound of your voice to chase his own ecstasy. The pressure in his groin is becoming unbearable. He doubles over, unable to keep himself standing straight. He's nearly there, he can feel his muscles clench and his toes curl. Dean whimpers as he twists his fist around his cock, pulsing over the head again and again. He throbs under his own touch. You're falling apart on the other end and Dean can't help but picture you beneath him. He imagines your face twisted in pleasure, mouth agape, as he drives his cock inside of you with reckless abandon. He can see your breasts bounce with the force, desperately wanting to grab the pillowy flesh with both hands. Beads of sweat collect on Dean's brow and he lets them fall to his chest, too enamoured with your sound to stop now.
The spring snaps and you're crying out for Dean. Your voice wavers as his name is spliced between lewd moans and whines as you're devoured by thundering waves of pleasure. You keep pushing your fingers inside of yourself, riding out your orgasm and letting Dean listen, like the good girl you are.
"Shit, ah-" Dean is quick to follow. One, two, three more pumps of his cock and Dean spills inside of his jeans. His eyes press shut as his desire shoots into his underwear, steaming hot and endlessly sticky. He says your name when he comes, annunciating every syllable in a tone akin to prayer. His fist slows as he tugs the last of his pleasure from the tip of his cock, letting it leak down his hand as punishment for his act.
You both come down from your highs. The only sound coming through both speakers is heavy panting as you try to catch your breaths. You're the first to speak.
"That was…"
But Dean interrupts, "Amazing. You're…amazing."
"Thank you, as are you." You giggle. And then, silence. Stark silence sobers Dean up and he's realized his depravity. He's an absolute mess, now sticky and wet alongside being alone in the parking lot of a shitty dive bar. He doesn't even know if he has enough quarters to call Sam to pick him up. But one thing is clear.
"I'll be in town in four days. Be ready." Is Dean's last instruction. The phone clicks and the line goes dead. A smile creeps across your face and you collapse on your bed.
Chapter Six is out! It's a longer chapter than usual so I hope that keeps everyone fed until the next one :)
Ao3 Link Here and a snippet below
“Why do you still call him “professor”? Why not Gale? Did you know his name is-”
“Gods, of course.” You say so obviously but really, you’re taken by surprise. It hadn’t really occurred to you before. You guess you should have made the switch by now. Why haven’t you? He never bothered to correct you. You always thought he liked the formality of the title, theorized that it afforded him a sense of casualty that comforted him. Besides, you don't want to risk falling into the habit of calling him by his first name and slipping up in front of someone.
You shrug, “Not sure, he seems to like it that way. Some would say it’s kinky.”
Astarion half chokes at your response, letting out a cackle which tells you this was the right answer.
“I would agree, and forgive me for being so forward but-” Astarion leans forward, “Do you call him Professor, even during sex?” I guess he didn’t tell Astarion everything.
Summary: You reflect on the origin of your relationship with Professor Dekarios, the night everything changed and how desire pushes past the boundary of innocence.
Tags: kissing and fluff <3
You stare back at him, lost for the words to describe how you feel.
“It’s-” For a moment he is as wordless as you are. Every moment spent together, all of the work he’s done with you has cultivated into this very moment. And of course it’s you, such a clever thing, he could spot it the moment you first met. He couldn’t deny it when he read your first research paper. He couldn’t stand it when you argued late into the night challenging his thesis, pointing out the illogical mistakes in his argument with your own studies. He couldn’t resist when you showed such interest in the subject he dedicated his life to, as if by extension, it was himself that captivated you. You’re the antithesis of his entire being; stubborn, overly confident, inept in the realm of magic. Or at least, he thought. But in all this time, he’d grown to find you endearing. Clever, passionate, beautiful inside and out. Perhaps your impatience could use a little work but otherwise you’re-
“Perfect.” Professor Dekarios is caught in the moment, gazing back at you with a look of astonishment and you study his face, wanting to commit it to memory. You’re pleased to impress him, you would do this a hundred times over if only to see that look again.
Notes: I really like the ending of this one, I hope you enjoy :) I’m switching to publishing the full chapters on AO3, so below is just a ⋆˙⟡taste⋆˙⟡
AO3 link
“I like when you call me that.” The tone of his voice drops and with it, a flame ignites deep in your stomach.
“Like what?” You play dumb, closing the already tight space between you to graze your lips against his,“Professor?”
He nods slowly and you watch as his eyes dart between yours and your lips, floating the hand on your waist up the deep curve of your torso, resting just below your bra line. His grin narrows into a tempting smirk, “Again.” He requests.
Even though his number isn’t saved in your phone, you never hesitate to respond to a text from Dean Winchester.
Tags: 18+, Oral (f receiving), P in V sex, Breeding Kink (If you squint), praise, unprotected sex
AO3 Link
It’s two in the morning when your phone vibrates, the sound just barely registering in your ears. After two minutes it buzzes again and you stir awake, wondering if the noise was real or only in your dream. Through half lidded eyes and with foggy thoughts you pick up your phone, looking at the text message on your lockscreen. You squint through the glaring light and blink a few times to shake away the few hours of sleep still clouding your vision. You see an unknown number, one with an area code you don’t recognize and wonder who the hell would be texting you at this hour.
I’m in town. - Dean
Your heart thrums in your chest. Over the last year you had accumulated over a dozen different contacts saved under ‘Dean’ and every one of them now long disconnected. His message was simple, as they usually were, and you don’t hesitate when responding-
Mine or yours?
Yours. He replies. I’ll be there in fifteen.
You reread the message and your eyes widen, fifteen minutes??
See u soon ;) You type hastily. You jump out of bed with a rush of anxiety and adjust the sheets and pillows, tidying your apartment as you make your way to the bathroom. Bastard, you thought, did he really think you could get ready in fifteen minutes?
You splash cold water in your face, if you weren’t awake before, you certainly are now. You brush your teeth with extra attention and figure it will take most of your time to throw on some makeup. As you smack your lips to smooth a sheer lipgloss, you’re raking through your hair for the volume and softness that sleep has taken from you. Through the mirror’s reflection, you look at the clock on your bedstand and abandon your looks as you count five minutes left until he arrives. You pull at the drawers in your dresser, looking for something sexier than your plain underwear but nothing too elaborate that would show you’re too eager. It was always a game with him, you want to look nonchalant enough so he thinks you just naturally look this way but enticing enough for him to want to come back for more.
You settle on something simple, a lacey black set of lingerie with a little bow on the waistband, before throwing over an oversized sleep shirt. He’ll think you just woke up like this, perfect and prepared for everything he planned to do to you. You like the game, the push and pull between sharing these intimate moments and pretending to forget him the next day. This way was easier, rather than lay waiting on bated breath for each text wondering what it all meant.
You don’t register the deep rumble of the impala pulling into the parking lot, the door slamming as he saunters up to your doorstep. A quiet knock rings against your door and your heart stops for a moment as you hurry across the room to unlock the door. Every time feels like the first as you lock eyes with him at the door. He towers over you, his broad shoulders almost the width of the doorway. His scent wafts into the air, Marlboro reds and liquor, familiar and comforting if not for the fresh smell of gunpowder and dirt. He must have just finished a job and you figure you’re his last stop of the night.
“Hi Dean.” You say sweetly,
“Hey gorgeous.” His voice rumbles deep in your ears and you feel your stomach flutter at the sound. It was so embarrassing how easily he had this effect on you.
“Did I wake you?” Dean steps out of his steel-toed boots and kicks them near the door.
“Yeah, but it’s alright.” You awkwardly shift in your place, never exactly knowing how to start these things.
But he does. Dean closes the space between you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him, tight. He’s caught in a hypnotized gaze of your body, drinking you in like the aged whiskey he likes.
“I missed you.” The sweet hum of his voice caresses your nerves with comfort as he nuzzles into your neck. You feel his soft lips trail across your skin, down your collarbone before finding purchase against that spot that drove you crazy.
“You missed me?” Your voice wavers as you respond, unable to keep steady as his teeth graze against your skin.
You feel him nod as his hand snakes down your curves, grabbing a handful of your ass before responding, “I missed this too.” You yelp at the brutish touch and let out an embarrassing giggle.
“Show me how much you missed me.” You say seductively, starting to walk backward toward the bed. His ears perk up at your request and he lets out a growl, “Oh, I will.” His lips finally crash against yours and you can’t help but moan against his mouth. He tastes like heaven, you swoon, as you part your lips and allow his tongue to twist against yours with a demand you were all too familiar with. A warmth blooms in your core and you can feel the slick between your thighs grow as his mouth moves against yours in sync. You hum as his fingertips find the hem of your shirt and as quickly as you had thrown the shirt on, Dean pulls it off.
Falling back onto your bed, you catch yourself staring as he undresses, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth as he unbuckles his belt, tossing it to the floor next to your shirt. His body is a masterpiece and you can’t help but admire the way his muscles ripple beneath smooth skin as he throws off his fitted shirt. His skin glimmers with a thin sheen of sweat. A trail of dark brown hair alludes to what is hidden from view and before you can catch a glimpse, Dean falls to his knees between your legs.
Oh.
Your mind reels as you feel him pepper soft kisses against the inside of your thighs, sporadically ghosting his lips along your skin as he travels toward your heated core. His fingers dip underneath the sides of your waistband and he plays with the fabric, running over the lace with his fingertips to admire your panties.
“So pretty.” Dean admires you before licking a stripe over your clothed folds. A soft sigh escapes your lips and you sink into the mattress as he teases you, leaving chaste kisses against the thin veil concealing your heat.
“You put this on for me?” You open your mouth to respond but he doesn’t give you the chance as he parts the fabric to the side and devours you. You say his name, breathless and needy. Dean only hums in response as he slides his tongue through your folds, the thick sponge lapping at your core in a languid motion. He envelops you with a wet heat, exacting his tongue to swirl and flick at the bundle of nerves throbbing for his touch. The assault is enough to make your head spin and you rake your fingers through his short hair to find purchase in the brown locks, grounding yourself in his touch.
Dean pulls your leg over his shoulder, keeping a tight grip around your thigh as his head lulls between your flesh, intoxicated by the taste. Your sweet sighs turn into low moans as he dips his tongue into your entrance, happily drinking your essence from the source. You tug at his hair as he coaxes the fire raging in your core to burn hotter and hotter. He was always really good for you, but this felt like another type of hunger, as if your taste is the only cure to his insatiable desire. You want more, you need more.
“Dean, please.” You mewl, canting your hips against his mouth in a desperate plea to be filled. He groans against your flesh, the noise sending vibrations through your heat and your legs squeeze around his head by instinct. He releases your clit from his mouth with a satisfying pop and looks up to you, licking his lips as your juices drip from his chin, “Tell me what you want baby.” He rasps and you struggle to reply, entirely captivated by the sight between your legs. Dean fumbles with his jeans, already anticipating your response.
“Fuck me, Dean.” You say breathlessly. “I want to feel you deep inside of me.” You whine, hoping to trigger the animal within that would tear you to shreds. He captures you in a predatory gaze and you’re unable to focus on anything but those sharp green eyes of his darken with desire. He kicks off his boxers and you can’t help but let out a gasp as his cock springs up to hit his abdomen with a thump. His length never loses its shock value and your eyes widening at the sight of his girth. The tip throbs in beat with his heart and he looks so desperate the way
He looks so desperate the way his swollen tip leaks, the clear liquid spilling down his shaft.
Crawling into bed, Dean recaptures your lips with his and you groan at the taste of your own wetness on his tongue. You tremble with anticipation, unsure if you can wait a second longer without him inside of you.
“Anything for you, baby.” Dean smirks as he places his hand against the headboard, taking a tight grip of the wood. He loves to tease you, dragging his cock through your folds and lightly slapping it against your clit. The warmth in your core burns at the slightest touch and you whine into the kiss, a wordless plea for mercy. In desperation you squirm beneath him, canting your hips again in an attempt to capture him yourself but he always pulls back before you can. He surely doesn’t fuck the way he kills, he takes his time with you and languishes in your neediness. The tip of his cock pushes against your entrance, just a taste of euphoria.
“Please-” You start to beg but before you can complete the sentence, Dean sinks inside of you with a guttural moan. You match the sound with your own as you stretch around his cock, his devastating girth filling you so perfectly to inflame the heat in your core. He stills, but only for a moment to let you adjust before pulling out and driving himself back in, to the hilt. You cry out, arching your back into his chest and he takes the opportunity to throw his arm beneath the curve, holding you tight against him.
“Is this what you wanted?” He whispers the rhetorical question against the shell of your ear in a low tone. He fucks you like he does it just to hear you moan, to watch you writhe beneath him, as if his own desire is meaningless compared to the pleasure he wishes to coax from you. Your arms, wrapped around his neck, now cling to his back as he thrusts into your weeping cunt with reckless abandon. Euphoria washes over your nerves as he continues at his melodic pace and you find yourself murmuring his name over and over again as it takes over you.
“Fuck- Dean, you feel so good.” You gasp and Dean’s hips stutter with the praise. You pay no consideration to your neighbors as the night’s silence is cut by a symphony of your moans and his skin colliding against yours. Your body responds to him like a drug, you can’t get enough of the feeling of him inside of you, the warmth of his body on top of yours, the raspy breaths in your ear. You clench around him and in response, his hands find your waist and he swiftly lifts your hips, burying himself deeper with a strangled groan.
“Oh, god, yes, Dean. Right there.” You cry out.
His finger digs into your skin with a bruising force and you’re sure the tips of his nails are leaving half crescent indentations around your hips. You suppress the urge to scream as his tip grazes against your cervix, a mix of absolute pleasure and pain shooting through your spine. Dean’s forehead drops to your chest as his hips piston deeper, thrusting harder into your cunt as a string of curses escapes his lips.
“You’re so tight, baby.” He growls, “I can’t get enough of this pussy.”
Your nails rake down his back as he fucks you harder, deeper than you think you can handle. The walls of your cunt squeeze around him again, pulsing with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your eyelids lull half shut and your head falls back as you lose control over your limbs, surrendering your body to his touch. Dean licks a strip up your throat, grabbing your earlobe with his teeth and pulling lightly,
“I-, God, I’m close baby-” He stutters and his hips slow. “Where do you want it?” He asks and your eyes go wide. It only just hits you that you forgot a crucial step, protection. Lust clouds your judgement and you debate letting him finish inside of you. A spark of pleasure strikes your nerves as you imagine his hips stuttering against yours, painting your insides with his hot seed. Tomorrow, you promised yourself, you would make a visit to the pharmacy for a little blue pill. But now, right now you want to feel him unravel inside of you, you want to watch his face twist in absolute bliss.
“Inside.” You whimper, “Fuck- Don’t pull out, Dean.”
Dean loses control of the pace at your sinful request. He chases his desire, slamming his hips against yours as his eyebrows knit in concentration. He doesn’t want to stop, he’s drunk on the symphony of moans escaping from your lips, the tight hold that you have along his cock, squeezing and pulling him into you. Every time with you, he tried to hold his orgasm at bay and every time you ripped it from him like a merciless siren. He held on long enough, his pleasure now boiling in his core, threatening to release. He knits his eyebrows together and endures, reaching his hand between your legs and settling against your clit.
Overstimulation is an understatement in describing how you feel now that Dean is rubbing small circles over your bud, using your wetness to glide against it with ease. It’s all too much and you whine as he helps you reach your own orgasm.
“Dean-” You can’t put together a coherent thought, unable to pull your thoughts from how he masterfully pumps inside of you and teases your clit at the same time.
“That’s it baby.” He hums by your ear, “Come for me.” With his praise, you tumble over the edge, grasping at the bedsheets as your orgasm rips through your core with a burning heat. The world around you dissolves as your pleasure vibrates your nerves and you swear you can feel every one of them come alive with a collective buzz. The walls of your cunt throb through the waves and Dean cries out, thrusting a final time before spilling inside of you. His hips roll softly as he comes down from his high, his hand squeezing the headboard with a force so hard it splinters beneath his touch. Dean buries himself to the hilt, plugging you with his seed as he catches his breath.
A moment later he collapses on the bed next to you, letting out a huff exhaustion as you come back to your senses. Your legs quiver as you roll to the side, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek, “That was really good.” You mewl, dropping your head against his shoulder.
“Always is.” Dean replies with a cocky smile. You lay together, enjoying the silence of your now slowed breaths and the scent of sex and sweat lingering in the air. In the aftermath, things felt more intimate than they did when he was inside of you, more vulnerable as you lay bare next to him. One of the sweeter things about Dean was that he always spent time with you afterward, allowing you the decency to recover before throwing on his jeans and heading for the door. You wait for him to sigh, a usual indication that he was about to get up and go, but it never comes. Instead, he places his hand behind his head and closes his eyes. You don’t move from his shoulder, not wanting to remind him that in a few hours he’ll have to leave, off on another adventure across the country and at least another few months before he comes around again. For now, you enjoy that he’s yours for the night.
Description: A murder on campus shakes up your forbidden relationship with Professor Dekarios. In the days after, you find he has fled from the university with no notice when he will return. Can you let him go so easily?
Tags: 18+, Graphic depictions of violence
Ao3 link
“Shit.” He murmurs as he presses a chaste kiss to your knee before moving to the doorway. You watch in confusion, not knowing what to do with yourself.
“Hide.” He instructs, peering through the peephole and wiping his hand against his shirt. You obey, jumping from the desk, making sure your feet land without a sound as you hide beneath it. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you take a few paced breaths, your nerves have a habit of getting worked up over minor incidents. This would all be over shortly, deep breath in. The professor will take care of it, deep breath out, then he can get back to taking care of you. With midterms around the corner it was a matter of time before this happened. Professor Dekarios clears his throat before unlatching the lock and cracking the door.
“Oh-” The professor sounds like he’s caught by surprise, “Can I help you?” You listen quietly as the stranger says something just out of earshot but you do pick up the unmistakable sound of a sword unsheath and your heart stops entirely. Trusting the professor’s judgment you remain hidden as you hear him shout an incantation, followed by a loud crash. Filling the room are noises of a struggle, bodies fall to the floor with a loud thud and you jump at the impact. The sword cuts through the air with a hiss, your only indication that it hasn’t found its target just yet. A side table topples to the ground, the half-emptied wine glasses sitting on top come crashing down and you hear it splinter into a dozen tiny shards. The space around you goes quiet as blood rushes behind your ear drums and your nerves come alight. You can’t resist the urge to stay quiet for much longer but what would you do? Throw a textbook? Your magic wasn’t nearly disciplined enough to do anything meaningful. Despite it all, an instinct gnaws at the back of your mind telling you to intervene now, before it’s too late. You’ve never been in a fight before, never mind with a real weapon so you’d be a detriment rather than any help. But there is a dagger displayed on the wall, a gift from the professor's friend long before you were born. Your head throbs trying to decide what to do, you’re paralyzed by indecision. You hear another sound, what you can only assume is the swift impact of the weapon, and the professor lets out a rasping groan.
Oh no.
You jump up from beneath the desk and see the two of them writhing on the floor, the cloaked stranger on top, pinning the professor’s arms to the floor. Frozen in fear, your eyes glance to the bloodied spot on his white shirt, growing with every attempt to writhe away from the intruder’s grasp. His eyes meet yours and you’re met with a chilling sight, he’s panicking just as much as you are. You’d never seen him in such fear. You’re frantically looking around the room for the blade, cursing under your breath as you scramble over to the bookshelf and arm yourself. With a trembling hand you take the weapon in a tight grip, wondering- hoping it will be enough. Noticing your appearance, the attacker delivers a harsh blow at the professor, who shouts in pain as the man’s fist connects with his stomach. Leaping to his feet with an unsightly agility, the intruder barrels toward you seemingly hellbent on taking care of you before finishing off the professor. He crosses the room at a blinding speed, blade first, and you dodge at the last minute, thrusting the dagger into the meat of his thigh. He hisses, stumbling backwards on shaky footing. Mustering up the last of your courage, you charge forward in the moment of imbalance, piercing into his chestplate. You ignore how you can feel it cut through the leather armour, puncturing the skin, and the resistance it gives as it sinks into his flesh. The intruder lets out a low groan as the air escapes his lungs and your skin crawls at the haunting noise. You dig the blade until it reaches the hilt, ensuring no second wind. You place a hand on his shoulder, counterbalancing the force with which you rip the blade out of his chest. As he falls backward, the professor jumps out of the way, in shock, or in concern he looks up at you as the attacker lands with a thud.
Your heart thrums behind your ribcage, pushing against the bone with a sharp pain as you back away. He’s gasping for air as his impulse to breathe grows weaker and weaker. From beneath his hood, the stranger meets your gaze and you’re caught in his darkened eyes. Mustering up the little movement he has left, he produces a fiendish grin, as if he knew you, recognized your face.
A tremor develops in your hands and you let the dagger fall to the ground with a clang, your eyes darting back and forth between the weapon and the pooling blood emerging from the body laying before you. Blood rushes behind your eardrums, thrumming in tune to the beat of your heart with a deafening sound. In your peripheral vision you can see the professor rising from the floor, catching the desk with his hand for balance. He doubles over, grasping at his side where the shirt is most saturated in blood. Weakly, he shuffles to the cabinet on the east wall, throwing open the creaky door to grab a healing potion. Stuck in your trance, you pay no mind as he knocks it back with a sigh and waits for the effects.
Glancing between your own hands and the weapon on the floor, you’re unsure if it's in shock or disbelief that they tremble. What did you just do? A wave of nausea interrupts the deafening pulse of your heartbeat and you drop to the floor, covering your mouth with a hand to stop from spewing over the corpse in front of you. The professor grabs the bloodied dagger and carefully places it on the desk before assessing the body. Crouching to pull the hood back, a pale, green hued elf is revealed. The professor gives you a side-eye and you wish to know what he was thinking behind that mixed expression of his.
All you can do is stare, stare in panic and disgust at what you just did. The moment is stuck in your head, replaying over and over relentlessly. He would have surely killed the professor, you saw it with your own eyes, but this fact doesn’t stop the monstrous guilt consuming your rationale.
“Who-who…is that?” Your voice comes out shakily. You don’t recognize him and neither does the professor, seeing how he studies the corpse.
“Are you okay?”
No, you can’t believe this is real. Is this just a dream turned sour, will you awake in your bed soon? Minutes go by and you’re still in the tower, still standing in his office.
“I’m-” The professor stutters as he tries to find the right words, “I’m so sorry you had to do that.” Your gaze is locked in a distant stare and you don’t reply. His arms wrap around your body in a tight hug and he cradles your head against his chest, “It will be alright.”
You let him hold you, even if you don’t find much comfort in the gesture, you want him to think he’s helping at least. In his arms, you keep waiting to wake up, to feel a wave of relief that it was all in your head, but the feeling never comes.
After a few moments pass, he releases, leading you to the couch and turns to the desk,
“I’ll take care of this, don’t you worry.”
“How can I not? Why would this happen?” You start to question.
“I don’t know.” He responds, predicting the rest of your sentence himself. “I might have seen something like this before-” Professor Dekarios sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, “I’d hate to jump to conclusions just yet.”
His response only leaves you with more questions but you don’t want to press the matter.
Glancing back at the clock, the hands strike a quarter till the hour and you shake your head, hoping the thoughts are shaken with it.
“Professor?” You say in a nearly silent whisper, unable to conjure the strength to be louder, “What do we do now?” He seems taken aback by the question, not having thought that far. You watch as he starts to pace, his eyebrows furrowed deep in thought.
“Look, I- Well the Dean has to be notified. We’ll need a story, it can’t come out that we were uh-” He gives you a knowing look. “-together.”
Right.
“You were studying in the archives, just down the hall, when you heard the noise. When you arrived you watched me reach for the dagger and erm- well you can put the rest in your own words.” You shuffle uncomfortably in place, the fear creeping in as your disposition wavers toward distress. You want to leave, to put this night behind you and forget about it. Another part of you is entranced by the horror, finding it hard to look away. It felt…gratifying to deliver the final blow, to know you were the only thing between the professor and a brutal death. A terrifying thought crosses your mind as you imagine how easy it could be to do it again now that you knew what it felt like. How you would do it again, to save him.
“I have to- I have to go. Class starts at eight.” Your words emerge dry and detached from emotion. The professor stops you as you head for the door, grabbing your wrist so you turn to face him, “Wait.” You search his expression for an indication on how to feel. You feel lost, scared, and even worse, satisfied by the fact you took the intruder’s life to save his. But you can’t find the safety of similarity in his eyes. He’s shocked, that’s for sure, but the same fear you feel isn’t there, instead you find his gaze colder than before. Drawn back. He feels some type of way about this, you can read him too easily, but why won’t he say anything? Does he not trust you? You can’t tell if this disturbs you or not. “I wish you could stay, I really do.” His sincerity would mean much more if your heart didn’t feel so devoid of emotion, “I hate to send you back to your dorm alone.” He shakes his head, “But it’s too risky. I can only imagine after this one-” He nods to the corpse, “there will be more. For now, just wait for my word. I’ll take care of it and I’ll-” Professor Dekarios pauses and his next words come with apprehension, “I’ll see you shortly.” You avert your gaze to the floor, back to the body, and reply with a quick nod to indicate that you understand. You don’t, you want to stay with him, you can’t fathom how you’ll return to your dorm and pretend as if everything is normal but you know you can’t stay here. You wonder why he isn’t more grateful that you intervened in the first place, confused as to why the first words he spoke weren’t anything to the effect of ‘thank you for saving my life.’ He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering for his own benefit before stepping back, “Remember what I said. You were studying.” He nods, waiting for your confirmation.
“I was studying.” You repeat back to him and you leave the professor’s office.
In honor of getting accepted into my dream school I wrote a Professor Dekarios/you fic <3 Here’s a sneak peak of the first chapter coming soon!
Description: A murder on campus shakes up your forbidden relationship with Professor Dekarios. In the days after, you find he has fled from the university with no notice when he will return. Can you let him go so easily?
Tags: 18+, Oral
Ao3 link
You open your eyes and glance at the standing clock on the opposite wall. Squinting to read the hands, you figure it’s just after two in the morning.
You start to worry, thinking of the busy morning of classes about to start in only six hours. Another feeling pulls you out of your thoughts and your head falls back, a hearty moan escaping between your lips. The hand wrapped in a tight grip around your thigh squeezes, languishing in the sounds erupting from your mouth. He laps at the core between your legs, that trained tongue of his circling around the bundle of nerves screaming for attention.
“Professor-” You whine for more and your pleas are ignored as he comes up for air.
“Yes?” His breaths come quick as he glares at you through a half lidded gaze, drunk off the sheer taste of you. The sight of him alone makes you shiver and you beg for more, “Please, Professor, I’m nearly there.” You whine.
“You’re always so impatient.” He redirects his attention to your soft thighs, trailing kisses across your skin that leave you squirming beneath his bruising touch.
“I’m not, I have class-” Your words are cut shorts as he licks a thick stripe against your needy cunt, devouring your core with a feverish pace that sends sparks down your spine. He eats like he’s famished, a man starved of his favorite fruit. He’s so good to you, swirling and sucking with enough pressure to drive you wild. Your thighs tense around his head, squeezing as he hits the sensitive spot over and over until you’re stifling a scream which begs to be released. You’re so close to finishing from his tongue alone until his hand disappears from your thigh and you gasp as it reappears to tease at your entrance. You swear you can feel him smirk against your whimpering cunt as he twirls your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, sucking and releasing it with a gentle pop. You clench around nothing, whining and canting your hips forward in a desperation he’s all too familiar with until he decides to give into your whims, plunging the digit inside. You cry out, letting a hand fly down to rake through his scalp, lightly pulling at the root and he groans, a deep growl against your core. Your legs quiver at the vibrations and before you can beg for more, he’s read your mind and curls the finger against your neediest spot.
“Fuck, right there-” Your voice wavers as your stomach tightens, his tongue and hand working in a perfect harmony to pull you closer and closer to the edge. You rise to your elbows, peering down to try and catch a glimpse of him underneath the skirt pushed up around your hips. You can only see a mess of thick brown hair, restrained in a hastily tied half bun. You bite your lip trying to suppress the string of moans threatening to spill out, knowing you couldn’t be as loud as you wanted in the echoey walls of this tower.
A light emerges from beneath the door and you freeze, listening closely but only able to hear the lewd sounds of wet lapping coming from between your trembling thighs. Your worst nightmare is beginning to manifest, the sheer thought that someone could walk in kills your mood. Did you remember to lock the door? You’re unsure but you think you hear the sound of shuffling feet behind the door. Maybe you could convince them not to tell, perhaps there’s a spell the professor knew to erase the memory? The two of you were just studying, that’s right, studying for the midterm approaching next week. That’s believable enough, right? Shit, shit shit-
“Professor.” You say quietly, trying to grab his attention although he’s too entranced by your flesh to pull himself away. You say it again, this time getting a “hmph” in response when he finally notices you’ve stilled.
“I think someone’s here.” You say shortly, your nerves souring from pleasure to fear. This doesn’t deter him as he emerges from between your thighs, his finger lazily pumping into you,
“It’s late, dear, don’t worry. I made sure we’re not to be disturbed.” He responds with a voice too calm for your liking. If someone were to find out, you’d surely be expelled but he had much more on the line, a tenured position certainly not safe from a scandal like this. Your eyes dart to the door, fixed on the flickering light glowing through the crack at the bottom. He ducks beneath your skirt, moving the digit in perfect sync with his tongue like he’s orchestrating a symphony of pleasure. You slip between feelings of concern and euphoria, wanting to ignore your anxiety in favor of chasing your impending orgasm. Reluctantly, you push the thought away and your eyes close again. It takes only a moment for you to find the feeling again but when you do, it’s barreling through you like an untamed fire. You’re quieter now that you’re nearing your peak, letting out soft whimpers as he works tirelessly between your legs. With ease, he slips another finger inside of you and your core shudders as you arch your back, pushing him deeper inside. The pleasure is almost too much, the overstimulation of his tongue on your bud and his fingers sliding into your cunt with an erratic pace. He interrupts his devotion to your cunt to offer words of praise, knowing how you swoon at his approval.
“You’re so close, darling, come for me. Come in my mouth, let me taste your sweetness.”
Gods his voice, deep and sultry with desire, rough and tired from being overworked, finally pushes you over the edge and you’re tumbling over-
Until you hear the doorknob jiggle and your eyes widen. The professor hears it too and he’s quick to rise from his knees. As long as it took you to get there, the desire died instantly as your blood turned cold.
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